Instinct
Ellen Clayton
I have always known I wanted children . Throughout my childhood , adolescence and young adulthood I struggled to articulate any kind of ambitions for my life – I was fickle , unfocused , with no clear career path in mind . What I did know , in the marrow of my bones and the depths of my heart , is that I wanted a family of my own . Preferably one almost exactly like the one I was raised in : my childhood home was a safe , joyful cocoon full of laughter and hugs , with my mother at the helm . Who wouldn ’ t want to be just like her ? She was ( still is ) the embodiment of everything good and kind . If I could grow up to be a mum like her , I ’ d be proud . My eldest sister , a decade older than me , was an extra maternal presence for as long as I can remember . She did lots of babysitting and was always on hand to help , ready with extra cuddles and comfort . I was ( am ) surrounded by such love .
I was 25 when I had my first child . I had a difficult birth experience involving forceps ( a barbaric implement that ’ s barely changed in the last century ) and pain on a scale I ’ d never before encountered . But oh , there he was – my angelic son . His slippery body was placed on my chest and it happened : my heart burst open . I was irrevocably , instantly changed as I stared down at my baby . Here was the product of our love . I looked down in wonder - the heart that had beaten inside my womb was now safely pumping blood around his beautiful body . I had been gi ed a whole world .
Now , I was a mother with a baby . Before the fact , I believed I would find motherhood instinctual , and that I would be a good mother . A er all , I became an auntie at the age of 10 and I have always loved children . And yet , mothering is infinitely harder than any utopian fantasy I had envisaged . Hollie McNish published “ Nobody Told Me ” 3 months a er my first son was born and nothing has ever felt more truthful . I was not prepared for how monotonous the days can be , the relentlessness of parenting babies and young children . The endless wiping , load a er load of laundry , the inability to shower properly unless another adult is in the house . The person I was before quickly became buried underneath the 24 / 7 full time job of caring for a helpless , beautiful baby . My second child was born just 19 months a er my first and while our love grew exponentially and the joy of giving our eldest a brother was unparalleled , it also doubled the responsibilities and le even less time to catch a breath . Whole days would pass where it felt as though we were simply surviving , doing what was needed without really being able to enjoy any of it . “ Empty nesters ” will o en speak of cherishing those early years but it can be nearly impossible at times , and instead it feels as though you are drowning under the weight of expectation .