2am’s were made for poets, lovers, writers, visionaries, photographers, painters, over thinkers, silent seekers. These are my favourite hours…

…until I became a mother.

Child is home and dog, nor cat, have attempted to eat him. We’re winning thus far. I’m anticipating the next few months to be greater than the previous days gone by. I’m excited about all this spare time I will now have being a stay-at-home mum… the walks in the park, the extra time for pampering myself, my new and improved spotless house… domesticated goddess, here I come! I’ve seen the advertising. New mums pushing the designer prams along the garden paths, smiling with manicured hair and perfect make up. They radiate life. Child stares lovingly with a gummy grin at new mum. This is love. Mum exudes fulfilment. This is the greatest time in a women’s life. I will glow with destiny and purpose. Over the next few weeks, everything in life, everything that has happened, will finally make sense. People will say how “natural” I am. My maternal instincts will roar like a lioness. It will be my greatest accomplishment. I will finally feel whole again.

*Insert hysterically, sleep deprived, wee saturated, powdery substance covered, dry milk splattered, cry-laugh right here*

The best way I could describe the next 10 weeks (at least) would be: FALSE ADVERTISING. This is not what I read in the brochure. I didn’t sign up for this gig. There, I’ve said it. I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t actually believe I’m allowed to look after him by myself. What’s wrong with this world, releasing us into the wild to fend for ourselves?

“Trust your intuition”. I hear it over and over. You know, this so-called motherly one that is just expected to appear. He cries for no reason, eats and sleeps. Then the cycle begins again. He sings us the song of his people every night… for hours. To me, all the cries sound the same. During the day he puts on the charm for dotting visitors… usually just sleeping or snuggling. If he happens to become unsettled I’m looked upon as if I should have the answers. “You probably have more of a clue than I do…” I’m told he’s a good boy. I don’t know what that means. He probably is but I’m not in any state to look after myself, let alone this needy creature. I’m still in excruciating pain, still unable to move freely. I just want what was advertised. There are no garden walks, no clean house and definitely no radiant glow to be found. There have been more tears, than laughter… that’s the truth.

Our nightly ritual commences. 10pm: cue in the relentless crying. I’m tired. I’m disappointed. I’m in over my head. I try to appease him with all the tricks in the book. I must be a broken mum; nothing works. It’s our nightly dance, but tonight is different. It’s been 1 week at home and husband is summoned back to his work duties. It’s a Sunday night and hubby needs to get sleep for his early start in the morning. It’s all me from now on. No tag outs. I am required to fulfil my motherly duty. Quiet child so man may sleep. I’m in a complete daze. I hold him in front of me and just stare as he continues to cry in my face. I cry in his. Husband emerges from his attempted slumber and finds me… cheeks flooded with tears as I hold Little Man straight-armed as if I’m presenting him as Simba from the Lion King… not quite the lioness I thought I would be. I’m ordered to bed. I’m failing miserably. I don’t think he likes me very much.

Listen to your intuition… but the voices are so loud. I’m overcome with conflicting advice left, right and centre; current guidelines verse the ways of old… books, articles and internet searches, well meaning words of wisdom and advice. Everyone claims to have the answers. No one seems to want to listen. I find myself ‘googling’ during the day, “will this get better”, “will the pain go away”, “post-natal depression”. I am overcome with fear and worry… but also overcome with an overwhelming ‘pull’ to protect, to take away his pain, to make things right, to watch him, to be near him. In saying that, is there any chance of a refund?

“Love me when I least deserve it because that is when I really need it” –Swedish Proverb