“I am sure you felt so much love as soon as you saw the baby! That’s how it is” my friend said after she congratulated me profusely. I didn’t feel so much love right away and I wasn’t going to admit it. I didn’t want to be judged. My baby came a few weeks early at 37 weeks and although I was told babies come on their own terms, I thought my little tenant would adhere to his landlord’s rules. I scheduled my leave to start on my due date even though I was advised to start my leave prior to my due date. If you live in America, you’d know that new parents especially mothers are not given sufficient time to bond with their newborn compared to their Canadian and British counterparts. I wasn’t going to start my leave until I really needed to. I was already overwhelmed with training a new team member and time was not on my side.
I spoke to my friend in Ghana one Friday evening while I was working a little late. “Dela, you are still working at this time? Aren’t you pregnant? In Ghana, pregnant women have flexible hours”. America could never! I felt the need to work twice as hard so that my lack of productivity will not be attributed to my pregnancy. My department was male dominated and I didn’t want to be seen as a slacker just because I was growing life inside me. I later learned that, that was in fact a BIG deal. On one occasion, a male coworker told me, “You picked the perfect time to get pregnant” as I was scheduled to go for my leave around the start of audit season. I wanted to be a badass mom. Killing motherhood and also killing it in the workplace. Day one as a mother and I was already failing. Amazed by my son’s beauty, I still didn’t feel the love that was said to overwhelm me yet. I already sucked at this.
The day before my baby arrived, my husband and I had an amazing day together. Little did we know that would be our last time spending time alone, just us. After a very spicy dinner of grilled fish and fried yams, I took a nap on the couch. Later that evening, I began to feel sharp abdominal pain as I went in and out of sleep. The pain became unbearable. I couldn’t sit anymore and I felt the urge to push. I threw up and my water broke. We timed the contractions and although they seemed irregular we went to the hospital and risked being sent back if I wasn’t at least 4cm dilated. We left for the hospital around 5am with my shoddily packed hospital bag. I was so upset that I waited until the last minute to pack my bag after all the warnings my friend Kelechi gave me. Nothing in that bag made sense. Shortly after we arrived at the hospital, the nurse checked for dilation via a painful process where she shoved her fist into my vagina. A whole fist my dears. This part was crucial because if I wasn’t at least 4cm I would be sent home. “She’s 5cm dilated. She will most likely have the baby today” she said. My husband asked in confusion, “Wait, you said she’s 5cm?” The nurse replied, “Yes she is”. I wasn’t expecting to be a mum on that day and to be honest I don’t think I would have been prepared even on my due date. I was in too much pain to be shocked. I wanted the pain to stop. I asked for epidural. Thank God for science. That was the only thing I noted in my birth plan.
After asking for my name and date of birth a million times, the anesthetist runs me through the pros and cons of epidural and even asked me to sign a document providing consent. Best believe that everything she said went in one ear and flew out in the other like a mouse that escaped a trap. How can someone in so much pain process information and sign a document? Maybe they could have gone through this during one of my appointments instead? I sat through the lecture as I squeezed the nurse’s hand and begged her to help me. The only other thing I could think of beyond the pain was how much work and little direction I had left my team. I quickly learned that you could never be thoroughly prepared for this journey. It was as if life went…”and for my next trick…here’s your baby three weeks earlier.” After an hour of pushing, our baby arrived. I had spent a lot of time imagining what he would look like. Here he was, ten toes, ten fingers in our arms. I couldn’t believe it. I cried. I cried because I couldn’t believe my baby was here with us and also because I had left so much work behind and a partially trained coworker. I spent all my time working so hard and putting work first. I had to let that go, at least for now.
I wondered why I didn’t feel that overwhelming love my friend had mentioned. I felt ungrateful. “Do you know how many people would kill to be in your shoes?” my mum said. She did not understand. Just because I prayed for this and I am having a hard time adjusting (totally normal!) doesn’t mean I should sweep my emotions under the rug. Postpartum recovery didn’t make the transition easier and don’t get me started on breastfeeding. After all the babysitting I did, I convinced myself that I was up to the task. There is something very humbling about experience. No wonder they call it the best teacher and boy did I learn!
I didn’t resent my new life however I underestimated how intense everything would be as new parents. I beseech you to not marry a fool. You will lose your mind if you decide to start a family with such a man. My husband cooked meals and did house chores and I focused on breastfeeding and tending to the baby as he needed me the most. Although I had a supportive partner, the experience was still tough. The sleepless nights were unbearable. Waking up every two hours to breastfeed wasn't exactly what I envisioned. Like everything in life, this was just a phase. It was temporary and it will pass. I began to spend time finding joy in the things I used to love, specifically writing. That helped me cope. Some days I feel like I rocked it, on other days I feel like I have been hit by a bus. I’m still learning not to put pressure on myself and simply do my best. Daily showers and uninterrupted bathroom breaks seemed very impossible at first but with some adjustments they became possible again.
A quote by Jill Smokler sums up my experience thus far, “Being a parent is dirty and scary and beautiful and hard and miraculous and exhausting and thankless and joyful and frustrating all at once. It’s everything.”
You’re doing a great job mama!