I’ve always been in awe of the blogging world. Their ability to be so open about their lives, their honesty about failures and their confidence when bigging up achievements. Call me an introvert or innately British but I find it hard to ‘share”, even to write things down, putting it all into meaningful paragraphs for the world to see. Most of the time my brain is whizzing at 60mph, making mental lists upon lists upon lists of things to do, people to see, worries to worry about…. where’s the time to put it all into a post? Hats off to you, I wish I could do it more often (I SHOULD do it more often if I listened to the SEO Gods).
So the reason I’m writing this is almost like therapy. It’s coming to the end of 2016 and as most people like to do when December days run out I’m summarising my year. Not of business goals and achievements, work downfalls and mistakes, but something else. A crazy year where life got turned on it’s head. With want of a better phrase, the business of motherhood.
No one tells you what having a baby is truly like. I’m not talking about the labour. I agree that there is no way to fully describe THAT experience. Even if someone did manage to explain exactly what was going to happen to you and how you would feel during those turbulent hours or days then they would be stinking rich. I’m talking about the “after”. The actual “Motherhood” bit.
I was the first to declare what type of mother I thought I’d be, telling myself I would be strong and confident with my baby right from the start. I’ll do it “this” way and “that” way whilst practising childs pose listening to my hypnobirthing mp3 on repeat. Well, I wish I could give my past self a heavy-handed slap to the chops and tell her that she didn’t have a goddamn clue.
After a not-as-planned labour my husband and I were hurled into the first-time parent abyss, stumbling around in the darkness without a clue of what we were doing with this teeny helpless newborn. Soon after she arrived we began googling the dreaded word “colic” and only emerged from that stage 3 months later, more unsure of ourselves than ever (anyone who’s had or experienced a colicky baby will totally know what I mean).
I’d love to be able to say that I haven’t found this year a struggle, but sometimes I really have. I’ve cried a lot of tears just not feeling good enough or worthy of this tiny human. Perfectionist tendencies can set you up for some mighty lows in life and I’m still learning that being imperfect is perfectly okay, with business, with my relationships and with Violet. She loves me regardless and I’m beginning to understand that that is all that matters.
With the uncertainty that Violet brought to our lives she also brought with her a type of love which is, quite frankly, undefinable. Unexplainable. It fills you from your toes through to the tips of your fingers. The feeling never slows down, but gains force as the days go by. Watching her grow and flourish is like winning the lottery everyday. Moments we have as a family are only ours, like being members of our own little club.
Despite the dirty nappies, the sleepless nights and the frayed nerves that feeling of pure unadulterated love gets stronger and more vibrant and changes who you are and how you see life. I’m not implying that existence before children is in any way an empty void but she has given me something money can never buy. Something I never knew I missed so much after my own mum passed away over 15 years ago. An unconditional fierce love, a love unwavering. Selfless love. A life lived for someone else.
Violet, when you are old enough to read this, or as you look through the letters and notes I have written and will write for you to look back on, I will make sure I'm honest about our journey, how we laughed and cried and loved each other. On the very last night of 2016 when people are making resolutions for weight loss or fortune, I only make you one promise. To love you forever, unconditionally with all my heart. For you little one, you will always be my greatest achievement.