03/10/2023
I love everything about this post. The acknowledgement of motherhood, the recognition of the value of knowledgable mother-to-mother support and the beautiful image of a breastfeeding dyad with great positioning and attachment. I’m sad that posts like this are rare now.
When you were four days old we were readmitted into hospital as you had jaundice. They put a sign on your cot saying 'Baby McMillan' even though you were to take your Dad's name, Jones. I loved it. That little acknowledgement that you were a McMillan first. I stashed the sign in your baby bag on the way home.
In the evening, the staff swapped shifts and the night nurse took over. I could hear them having a brief disagreement behind my curtain about the frequency I was being asked to pump and feed. The night nurse said politely but firmly "This is not sustainable for the mum. She will be shattered. I'm going to change it to just feeding responsively or every 2 hours."
I think I dreamed her into existence. She was a softly spoken lady in her 60s from Inverness. She exuded calm. She told me tales about her grown-up children as she taught me how to ease my burning mastitis. She sat there kneading my rock-hard b***s as I cried tears of relief.
She appeared to float as she sauntered around us quietly performing her magic in the dark. She told me about side-lying feeding. Something I never kept up, but should have.
When Casey would wake, she would lift him and place him on my b**b for me then gently place him back in his cot, insisting that I try and stay as sleepy as I could. She would change his nappy. Everything.
And I soon drifted off to sleep, to the sound of her friendly chatter to the other, equally dazed new mums. It reminded me of that comforting faraway murmur of the telly as we slept upstairs as children.
And just like a mirage, she disappeared before I awoke for the day. She was the perfect combination of quiet authority and sensitive warmth. She knew what I needed, when I didn't.
In the morning I was brought rice krispies, a cup of tea and a buttered roll. One of those Scottish well-fired, almost burnt morning rolls. It was the tastiest thing ever.
This was the most rested I had felt since you arrived. And I didn't yet know it, but it was probably the most rested I was to feel for the next two and a half years.
Art: https://www.instagram.com/thalitadolillustration/
Words: Mother Truths
Taken from "Warm Like Summer: Little Stories of Early Motherhood"
Available to buy worldwide: https://linktr.ee/mother_truths