The birth of my daughter was an, obviously expected, but massive shock. I’ve written on Baby Centre about how I thought I knew how to parent until I was one. I couldn’t have said anything more accurate than that statement. I really struggled to adjust to motherhood and reality really didn’t meet expectation. I couldn’t soothe her, I didn’t know why she was crying and I hadn’t a clue what to do.
Both my husband and I fell head first into something that we, at that point, had no idea about. I’m a midwife, I knew how to feed and look after a baby, why couldn’t I do this? I fell hard and my mood suffered. The chronic sleep deprivation only made things worse.
One thing that made everything so much harder was the colic. Oh my god, the colic. If only she had cried for 3 hours a day, as per the definition, we were averaging 5-6 hours a day and it was soul destroying. We honestly tried everything, Infacol bloated her stomach, Colief was… OK, but such a faff! (How can you anticipate your 2 week old will need a feed in 30 minutes?! One thing was for sure, my daughter didn’t do waiting!). We ended up changing over to “Comfort” milk. I’m not entirely sure what it did. She still cried for 6 hours a day. At least it didn’t make things worse.
In the midst of the haze of new parenthood we ended up in hospital with Isabelle, IV antibiotics and blood cultures consumed our days (see my post on that here). But it did put everything into perspective. She was here and being at home with her crying was still preferable to being on a ward during the colic hours. The beds were hardly supportive to my stitches and the spine either.
We came to the end of our first month brow beaten and battle hardened. Stinging from the trauma of the birth and stay in a children’s ward, but we forged on.
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