November 2020
A New Mum in a New World
Alba was born on Saturday May 16th, after being nestled in my tummy for 42 weeks and 1 day. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the intricacies of pregnancy, it usually lasts 40 weeks. Alba, stubborn like her mother, decided that if she was going to be born into a pandemic, she would do it on her own terms and everyone else could sod off.
Despite 2 membrane sweeps, 3 pessaries, a doctor violently breaking my waters, and a day on oxytocin drips with 2 failed epidurals she remained fixed. Because we are in covid times, Alba and I went through all of this alone. Hasani, my husband, was only allowed to come 4 days into my ordeal at the hospital, once I was on the oxytocin drips and I was considered to be in “active labour”. However, labour never came and the day ended with me being wheeled into a surgical room for an emergency c-section around 7pm.
I wish I could tell you that when I saw Alba emerge above the sheet that I was filled with the joy and overwhelming love that you read about. However, if I am honest, my first thoughts were “Thank God she’s crying”, the doctors had warned us that sometimes c-section babies don’t make noise, then that thought was quickly followed by me marvelling at how long the umbilical cord was.
I’ve read that once the baby is born the rest of the surgery passes quickly, that was not my case. Because of my previous epidurals my spinal injection had a stronger effect than it should have had, and I was unable to move from my neck down and felt an immense pressure on my chest as though I couldn’t breathe. My anaesthetist, who I thought of every time we clapped for the health care workers thereinafter, comforted me telling me that I was indeed breathing and my oxygen levels were fine, fed me drips of water when I couldn’t talk because my throat was so dry and even held Alba on me for the skin to skin as I couldn’t myself. When I told them to give her to Hasani because I needed every inch of energy left in me to breathe, she said, “don’t worry, there’s no good way to have a baby” and that lifted all my guilt.
“love her, keep her close to you and keep her alive; that’s all babies need really.”
Once Alba was born Hasani and I were allowed to have a couple of hours alone with her in my room. I remember lying in the bed and looking at him hold her while I drifted in and out of sleep. Then the midwife came and told him due to covid restrictions he had to leave, and the rest of my recovery would be done alone with Alba. The midwife then swaddled Alba and gave me firm instructions to sleep and not to go on my phone which I must have adhered to because I was awoken a few hours later by Alba’s now familiar angry screams.
I had to ring for the midwife to get her for me as I couldn’t yet move and she handed me Alba saying “look now you have your lovely baby”, to which I replied “yes, and now that I have her I have no idea what to do…” she chuckled and answered “love her, keep her close to you and keep her alive; that’s all babies need really.” And as I cuddled Alba and looked down at her furrowed eyebrows and inquisitive eyes, our relationship through this pandemic began.
Despite Alba’s forced entry into this world of antibacterial gels, face masks and 2 metre distances, covid has had its advantages. My husband has been working from home since March, and my mum was locked out of Trinidad and staying with us for Alba’s first 4 months of life. That meant that I was one of the fortunate pandemic mothers to have help while I recovered from birth. I was able to hold my baby close, do lots of skin to skin “to bring the milk in” and wallow in Alba’s milky breath and warm body. For four glorious months my main concerns were if Alba was gaining enough weight, her length and weight percentile, and the colour and consistency of her poo. All extremely important topics for a new mum.
Alba, being true to herself, took a leisurely 4 weeks to regain her birth weight, according to google it’s supposed to take 2 weeks. I opted not to do formula “top ups” as the midwife said she was gaining weight, wetting her nappies, and had energy so it was really up to me whether I wanted to or not. Instead I did what all new mums do; cried, read too much on the internet, downloaded feeding apps and basically spoke of nothing else for a month driving both Hasani and mum crazy.
However, when I think back on those first 4 months, I have fond memories of doing weigh-ins on my kitchen scale, mum’s delicious muffins, and her almost incessant phone calls and chatter in the living room like a soothing white noise machine while I babymooned in the bedroom. But alas, like Mary Poppins, one day she decided that her work here was over and flew away through London’s mist and clouds returning to our beloved Caribbean isles.
It was back to Hasani and me, except it wasn’t just us anymore, there was now a third number in the equation that demanded the world revolve around her. The first couple of weeks were a blur; more tears, dirty laundry, sleepless nights, and us just trying to do what the midwife advised, lover her, keep her close and keep her alive. Sounds a bit dramatic typing it but it really felt that way some days. But as the autumnal fog began to descend over London it started to lift from our lives as we settled into our new normal.
And here we are, the three of us, in a colder, wetter, mistier London than it was in May when Alba was born. We have our own little routine that revolves around the lady of the moment. It’s far from perfect and breaks a lot of the “parenting rules” that google and the books I purchased dictate, but it keeps the daily grind churning and Alba is thriving so I guess you can say we’re “winning” as parents.
There are lonely walks with Alba when I wish my mummy group that I had signed up for hadn’t been cancelled because of covid so I would have a friend to chat with. There are days that feel they would never end or when I’ve already done tummy time, reading, playing and nap and can’t think of anything else to keep her entertained. There are 3am wake ups when Hasani has to comfort both a crying wife and a screaming baby, and evening temper tantrums when both Alba and I are exhausted and I have to breathe and remind myself that she is the baby and I’m the mother so I need to be the bigger one. But there is also a lot of laughter, hundreds of pictures and video calls as we marvel over our little angel and get to savour every new trick she learns.
As I type, we are officially into our second lockdown, and covid looms over us like the Grinch who stole Christmas on top of Mount Crumpit. However, I am determined to make Alba’s first Christmas a memorable one. There won’t be any trips home to Trinidad this year and any flurry of Christmas shopping, but in a strange twist, by robbing us of our gatherings and festivities covid will help us appreciate just what makes Christmas so special, being with the people we love.
In our home I am going to make my second attempt of rum cake, hopefully this time with better results, and we are actually using a real-life Christmas tree this year something which I am exceedinly excited about. I am sure there will be numerous zoom calls, pictures and videos to share and that this Christmas will definitely be one that we will all remember for years to come.
Someday soon we all will be together If the fates allow Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow So have yourself a merry little Christmas now