Cuddle Prison and Milky Burps: My First Year of Motherhood

I stared at my husband, who held our beautiful bundle of love in his arms – it’s you and me now pal! My mother completed her granny duties and had just returned to Bharat.

Reflecting on this time, after being thrown deep into the trenches of new parenthood, our new fuel was sweet cuddles and milky burps instead of sleep.

Speaking of sleep… first time parents should get a cautionary word about its lack of…or total absence of…which will hit you like a brick 🙂

If you know, you know!

As one of us had to put some bread on the table and I was breastfeeding, the biological choice had to be my husband (though he would swap with me in a heartbeat!). He was not overjoyed with the idea of working after a month of paternity leave (I’m very aware this sounds obnoxiously privileged when we think of majority of the world and parental leave – rant for another day!) but he finally shaved his overgrown beard, ironed a shirt to crispy perfection and let the light of his laptop screen shine bright!

As for me, I grazed on snacks all day and turned into a dairy farm. It felt awkward at first, but I bonded with our child beautifully. After all, I was grateful for being able to feed at last – with the help of multiple lactation consultant appointments over several weeks and lots of tears after nearly giving up. In hindsight, I do wish I hadn’t succumbed to the internalised pressure so much as it came with a heavy mental toll – as they say with different methods of feeding, “fed is best”.

Somewhere between diaper changes and reheated coffee, my husband and I would lock eyes and laugh. Not because anything was funny, but because if we didn’t laugh, we might cry… loudly… together… while holding a baby who was already crying louder. And if I needed any more reasons, the magical pregnancy hair started falling off and later on turned into abstract art, growing funny little “pregnancy horns”. Again, if you know, you know!

As time passed, the CEO of our house demanded a performance upgrade as pram walks and visits to the malls and park were rather unimpressive. After much research, we obliged and joined these groups:

-Baby massage

-Stay and Play

-Rhyme time

-Mini Mozart

-Baby sensory

-Everyman cinema/Selfridges cinema baby club

-Baby Yoga

-Little swimmers

Many of the above activities were free at the local baby centre and Church. The paid ones were well worth their weight in gold. The groups became my sanctum sanctorum, where I often didn’t even know the names of other parents, yet we showed up week after week in solidarity with each other, offering comfort and solace in moments of weakness.

And no, these are NOT over-ambitious parents showing off things they do for their babies. These are just parents desperate to get out of the house and have adult conversations with someone other than their partners during the week!

And if you need proof, Tuesday mornings at the cinema are hilarious. On my first visit, I saw a long line of prams lined up inside the hall, where many mothers were snoring while breastfeeding (bless their tired hearts) but their little ones were latched on with their eyes glued to the big screens.

It’s ironic that as parents who don’t drive, our child’s pram cost us more than a second hand car! Passenger princes, literally! What we had not known at that time, was that we would be stuck in a cuddle prison as our baby only loved being held. We had also bought two spenny carriers but never felt confident using them. So visiting a “sling specialist” was the ultimate game changer! After a long fitting appointment with safety tips and tricks, baby and I glided together smoothly all over London without the need to battle with our pram on train station staircases. High recommend going pram-free and hands-free!

Days turned into weeks, which turned into months. The fog eventually lifted. Every day when our daughter slept peacefully on our chest, our hearts felt fuller than our laundry basket.

Here I am now, more than a year later – knowing I would not do anything differently.

My husband taught me there were so many more ways to love – even in silence, even in the quiet nights, there were endless check-ins, snacks, coffees, water bottles, breakfast in beds and “I love you, you look beautiful”. Having not showered since the previous day and still wearing burp-stained pyjamas, I giggled.