I don't "enjoy every second", actually
A message of solidarity to IVF parents who are struggling to cope with their newborn miracle
Just over two months ago, I was submitting my final article to the professional journal I write for before starting maternity leave. The piece was a deep-dive into the impact of artificial intelligence on the global wealth management industry. Prior work this year included organising and chairing two roundtables with expert participants dialling in from numerous time zones.
That life seemed far longer ago than two months when, this morning, my primary job was to decide whether to address the newborn’s poo or vomit situation first. While dealing with the nappy, which could have doubled as a horror film prop, I was taken back to some of the things said many times to me when I was about to start that aforementioned mat leave.
“Enjoy every second…”
“It goes so quickly…”
And I thought…can we normalise not having rose-tinted glasses about every moment of newborn motherhood, please?
My days are currently: feed baby, change baby, console screaming baby, settle baby, pump milk, feed baby. I’m lucky to have my husband for a long paternity leave, so I’m also fitting in exercise here and there. And I’ve perfected the art of breastfeeding and reading a book one-handed. But there are very, very few days when I get to bed having “achieved” something other than the (admittedly important) task of keeping a tiny human alive.
In short, my life has (albeit temporarily) gone from journalism career to milk machine overnight. And honestly, I cannot wait for the daily routine to be less relentless and to give me space to be more “me”. For my brain to function at a capacity beyond “when’s the next feed and which breast should it be on”. And also to thoroughly spring-clean the house, which is feeling increasingly neglected.
When I stop to think about this, I worry that I am missing my “before” life and the conflicting emotions threaten to overwhelm me. I have been told over and over that this is a miracle, that I am so lucky, that I’ll be sad when the newborn phase finishes.
I have even been reminded that this is what we wanted. A sort of “you signed up for this, don’t complain now”. “If you opt into IVF and are fortunate enough for it to work, don’t come whining to us when you’re up all night with a screaming baby.”
To each of these points in order: It is a miracle. I am lucky. I will be sad. Yes, we did sign up for this.
NEWSFLASH: WE KNOW.
We know this is what we paid huge amounts and went through a physically and emotionally gruelling process to achieve. We know this is the outcome we hoped and prayed for. We know that we’re the lucky ones in the IVF lottery. But slowly I am learning to accept that not enjoying every. single. second. does not a bad parent make.
Not every second is enjoyable: I refer you back to the poo vs vomit conundrum. You would not be human if you managed to spend every moment being grateful for what you have. And that’s ok.
To my fellow IVF parents, my message is:
Give yourself space to drink in the golden moments of smiles, and tiny hands clasping your fingers, and a little head snuggling into your neck.
And give yourself grace to know that when they’re crying and you’re exhausted but you don’t know what they need, or when it’s 3 a.m. and they’ve pooed through nappy, vest and sleepsuit, it’s absolutely acceptable to think “why the hell did I sign up for this?”
The irony is that I tend to find you need to give yourself the second to embrace the first. On the days I forgive myself for not loving life as a first-time mum, the pressure lifts and I enjoy the golden moments far more.
If this is you, and you find yourself facing down the nappy from hell or an inexplicably inconsolable child with less than charitable feelings towards your miracle offspring: you’re not selfish or ungrateful – you’re just a totally normal human, and you’re not alone.
