When I gave birth to my daughter it was the beginning of the most intense relationship of my life. In fact the beginning came before the messy labour and the emergency c-section, it began when I ‘decided’ to have a baby, I was a pretty dominant person and once my mind was set on something I would go flat out to achieve it, no difference with the whole baby thing as far as I was concerned, so as planned I got pregnant very quickly and had a relatively fuss free first pregnancy.
However in hindsight I do think my mind had started to tick differently, I felt ever so slightly suffocated by the knowledge that it was all down to me, that this was it now, the journey had begun and there was no turning back.
I felt ever so slightly cross that my husband could have a bottle of wine with dinner but I had to abstain, the same with goats cheese and pate.
I felt ever so slightly fed up that I ballooned at the end of the pregnancy and had in total put on 3 and a half stone and would be me that would have to lose that weight.
I felt ever so slightly annoyed that this baby inside me would kick, punch and move with absolutely no regard for my organs or my need for sleep.
And above all else I felt guilt that I even felt or thought these things, even fleetingly and would panic and beg for nothing to happen to the apple seed or kiwi or melon sized baby inside of me because I already knew that this thing was a part of me, even when separate I could feel the enormity of its presence.
I had ‘planned’ my labour – nothing too out there just a straight forward hospital birth with as a few a drugs as possible, unless I really needed them, I was fit and healthy and strong of mind and I really wanted to labour at home, I had visions of me calling out to my husband ‘its time’ before heading to the hospital, I had images of me sweat covered pushing with all my might and just about coping with the pain before the release and relief and joy at holding my new born in my arms. Nothing too magical, nothing beyond the realms of belief, just a normal labour with a healthy baby, a proud daddy and a tired but elated mommy.
Then 2 weeks before my due date I was told that the baby had lost the fluid around its head and that I needed to be induced immediately. I went into shock. I argued with the midwife and doctors but they gave me no choice, the baby was in danger, this needed to happen.
The day I went into be induced I still thought there was some way I could take back the control, I checked again whether this was actually essential and whether it wasn’t possible to just see if I went into labour naturally….a resounding no meant I was then, over the next 5 days, brought slowly and painfully to the point of giving birth. I was in a whole world of pain and had been pushing for much longer than I'd ever expected and my baby was now stuck in my pelvis.
I was now completely out of control, high on drugs I signed on the dotted line that basically said get the baby out however you can and do your best to help us both live.
I was lucky enough to be awake for the C-section that eventually came and was shown my tiny daughter before she was whipped off for checks and the six layers of my abdomen were put back together and sealed shut.
After the first days and weeks of euphoria a deep and niggling feeling began its journey from the depths of my mind – why had this happened? I am sure it could have been avoided? What could I have done differently? And the most damaging and rarely voiced of all ‘I failed’.
This for me was the start of my slippery slope, I felt that for the first time in my life not only had ALL control been taken from me but that I had failed miserably at something I felt certain I was able to do.
Looking back I cant help but think that these feelings and thoughts I was having has worked in some way to shape the relationship with my daughter. Did I unconsciously try that extra bit harder to control her feeding? Did I push her that bit harder to be the perfect baby rather than accepting her for the baby she was? Did I strive to succeed above and beyond what was necessary because I had ‘failed’ at the first hurdle?
Fortunately (or unfortunately as it felt at the time) my daughter had other ideas, she is fierce and ferocious in defending her own choices in life, from the moment she refused to leave my breast and take to the bottle to this day when she steadfastly refuses to give up on her wants and needs. The anger, the tears the overwhelming unfairness of it all I see in her is a reflection of me, even if I don’t shout and scream at the level she does, I can understand that she is a reflection of me, that when I see things in her behaviours that seem so alien to me and make me blush or feel ashamed through I can now see that this is in some way how I treat myself, not others as I am an a mature and emotionally intelligent adult, but inside I am perhaps only as emotionally intelligent as an 8 year old, torn between want and need and good and bad, between loving life and hating all the injustices I have to face.
Through mindfulness I am beginning to see that its all okay, that not everything can be controlled and that feeling all the emotions I am able to feel is an absolute joy – even if it doesn’t always feel like it.