Below is the piece I wrote for Spectrum, the Saturday arts section of the paper, on the subject of Motherhood for the Mother's Day weekend edition last weekend. Some of you had asked me to see it so here it is.
"When women are pregnant they become public property. Bumps are touched, size is commented on and gender guessing games take place. This I knew, but what I wasn't expecting when I was expecting was other mothers tending to focus only on the negative aspects of motherhood. At six months' pregnant, I had the following exchange with a colleague I barely know. `How are you feeling?' she asked. `Fantastic,' I replied. `I'm really enjoying it.' `You are now,' she countered. `But you wait. The birth's awful and the first six months are just a fog.'She wasn't alone in wanting to spread the dread. Others almost salivated as they told me to forget lie ins and nights out, not to expect my husband to help out and to look forward to when my baby was in daycare. Even darker were those who shared stories of late miscarriages, of horrific labours and death in child birth. I was staggered that most mothers only seemed to be on message if they were sharing the bad bits. It's hardly a secret that labour can be painful and long or that babies cry in the night and need their nappies changing, so why focus on those bits? Why were the stories of the first cuddle, smile and hiccup only shared by the fathers?As it happened I had a wonderful pregnancy, felt fantastic and had bags of energy. I had a fairly swift, though strenuous, labour of six hours, and fell instantly in love with my baby girl when she slid onto my tummy. I took to motherhood with an enthusiasm I hadn't felt before. Rather unfashionably I followed a book advocating feed and sleep routines. They resulted in our baby sleeping from 7pm to 7am from 9 weeks old. We took her to the pool at 4 days old, used a babysitter at 4 weeks and took her to Rome and London at 4 months. Maybe we were lucky, but to me these were landmarks and yet I felt I had to keep them to myself to fit in. I discovered it was uncool to be a mum having fun. At my first mothers' group, the midwife asked us to share our experiences of pregnancy, birth and the first few weeks. We delivered very different accounts. When I mentioned I was having some success getting my daughter into a routine, one bleary-eyed new mum, grabbed at my arm and said `how does this routine thing work?'. Before I could explain that as my husband and I didn't have family in the country we had followed a book, the midwife cut in and dismissed me with a curt `You don't need to bother with any of that'. She didn't want me to share the good bits either.Now don't get me wrong, I know many women have a hard time becoming mothers and don't want to hear about those who haven't. I have friends who loathed pregnancy, hated the way their bodies changed; those who had long, long labours that ended in casaereans, those who delivered disabled babies, those whose babies died. Some cried their way through months of painful breastfeeding, had babies who wouldn't sleep and others battled through undiagnosed post-natal depression. And I know there is a place for these stories. A friend told me she liked hearing the gloomy stories because it helped her to know she wasn't the only one struggling with motherhood.But like anything, isn't it all about balance? For every bad story shared, shouldn't there be an encouraging one, too? Until I had my daughter I hadn't been on a slide or swing for 26 years. It's a hoot. I love that my daughter plays with my old whoopee cushion and that its noise makes her point to her bottom and roll about laughing. I can be immature with her and it's just fantastic. My daughter is only 2 so I know I haven't even hit the really hard stuff yet like homework and puberty and boyfriends with car horns that play the theme from The Godfather. And, of course, our time together isn't all raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. There are tears and tantrums. She has them, too. It drives me crazy when she won't wear the clothes I've laid out, when she refuses the food I've cooked and when she fights me EVERY SINGLE TIME I put her in the car seat. But for all of these things she does 500 other things that I love. And she has such a lovely bottom. I love being a mother. I've never done anything so important or that fulfills me and tests me so much. I think she's amazing. My husband (who helps out all the time) and I still look at her and exchange a glance that only we understand. Life has never been the same since she arrived and that's the way we like it. So, sure, if you have to, tell your friend who is a new mum that she'll be up five times a night and to get used to the smell of regurgitated milk. But also tell her about the soft bit at the back of a baby's neck and how great it is when the only person in the world your child wants a hug from is you.Incidentally, that colleague that stopped me in my joyous tracks went on to have another baby, so it can't have been all bad, can it? I just think it's a shame that she didn't bother to share with me the thoughts and feelings that made her want to do it again. Me? I can't wait to have another one. "
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