Selfish selflessness

I went to my weekly Mums & Babes group on Thursday. Jack fell asleep about halfway through so I lounged with him in my arms on one of the beanbags provided and let the session and the conversation between the mums gathered wash over me.

I felt myself moved till a layer of tears blurred my vision as I watched each mother give her loving attention, soft touch, ready smile to her baby: each little body bundled in warm winter woollies and seeming to channel rays of light and warmth directly from heaven, interspersed with very human farts, possets and tears.

A little later, all 5 women in the room were rocking their babies who had all begun to cry or grizzle. As we stood and swayed while some slow song played on the facilitator's hifi, I felt a soft wondrous sadness dancing with us in the room, as I thought of how each of our bodies had housed then birthed the little creatures we held, and how our bodies, our breasts, our arms, our hips, were still in service to them.

Since I gave birth to Jack, I feel an indescribable worshipful feeling towards women and their bodies, and a grateful respect towards the partners, the men who stand strong beside them, sharing the night feeds, changing nappies, making tea, bringing home the bacon.

Surely there is hope for our world when on every street, in every city, in every country, there are men and women getting out of warm beds to rock crying babies; letting their breakfast go cold while they feed their children; ignoring aching arms to cradle their infants; dropping whatever they are doing to comfort a crying child... these small selfless daily acts building on each other, like a great big coral reef of love stretching across our globe.

All that being said (and maybe a lot of the above is thanks to the glass of wine I've had with dinner) I've promised myself not to become a 'martyr mother', the kind who never eats a warm meal because she's tending to others; who always takes the broken egg and never has the part of the chicken that she really wants; who doesn't take the time to nurture herself; who looks harried and sucked dry by the little lives she nurtures.

I don't believe that selflessness bordering dangerously on martyrdom does anyone a service. As I tell Jack while he lies on our bed and gurgles at the ceiling, and I take an extra ten precious minutes to choose a shirt that matches my jeans and makes me feel good: 'If mum's happy, then you're happy.' (Maybe if I tell him often enough, he'll believe it!)

The naked truth

Therre were lots of things I didn't know or expect about becoming a mother.

I didn't expect that my relationship with baby Jack would have similar ebb and flow as other relationships in my life. I thought that once the baby came out, I'd be overwhelmed with a wave of all-consuming love which would be constant until the kid became a teenager, at which time the love would be replaced with overwhelming irritation.

But my love for Jack grows every day in depth and nuance. Each day, we peel back another layer of intimacy. When he first arrived, I felt a lioness-like instinct to protect him from harm and keep him warm and safe and fed. But he was still a little stranger to me and I kept him at a distance in subtle ways.

When we brought him home, I always breastfed him sitting up, while I cradled him in my arms. This is the position I'd seen on movies. I read about the lying down position for breastfeeding, but this felt very risque. It was weeks before I felt brave enough to try. The first time I brought him into our bed and took my top off so that he could feed, I felt very shy and naughty at the same time. The sensuousness of feeling his rounded little belly pressed against mine; the cosy sound of his snuffling sucking muffled by the warm duvet nestled around us; the featherlight touch of his starfish hand splayed open on my breast; this all felt forbidden in a sweaty earth mother kind of way.

I realised that most of the time I was spending with Jack we were both fully clothed. It was weeks before I felt like I knew him well enough to take my clothes off! Then I got the courage to have a bath with him, and I'm sure I was blushing as I stripped off and climbed in the warm water where he lay waiting on his baby bath hammock. But the delighted smile he gave me melted away my self-consciousness and we had great fun together.

Domestic Still Life

The winter rain slapping on our loft window makes this room of dark wood, chocolate suede couch, leather trunks and old vinyl records feel even more cosy. On our coffee table, an impromptu still life gives a poignant snapshot of my life a year after my last blog entry: a half empty wine glass (or should that be half full?); my new iPhone; two soup plates that show the remnants of the steamy chicken broth I made for dinner; and Jack's dummy.

My two J men are asleep: Joel on the couch alongside me, and Jack in his cot in our bedroom next door. Nala, the only other girl in the house, is asleep at my feet, her black and white furry body stretched out in sleepy dog bliss. I have my pink laptop on my lap (funnily enough!) and a feeling of aliveness in my body as I write. I've been feeling a growing urge to create, to make, to express and share... my mind scurries around looking for an outlet and here it is, my old friend, my 'being moi' blog.

So I'm back to the old blog, with a whole lot of newness to share. In the last year, we have moved to Noordhoek, bought a house, made a baby (in the first week we'd moved in!) and become parents for the first time. I have now been a mother for 4 months!

What do I want to write about? This new life of mine, being a mother, sweet baby Jack, being moi (french for 'me' - and that's not because I'm trying to be pretentious, like those fancy restaurants that call sauce 'jus' and snails 'escargots' but because my parents were both French and it's part of moi) and my adventures, insights and cappuccinos along the way.