You’re doing a good job, has anyone ever said? It might be hard to hear that through the thoughts in your own head –
The ones about their feeding, sleeping, whether they’ve lost weight –

But take a moment to tell yourself: mum, you’re doing great.

Your thoughts and instincts matter, as does every bit of you
The care you give, the work you put in, the pain that you go through

The nappies changed, the minutes counted, the day’s activities mapped
How easy you find each day, often linked
to if they’ve napped.

‘Cos none of this is easy – get support,
download the apps
Let your partner help you, go to a baby group perhaps (Where someone else can tell you
if their baby does that too!)
But every baby is different, so mum – you do you.

When you’re tired and it’s three in the morning, in the darkness that comes before dawn
It’s hard to control all the worries that
arrived when your baby was born

But whoever you have around you, and if they tell you this or not
You are doing a good job,
and your baby loves you a lot.

There’s going to come a day
when your baby isn’t a little,
milk-drinking baby anymore.

They’ll get a bit bigger,
and they’ll try mashed potato and carrots.
Little pots of smushed-up fish pie or apple.
They’ll pick up cereal from the floor and eat it,
and then they’ll throw food you’ve lovingly prepared
on the floor, because it’s fun to see it drop.

They’ll get bigger,
and they’ll decide they only like toast
if it’s cut into triangles.
And they’ll never eat broccoli,
no matter how much you make it sound like an aeroplane.

They’ll get even bigger,
and they’ll go to their friends’ birthday parties
and eat birthday cake
while running around and around in circles.

Bigger still,
and they’ll be so hungry from their busy day
that they’ll eat every mouthful of that cheesy pasta you’ve made for them –
your cheesy pasta, their favourite meal.

And still they keep growing.
They’ll start to make food for themselves.
They’ll cook scrambled eggs for you on Mother’s Day.
It won’t taste all that nice,
but you’ll eat every bit.

On their first date,
they’ll go for a really hot sauce on their chicken
and spend the rest of the meal
trying to smother a coughing fit
and downing water.

They’ll like some foods.
They’ll love some foods.
And they’ll never, never, never learn to like sprouts.

There’s going to come a day
when your baby will have a baby of their own.
And you’ll watch them go through those early,
confusing, challenging, beautiful first weeks of parenting.

This amazing big grown-up human that you made,
who eats pie and cranberry sauce,
and bran flakes and coffee and pudding.

And you’ll know –
however you made it through –
they turned out all right, didn’t they?

At soft play.
In my car in a car park.
On the sofa.
On a half-broken park bench, next to a pigeon that was missing a foot, and a businessman eating a sandwich.
In the loo in the supermarket.
At my sister’s wedding.
At my own wedding.
At my best friend’s hen do!
The department store is the best place, it’s so nice.
They have a chair and play gentle music.
On the train.
In my car.
In a posh restaurant – I asked if it was ok.
On the sofa.
In my car.
I answered the door to the postie once with him still latched on.
In a café surrounded by my antenatal mums.
On the sofa.
In A&E.
On the 219 to town.
Walking through the monkey enclosure at the zoo.
In front of my doctor.
In front of my boss.
In front of my father-in-law!
Under a tree in a rainstorm.
Under a bus shelter in a rainstorm.
Under my coat, in a rainstorm.
On the sofa.
In my car.
Curled up in bed, a pillow under my head, in a cozy moonlit silence.

Strength: feeding your baby how you want to, even if you’re the only person you know doing it that way.
Courage: asking stranger after stranger for boiling water, or breastfeeding in the strangest places not knowing how others may react.
Perseverance: night feed after night feed, tears from you and from them, a sore sore body, but somehow, through it all, you keep going.
Beauty: a magic body, maybe wobblier than it was, that has made life and can feed that life, always with love.

could you cook me a little food?
could you sit with me awhile?
could you drive me to a mum group
or meet me at the café
or hold the baby for a minute while I
find a cloth or try to get out my boob
without the whole room seeing?
could you get me a glass of water?
would you mind if we don’t do soft play?
it’s a little bit overwhelming
with all the bigger kids shouting
and we didn’t sleep last night
we didn’t sleep the night before either
so could you forgive me if I’m quiet?
can you forgive me if he cries a lot
or if I leave early or if I stay too long?
could you give me peace and quiet sometimes?
could you help me find others like me?
could you let me share the things that are hard
and be ready with a tissue for any tears
a friendly ear
a place to be listened to and a kind face
a soft cushion
because it’s hard
it can be hard

spiky rough soft warm bobbly wobbly
jiggly sore tender scratchy itchy twitchy
scalding steaming metallic hot
glass carpet linoleum tiles
plastic clean wipe away cloth
corduroy denim hessian velcro hemp
wet scaly moist slippy slidey sticky
burning toe-curling sharp teeth-on-edge
scratchy niggly restless surge
fullness leaking soggy warm
smooth soft tender close
furry fuzzy tickly kind
cotton silk rubber wool
muslin