life B.C. (Before Conrad)

Oh god I miss my old life. One of the health professionals who visited us confirmed that many people go through a phase of literally grieving for their non-parent self. I desperately mourn that me. She was fun. 

I just now put my teacup down on my flokati rug, and memories flooded back of that same rug on the floor of my old house, a little two-bedroom terrace all to myself. I was SO happy there. Independent, self-contained, at peace. My house was tidy where I wanted it to be, messy where I could live with it. It was full of plants. I look now at my boat bar, and the delicate glassware inside it, and wonder how I can protect it from the forthcoming years of food-smeared hands, crayons, and footballs kicked indoors. 

But the life I miss is before that house, a life of dancing, of drink and occasionally of drugs, of late nights, of a full diary, of pleasure, of costume parties, of sneaking into pools, of freedom. Most of all, of spontaneity. I miss that the most. 

Yes, my dear friends, it would be nice to go to the Pulp concert with you, in a month's time. That's about enough notice to plan who will look after Conrad for the evening, and to have a contingency plan if that person is sick or unavailable, and to make sure I have expressed enough milk to see him through the evening. But, my friends, what I can't do is pop down to the warehouse party in Marrickville "between feeds". I got that late-night text message, and snorted. "Between feeds??". My heart broke. Later B told me, in glorious detail, that it was "everything you ever wanted in a party. Amazing music, and everyone was there, people I hadn't seen for years." He went on to say that an old friend had come up to them and said "Caroline should be here, she always would come to raves!" I wanted to ask B to stop talking, STOP, I can't bear it, but I faked enthusiasm - "Sounds like a great night" - because I didn't want him to pity me.

The honest truth is: my old life WAS fun, but it was also a long time ago. I haven't been living that life for years, and my friends aren't really living it now. The reason that Marrickville party seemed so good was because it was so rare. But I just wish I could have my disco biscuit and eat it too.

speedy feeding

It used to take me an hour and a quarter to do a breastfeed. These days Conrad can drink a boob dry in eight minutes! 

motherhood indulging my senses

Who knew - motherhood is incredibly sensual! At times, blissfully so. I didn't know if this was a common experience, so I typed "Sensuality of motherhood" into Google, but came up with only a few hundred results, almost all of which referred in fact to the state of pregnancy, and not to a woman relating to her baby as a separate being. This makes me think Mr Freud has scared mothers into not revelling in the sensual side of our babies, lest we be tagged as perverts.

Yet, there is nothing so pure as that feeling of rubbing my face in Conrad's hair and drinking in baby smell, or of stroking the impossibly soft fat of his cheeks. There is an intimacy and pleasure in falling asleep with him tucked into the crook of my arm - I watch his sleeping expressions, listen to his breathing, and feel his exhalations into my face (they are very cool, for some reason, and do not smell at all!).

It's immensely physically satisfying to feed Conrad with my own breast, to feel the ache of milk  drawing down, and the intense pull of my nipple getting drawn into that hungry mouth. When I give him a bath I delight in the sight and feel of his little curled-up body, for he seems so tiny and new. Every time I feel his skin next to mine I am reminded of the day he was born, when his slippery little body was placed on mine, and suddenly he was real. Conrad is literally of my body, and my body is aware of it still.

three months of mamahood

Today marks three months of me being a mother, and only now is my daily existence moving from despair and panic into delight. My tiny newborn has grown and changed so much that I realise I must drink in each moment, for he will never be this age ever again. But I also must record some of the moments, because they pass so quickly that it will be hard to remember them. And so, this online diary, to capture the changes as they happen, both his changes and my own.

The entries will be short, when I have 10 minutes here and there, and possibly typed with one hand, for Conrad will be in the other. I shall have to not be precious about my writing, but just get down my observances, however they come. As I write this, I hear the familiar snorts of my baby waking up. I have about 30 seconds before he wails. And so it begins!