I realise guilt is not a helpful emotion and I also know that any damage (if there is any) is not irreparable as my children are so young but when I think back to when my little boy was a baby I just feel such overwhelming sadness. He was born in 2020, so the lockdowns affected everything. As a result I ended up having a failed induction where I was alone on the ward for most of it followed by an emergency section. Probably due to exhaustion, after I had him I vomited and fainted. I came round a couple of hours later and DH was holding him and had given him his first feed (I really, really wanted to breastfeed and it took me a while to forgive DH for that.)
The early days with him were awful. Failed attempts to breastfeed, no sleep, probably nothing unique but I just remember sitting up in the lounge at 3am on a cold winter night crying. He had reflux quite badly and I think that was the cause of a lot of problems we had but the witching hours had to be seen to be believed and were quite panic inducing (I’m surprised 111 didn’t block me!) The nights were awful but the days were worse, these long endless days where going for a walk with the pram through a grey muddy park was the highlight of the day. DH working from home and just endless loud phone calls and DS didn’t nap well so no time to just breathe … it was horrible.
Things did slowly improve as they do, and things slowly opened up, but I had to go to work in September when he was just 8 months as I’d been offered a new job. It was full time too so DS was in full time nursery from that point. I only got a few weeks of baby classes and swimming and lovely things like that. And I know not everybody likes them but it was a really nice bonding time for us and I felt real sadness for a long time about that.
We moved house the following year and actually briefly went into rented before our ‘forever’ home (puke I know.) so he had two house moves then a nursery move when he was about 19 months. I requested and got part time work then so that reduced nursery days to 3 days a week but then found out I was pregnant again. The pregnancy sort of dominated the year especially as I lumbered into the third trimester and could barely walk.
I had DD in midsummer last year and the differences just make me want to cry.
DS was born on a cold, dark, wet winter night after pain and exhaustion and confusion and fear. DD was born on a bright afternoon in midsummer. It was an ELCS and it was beautiful. I know that’s such a trite term but I remember EVERYTHING - talking to the surgeon and the ODPs and DH telling me it was a girl and then her being put on me . It was just lovely. Breastfeeding still a pain but I was more pragmatic this time and was disappointed but decided to express milk for her instead and went down this route for the first six months so that feeling of regret and sadness wasn’t there. No reflux - she slept like a dream, she didn’t have wild witching hours, she pretty much slept constantly for the first six weeks or so.
And only now she’s 11 months am I going back to work and for three days and it struck me my children have had different lives. DD will live in one house and go to one nursery part time and has done so much with me and her brother - he has had two house moves, a nursery move, was in nursery full time from such a young age.
I know in the scheme of things it doesn’t matter but it matters to me.