I ALWAYS WANTED to be a mother.
I was the little girl with the doll pram, coordinated outfits and well-stocked nappy bag (with real nappies, of course).
I took this pretend mothering role very seriously. I had a doll called Julie who was, shall we say, a little worse for wear. But I loved her. When her eye got stuck closed, probably with filth, my mam and I headed into the dolls’ hospital in town to have her looked after.
A few days later, I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, I saw Julie in a beautiful multi-coloured outfit and with a new perfectly functioning eye. My mam had collected my beloved dolly, decked her out in a ridiculous ensemble as only a granny can, and brought her home to me safely. Even when I was a make-believe mammy, my mam was the perfect make-believe grandmother.
As I pushed my doll pram, my mam was walking beside me, telling me to mind the step. When I bathed my grubby doll in a tiny pink plastic bath, she was holding the towel ready to help dry her.
Hero mum
She tandem breastfed my twin baby brother and sister. Anyone who has breastfed knows that deserves some sort of award! I wanted to do the same for my doll, so she took the time to show me what to do and I followed her instructions to a T.
It’s been eight years since she died but this year is different. My daughter Tess was born this February, and my mam wasn’t there to help me. Nothing could have prepared me for how intensely I would miss her.
Mothering motherless isn’t a chapter in the parenting books or a neatly packaged email that lands in your inbox. Yes, I missed her when I told my family I was pregnant. Yes, I missed her at my baby shower. I was expecting that. But there have been quiet moments which have caught my breath or just made me sit and reflect when I least expected it.
Like any grief, the pangs for her come in waves. Sometimes like a crashing tsunami and other times, like a gentle drip. Either way, I end up soggy with tears!
Missing her daily
I suffered a miscarriage before Tess, so when the blue line appeared on the test I was equal parts ecstatic and terrified. My mam had a miscarriage before she got pregnant with me. I wanted to ring her and ask, “Did you feel the same confusing mix of emotions?” I longed for her to put my mind at ease.
All the books say, “By week twelve, your nausea should have passed.” Lies! My mam had five children and battled hyperemesis gravidarum, or extreme morning sickness, throughout her pregnancies. When my nausea was still going strong at 19 weeks, I wanted her to assure me that I would feel better at some point. I wanted her to tell me her tricks. What did she do to get through this?
When my due date came and went, I wanted her to come and have tea with me and help the days pass faster. I wanted her to field the annoying “Any news?” texts while we watched terrible daytime TV. I wanted her to prop the cushions behind me, pat my head and say, “She’ll be here soon and it will all be worth it!”
When d-day finally came, I laboured for 36 hours and ended up having a C-section. Tess was born at 1:45am and when I called my dad from the recovery room to tell him his granddaughter was here safely, I’ve never been more aware he should have been handing the phone to my mam next. Instead, we simply said goodbye. It was ecstasy tinged with heartache.
Unexpected sadness
The early days and long nights with Tess were not easy. Recovering from a major surgery is tough enough, but every minute now revolved around my baby girl. Sleep, feed, burp, change repeat! People say breastfeeding gets easier after a couple of days, which, if you ask me, is false advertising. I’m seven months in and have just entered the biting stage. So I’m still waiting for it to get easier. I think my mam breastfed my older brother until he was one. Maybe that’s why I have persevered.
The newborn days feel like a distant memory now as I chase a very active seven-month-old. Anyone at home with kids knows that the final countdown for your partner to come home from work can feel like an eternity – I’ve been known to wait at the gate.
This is the time when I know my mam would have called in. She would have held Tess while I made the dinner and put on a wash. It’s the mundane, normal stuff I crave the most.
It goes without saying that I will think of my mam at every birthday party, Christmas celebration and at any big family event. I wish more than anything that I could see her love my little girl. It sounds mad, but I wish we could fight about why I’m co-sleeping and doing baby-led weaning. I don’t know if she would have approved of either!
I wish I could see her hold Tess and sneak her chocolate, while I roll my eyes. I wish she could tell me Tess didn’t finish her homework because they were too busy picking flowers in the garden or that they had a picnic on the floor for dinner.
I tell Tess about her every day. She is not a make-believe grandmother like she was to my dolls, even though sometimes it feels that way. She will always be a part of Tess’s life.
I worried about doing it all without her but I’ve realised that she taught me everything I need to know about motherhood by simply mothering me. I really hope she’s proud of the job I’m doing so far. If I’m half the mother she was to me, Tess will be okay.
To embed this post, copy the code below on your site
have your say