These stories have been written by the same me.
The same me with different children.
The same me on different days.
The same me at different times of the day.
The same me with different baby classes.
The same me with different Mums in the same baby classes.
The same me with different leaders of the same baby classes.
You see, I have loved and hated baby classes. And my babies have loved and hated baby classes. And this hasn’t made me a better or a worse mother. Just as it hasn’t made them good or bad babies.
Do your own thing
So here’s what I’d recommend – do your thing. If you want to, then try some out. If you don’t want to, then don’t. If you try one and it feels like a slog, don’t go back. Everyone will have their opinions on where to spend their time and what they enjoy, you will begin to develop your own. All your baby really needs is you. Baby classes can be wonderful but please do not think that your little one is missing out or falling behind developmentally if you don’t do them. You do your thing.
I’m heading to baby massage. My baby is 6 weeks old and I haven’t slept for 5 and a half of those weeks. My body aches and my head feels a bit like cotton wool but I drag my clothes off the floor and attempt to brush my teeth with her under my right arm. The class starts at 10.30am, which somehow feels too early nowadays.
We are going to be late. My t-shirt feels damp against my back as I pull up in the car park. She has fallen asleep so I sway precariously towards the door, carrying the heaviest car seat in the world, and into a small room with tiny plastic chairs and a lady with a voice that says, “I have been doing this job a while”.
I am so very conscious that I meanwhile, have not been doing this job a while, as she passive aggressively comments on my transport choice,
“Massage is great for stretching out the spines of babies who spend too long in car seats”.
I wish I hadn’t come.
There are four of us now knelt on gym mats on the floor. The other babies are older and brighter, wriggling happily. Mine is asleep. She rarely seems to sleep so what I want to right now is curl up in a ball and go to sleep too but instead, I wake her up.
Understandably, I suppose, the sudden undressing to be slathered in olive oil does not bring her pleasure. But I persist, because this is what I am supposed to do. The lady at the front says so. And the Health Visitor. And the others on my new WhatsApp group. So I smooth and stroke, sing 'Twinkle, Twinkle' and pull out smiles from the pit of my stomach as she cries and flaps her arms in disgust. I try feeding her again but she drinks for just a minute before crying again.
The lady in charge asks me if she has wind. I tell her that, no, she is just tired. Actually, I have no idea but I feel like they are expecting me to know, so I pretend that I do. I glance at the watch on my wrist. If I can just do this final leg massage it will mean that I am doing ok. She will be ok. I can tell all the others that I came and it was ok. Everything will be ok. It is the longest leg massage ever conducted.
I feel like I have ruined the class for the other Mums, but they don’t seem to notice, they are too busy chatting and comparing baby carriers.
I bundle her up and return to the car, where it’s my turn to cry all the way home.
I am heading to baby massage. My baby is 6 weeks old and I haven’t slept for 5 and a half of those weeks. My body aches and my head feels a bit like cotton wool but I am desperate for some fresh air and to hear some different voices. The class starts at 10.30am, which gives us a reason to leave the house. I like the sense of purpose. My t-shirt is damp and crumpled but I feel a bit more like myself for putting it on.
We are going to be late but at least we are out. She has fallen asleep so I sway precariously across the car park carrying the heaviest car seat in the world and into a small room with tiny plastic chairs and a lady with a voice that says,
“I have been doing this job a while”.
I feel relieved to be around someone who knows what they are doing. When the lady running the class mentions that, “massage is great for stretching out the spines of babies who spend too long in car seats.”
I am already pleased that I came. I didn’t realise that too long in car seats was even a thing. I’m not worried, I think she means hours and hours in car seats, but every day I learn this new stuff.
There are four of us now knelt on gym mats on the floor.
The other babies are older and brighter, wriggling happily. I enjoy seeing what the next few months will bring, I can’t quite believe it will happen so quickly.
Mine is asleep. She rarely seems to sleep so I decide to leave her be.
I join in the songs and watch the actions so that I can do them when we get home later. I feel that tiny bit more confident now I’ve seen them done in person, I’m excited to give them a go when she is in the right mood, I’m excited to show my partner. I chat to the others, find out where they live and what other classes they are doing. She doesn’t wake up but that’s okay, she is only six weeks old, she is meant to sleep. I could do with being asleep now too but I feel a part of a something here, I feel a bit less in my own head.
I glance at the watch on my wrist. I have made it out the house. I have filled my morning with something other than TV. I have spoken to some other adults. I will come back and do it all again next week. I have something to do on a Tuesday for the next month and that feels like a strange relief. Everything is okay. I take away a Facebook link to a baby carrier lending service which one of the others says is worth a look. I might try it tomorrow.
I bundle her up and return to the car, feeling more like a human being than I have in weeks.