The gun in my handbag

There is a strange conspiracy of silence among mothers. Entering motherhood is the most intense, all-consuming experience of your life and you’d think all mothers would be wanting to talk about that.. just a little. But I often struck a wall of silence disguised with cheerful veneer. In the first six months whenever someone told me how much I was loving motherhood I gave them a pained smile.

– Yes its really wonderful, I love it. But its pretty hard, yeah its actually very hard.

People responded in one of two ways. They either looked uncomfortable -“ohmygod she must have post natal depression” or they scoffed at my statement – “its the most beautiful time of a woman’s life” etc etc. One day I decided that it was time to stop telling the truth to strangers, I had to learn to perfect the cheerful veneer.

But you expect more of mothers. After the first few weeks of Lauca’s life I joined a breastfeeding mothers’ group. It was a good decision in many ways. I was completely frozen with fear about leaving the house with my baby. So overwhelming were the logistics of packing for a baby and the unpredictability of a baby’s behaviour that I actually wanted to be a shut-in. She’d just been fed but who knew if she’d erupt in hungry fury ten minutes into a grocery shopping trip and then what? She poos her nappy and it leaks through her clothes and I’m in a coffee shop, what do I do? These questions were just about beyond me.

My mother and mother-in-law implored me to confront these fears. So I spent a fortnight planning my first outing. The breastfeeding group met at a hall within walking distance of my house. Perfect, no horrific car trips with screaming babies. Everyone had to bring a plate which just about intimidated me enough not to come but as it turned out I passed a bakery right on the way. Most mothers brought home-made goodies but my bakery-bought mini-muffins did fine.

The breastfeeders group was a sanctuary. None of the mothers were annoyed if my baby cried the whole time and no-one was offended if I breastfed her brazenly, or for that matter if I had trouble attaching her, as happened in those early days and I had to fiddle around for a few minutes with breast exposed. Were they zealots? Well, yes a little. Being political and providing a support service are difficult objectives to fulfill simultaneously. (As a feminist I think the abortion movement also experiences this conflict but I digress). I saw one enthusiastic breastfeeder mortified to be told that at three months of age her baby was in fact being weaned because she had introduced one bottlefeed in her 24 hour schedule of breastfeeds. Technically correct but a little devastating for the mother involved.

The group was well resourced and well organised but it was run by a bunch of Pollyannas and Susie Homemakers. I don’t want to be too down on Do-Gooders, after all Do-Gooders do good, but rather than talk about anything too heavy in our group the discussions centred around empty subjects like your favourite family recipe or even on one occasion – naming an important object in your handbag. Round the circle we went, each stating an item. Occasionally a mother revealed the tiniest glimpse into her life outside parenting and rather than saying nappy wipes she’d nominate something like her lipstick. I thought about saying that I had a gun in my handbag just to break this stupor. I never wanted to swear so much in my life.

– Everybody STOP! Let’s not talk about what’s in the fucking handbag, let’s talk about what’s inside our fucking heads?!

But I didn’t.

I don’t know what I nominated, it was too innocuous to remember. And maybe its just as well because two other really special things happened instead. For the first time ever my baby fell asleep in my arms. I wasn’t breastfeeding her, I wasn’t rocking her, I wasn’t jiggling her, I wasn’t patting her, I wasn’t pacing the floors and, I wasn’t shussing her to remind her of the gentle sounds of the womb. I wasn’t even paying attention to her. I was standing there talking to another mother and so relaxed were my baby and I (for the first time in weeks) that she simply fell asleep in my arms.

The mother and I discovered that our babies were born within days of each other and that we lived close enough to one another to meet for an afternoon walk. This was enough to inspire a Mummy Date. Over time I found her to be one of the loveliest women I’ve met and she became one of my closest mother friends. It helped that one day she confessed to me – had she not met me that day at the meeting she would have stopped going to the mothers’ group because she couldn’t get a real connection with any of them. And oh my, someone else who wants to talk about the real things!