It’s been a minute since I’ve written something on here. But somehow sometimes I get this craving to write and this is where I turn to. This blog has always been a place to share whatever strange or overwhelming thoughts have occupied my mind, and while my posts are always very inconsistent, it’s comforting to know that I can always come back here.
Pfew, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything longer than a shopping list or an instagram caption and my brain is foggy. So here goes, the answer to ‘How have you been?’ and ‘How are you?’, unedited and undrafted.
When we planned to have a baby, we’d never thought we’d have to face a global pandemic at the same time. But fate decided otherwise. We found out I was pregnant in January last year and not long after, in March, Belgium went into full lockdown. I’d barely told anyone in person (a few colleagues, my parents, brother and in-laws, my best friends) and we had to announce the existence of our baby girl to lots of other family members and friends in those first awkward Zoom calls. And while we didn’t have anything to complain about (we had a small terrace and garden to roam free in during lunch breaks, we were healthy as well as our family and friends and we found plenty of stuff to enjoy doing, we even had the chance to enjoy a short holiday in Austria!), by the end of summer, I couldn’t help but feel like so many moments were ‘taken’ from us. Those final worry-free moments just the two of us, late night barbecues with friends, people touching my growing belly, hugging and mask-free smiles when announcing we were expecting. Moments we will never experience for the first time ever again, and will never be able to relive with the people we love. That stung. And it still does sometimes. And while I recognise that those are legit feelings, I can’t help but feel guilty for those feelings too, because they seem invalid compared to others’ who’ve had it way harder during this pandemic.
But then there she was. On October 16th, after what felt like a heroic accomplishment on my part (aka labour), our daughter Ada had arrived into the world and into our lives. Much to our surprise those first few days in the hospital were quiet and peaceful. Just the three of us, getting used to one another. The rustling of the autumn trees audible through the windows in our hospital room. Time going slow. Nothing seemed changed and at the same time everything did. We went home. I experienced some serious baby blues and I can truly say I’ve not cried as much in my life since her arrival. But, and with it the biggest but of all, I’ve also never felt more proud, happy and in love.
I’ve recently read this quote that says not only a baby is born, but with the arrival of the baby, a new you is born too, as a mum. And nothing rings more true. Just like a baby, I have to learn everything, with an amazing partner in crime, thank god, but it takes time and practice. And while I don’t sweat the practical stuff (diapers, bottles, cleaning up messes, giving baths), I didn’t know how hard the other stuff would be: baby sleep and naps are a mystery to me (and an obsession, I’ve read so much about it I think I could be sleep coach by now) and there is nothing more unnerving than a – correction: your- crying baby that can’t tell you what’s wrong. Hardest part of all: repositioning myself within this newfound identity as a new mum. It’s hard to let go of the old me, and it’s hard to let go of the new me (mum-me) sometimes too. Finding balance.
What a different year, what a different life. But then this tiny human smiles and shrieks with laughter and I forget everything. My mind goes blank and an overwhelming feeling of pride and joy surfaces. And we do it all over again the next day. And again, again, again…
Belgenius 