guest post: the slipped halo of motherhood

In the months leading up to the birth of the first of my four children, I spent many a happy hour daydreaming about the first few days and weeks of motherhood. I saw myself, reclining in a saintly fashion, surrounded by flowers, a rosy glow upon my cheek, my figure svelte and streamlined and a smiling angelic infant feeding languidly from my breast. I would smile serenely and chat knowledgeably with my visitors about the issues of the day, handing out freshly baked cakes and numerous cups of tea and coffee. My house would be a haven of peace and tranquility, not a speck of dust in sight with the fridge laden with offerings from which I would every evening cook a wondrous and tasty meal. My halo would be gleaming brightly above my head.

The reality? Well, as you will probably know if you have ever had a baby, the reality was about as far from that as can be. The first few days sped by in a haze of hormonal hell, swelling breasts and very little sleep. When visitors appeared they did indeed proffer flowers and cards and they were occasionally offered a hasty cup of tea. Conversation did not centre on the latest political scandal or anything watched recently on TV, instead it concentrated on the colour of the latest nappy offering, or the soreness of my nipples or the fact that darling baby loved to sleep when there was a lot going on and stay awake all night and scream the place down. But the most important difference was that my halo did not end up where I expected it to be. It was not to be found gleaming above my head.

My daughter was a large baby and I was a little tense (petrified might be a more appropriate word actually) when I gave birth and despite much encouragement to relax and breathe and push, my labour was protracted and draining. Eventually my 9lb bouncing baby, with what seemed an unfeasibly large head, was delivered using forceps and large snips were made in my perineum to accommodate these metal instruments of extraction. Many many stitches were required to repair the damage.

Needless to say, sitting down, particularly on firm surfaces, was not something I was awfully keen to do. And yet, I was anaemic and so standing up was not an option either. I tried balancing precariously on the edges of things, but after a couple of instances of nearly dropping my daugher whilst trying to feed her, this was not a solution either. Then my midwife turned up with a halo. And how I loved that halo! It was a sort of rubber ring – made of white foam, and you could dump it down on any surface and sit in relative comfort because it ensured that your sore bits were suspended over air.

So my abiding memory of those first few weeks after the birth — is not sore breasts followed by success at breastfeeding, not even the stitches, or my lovely daughter, or the lack of sleep, or pretty baby clothes or any of the things you might expect – it was my devotion to the Halo. Wherever I went, Halo came too. I often nearly forgot the baby in my desperation to ensure halo was never left behind. Baby would be left out in the pram in the November chill whilst I tenderly and lovingly carried my halo into the house and ensured it was ready to greet me when I lowered myself onto the sofa. When visitors arrived I would proudly leap up to show them my new arrival — yes, you’ve guessed it, it was not my baby I wanted them to admire, but my halo, and I would wave it gaily in their faces and beg them to have a go.

I was a fickle creature though and only six weeks later, halo was lying forgotten in the cupboard whilst I threw myself down on any hard surface that would take my weight, the excruciating pain of those stitches a far distant memory. By then I had motherhood sussed and could breastfeed, change nappies, talk about poo and make cups of tea all at the same time.

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Reluctant Blogger is a mother of four, who rarely if ever talks about her children on her blog. It is the one place, other than the bathroom or the garden shed, where she can get away from them for a few minutes each day!!