Exploring the complexities of motherhood through Beth’s emotional journey and daily challenges.
A shriek disrupts the stillness of the night, dragging me from the depths of sleep. At first, I’m unsure of its source—a fire alarm, perhaps, or a car backfiring? But as I wrestle with the haze of slumber, the sound transforms into a familiar echo, my own voice rising in panic. “Where is she? Where is she?” I frantically search the sheets, the realization hitting me hard: I must have dozed off. “She was right here, in my arms! Did I roll over? Did I—oh, God, did I—” The name freezes me in place, sending a shiver down my spine. My hands grasp the twisted linen beneath me as I hear another sound join my own—a low, persistent wail. “She’s in the cot,” a voice hisses urgently. “She was asleep… until now.”
“She’s… here?” My words are thick with sleep, struggling to comprehend the situation. “It must have been a dream.” The voice, now softer, reassures me. The smell of her, that unmistakable scent, grounds me. Etta is safe, nestled in her cot. As her cries grow louder, instinctively, I pull her close, feeling the tension of the night dissipate as she begins to suckle. The shadowy figure beside us watches for a moment before retreating, murmuring about a meeting that awaits. “You know it’s you she really wants…” Adam’s voice, still drowsy, fades into the background as I cradle Etta until she settles. When I finally attempt to reclaim the night for myself, sleep eludes me. A surge of adrenaline disrupts my thoughts, dragging forth past fears that whisper of danger and insecurity.
Daylight breaks, spilling into our cramped attic room. The air feels stifling, heavy with humidity, and the dull ache of dehydration throbs at my temples as I blink awake. Adam appears at the door, holding a steaming mug of tea. “I thought you’d like a lie-in,” he says, a teasing lilt in his voice. He’s dressed for work, yet a few droplets of water from his damp hair land on me as he leans down to kiss my forehead, the scent of mint shower gel enveloping us. I am acutely aware of my disheveled appearance, the remnants of sleep still clinging to me. Yet, I remind myself of the journey that brought me here, the struggles with fertility that seem like a lifetime ago.
While I love Etta with every fiber of my being, the reality of motherhood weighs heavily on me. I reach for the mug, my hand trembling slightly as I grasp it. Am I the only one who feels overwhelmed? The responsibility of nurturing another life, coupled with the gnawing anxiety of whether I am doing it right, often leaves me questioning my abilities. If only I had someone to confide in—someone who understands the nuances of this experience. I take a sip of tea, relishing the warmth, and watch Adam as he prepares for his day, his movements fluid and practiced. A pang of jealousy rises within me, envying the clarity and structure of his life compared to my own, which feels amorphous and undefined.
“I’ve got back-to-back meetings today,” he announces, breaking into my thoughts. “What have you got planned?” The question lingers in the air as I mentally sift through the blank canvas of my day. “Oh… the usual. Maybe we’ll go to Alexandra Park if it stays nice.” His expression shifts, and I can sense his annoyance. “We should have done that antenatal course like I suggested.” I look down at my empty mug, surprised at how quickly I’ve finished it. “You know I didn’t want to,” I reply, my voice steadying as I prepare to reiterate my reasons. “I didn’t want to sit through hours of birthing methods, listening to mothers fear-mongering. I wanted a natural birth—that’s what I wanted.”
