MOTHERHOOD, UNEXPECTEDLY
5 things it's taught me that I didn't see coming

Words
OLIVIA JORDAN CORNELIUS

An editor once told me, ‘You are what you read'. Currently, that makes me a cartoon pig whose name sounds like a seasoning. I didn’t expect that. I’ve stacked my son’s bookshelf with what I thought we’d read. There’d be rainy evenings curled together reading about national parks or baby stoicism. Instead, his literary tastes go only where the pink pig takes him.

The same pig books on repeat every night – and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love the way my son dashes me when I make a different suggestion. How he giggles at the silly jokes, snoozes through the last book before I nestle him under his covers. These are not the pages I expected to share, but these moments together are a love story to me.

Motherhood has been full of unexpected lessons that are so fleeting, like a toddler who suddenly becomes a teenager who no longer wants to read pig books with his mum. Here are five lessons I’ve caught.

I'M A MOTHER – AND A WRITER
My essays have been published globally, yet I’d never dare say ‘I’m a writer’. On a scale of one to ten, my impostor syndrome is eleven. When I had my son, I couldn’t treat parenthood with the same reserve. I am a mother. Of that, I had to be certain. I’m by no means perfect at mothering, but neither is any writer perfect at writing. In the good times and countless challenges, I have to show up, own my role and not question my abilities. I need to get on with the business of mothering.

What has surprised me is how that confidence has echoed across other areas, including my work. As Clinical Psychologist Dr Lindsay McMillan tells me, it may be a natural part of parenthood, “The developmental transition into motherhood is a transformational process that brings vulnerability and the opportunity to redefine what matters most. Confidence grows when we attune and align more with our core values during this new phase of life.”

THERE'S ONE THING I WON'T CHANGE
I didn’t own a nappy bag or postpartum leggings with my first son, but found myself doubting my mummy minimalism in my second pregnancy. My internet algorithm sells a happier, more productive motherhood if I buy just the right breastfeeding dress (and this and that). I asked author and mother-of-two Katherine Ormerod for her thoughts on postpartum dressing. “It’s so tough to reconnect to yourself after pregnancy and birth, and dressing like a totally different kind of woman does not help”, she reflects.

Motherhood is full of anxieties, and it’s tempting to hope the right postpartum uniform will make everything fall into place. However, even the ‘best’ nappy bag isn’t foolproof (and I’ve found a wet bag in my favourite tote works well). It runs deeper than that. Motherhood has changed almost everything in my life, for that I’m eternally grateful, but dressing in the things I love – an oversized shirt, ballet flats – is something I do just for me. “It’s not superficial. It’s not selfish. It’s simply being kind to yourself,” Katherine adds.

YOUR VILLAGE CAN BE A HAMLET
The proverb says ‘It takes a village to raise a child'. My village resembles more of a hamlet. I live in New Zealand, my family 11,000 miles away in the UK. My partner and I have managed much of parenthood alone – and we’re not alone. “The postnatal weeks are hard, not because of the baby’s natural human need to have constant contact, but because we’re trying to do the work of the village as a twosome or alone”, observes former Vogue editor turned doula, Lauren Milligan.

It’s possible to raise a happy, bright child without a village but it can be at the cost of a mother’s wellbeing. My son was breastfed when I didn’t have time to eat, and napped when I was seriously sleep deprived. With my second pregnancy, I’m enlisting the support of a postpartum doula. Lauren explains a doula, “cares for the parents – cooking, cleaning and looking after older siblings – to ensure they have time to recover from pregnancy and birth and get to know their new baby". I’ve learnt you can do it all, but that doesn’t mean you should.

FRIENDSHIPS HAVE THEIR SEASON
Alice’s mum was my go-to person at our children’s shared swimming lesson – she’s funny and packed banana pancakes for us to share in the changing room. We got on so well, I suggested coffee outside of swimming. Without our children and on dry land, I found we had different views, likes, and zero friend chemistry. I left our friend-date baffled, wondering what went wrong.

Later that week, we were back in the pool – she made a joke about swim nappies, I spoke about how hard I was finding weaning. We connected on motherhood in ways I haven’t with some of my closest friends with children. Now we have an unspoken understanding that ours is a friendship that orbits around motherhood. I’ve accepted some friendships are only for this season of my life, needn’t be more, and there is still value in that.

YOU CAN'T ALWAYS SEE IT
I am a mother of one, pregnant with another and hold a place for the two babies I miscarried. The concept of microchimerism shows cells from the fetus and mother cross and remain even if the pregnancy doesn't progress. It’s comforting to think my lost babies may always have a home in me. It’s also opened my mind to how motherhood touches in ways we can’t always see. Like my sister, who doesn’t have children but loves my son devoutly, or friends who are trying for babies and are so in tune with their dreams of parenthood. Motherhood is a magic that transcends mother and baby.