EVERY WEDNESDAY FOR the last several months, since my daughter Tess was two weeks old, I’ve attended a local breastfeeding group.
Aside from the human contact and a hot cup of tea, the best thing to come from this weekly adventure is the accompanying WhatsApp group. Anything goes in this group and it’s been a total lifeline.
We’ve asked one another, ‘What can you bring on a plane with a baby?’, ‘What colour should a six month old’s poo be?’, ‘How early is too early for a glass of wine?’ and there’s even a hilarious thread about how many of us have accidentally flashed the postman when accepting online orders placed in the middle of the night.
This group is the tonic I need on a rough day, knowing others are feeling the same loneliness, frustration, delight, fear and love that I experience on a daily, if not hourly, basis.
Human connection
In a time when mothers are lonelier than ever before, online groups have become a lifeline. Many of us are living further from family, barely know our neighbours and are the first among our peers to become parents, so we no longer have help on hand whenever we need it.
They say it takes a village to raise a child. For me that village is a very active WhatsApp group!
The job of being a mum is different from any other. The commute is usually short, the start time varies wildly and there is no wake up latte and pain au chocolat on the way into the office. There’s nowhere to clock in and out.
My 11am tea break usually involves sticking a lukewarm cup of tea into the microwave for the third time. If I’m lucky, I also eat a forgotten slice of stone cold toast that popped out of the toaster at 7am. But the biggest difference in this new job called motherhood is that I don’t have any co-workers. Well except if you count my tiny boss, who can be relentless at the best of times.
Going from a bustling marketing job surrounded by brilliant women to being on my own with a baby has been a massive adjustment, to say the least. While I try to get used to this brand new routine, my main saving grace has been something I never expected.
Unexpected support
Since becoming a mother in February, I am now a proud member of roughly eight mammy WhatsApp groups. I love how each of the messages I have sent are encapsulated in time, ready for me to re-read whenever I want.
I often look back at the first pictures I sent to them of Tess from The Rotunda, all squashy and new. Or the messages of love and support I got from my extended family, who calmed me down when my husband had to leave me in the hospital post c-section. I still get emotional re-reading those words sent on my first night alone with a very hungry 10lb baby girl.
I can feel the stress in my words as I messaged my sisters-in-law, asking did any of their babies have to drink formula in the hospital to maintain the desired weight quota.
And instant advice in times of new-parent panic
When Tess had her first cold, I asked the group, ‘What level of temperature do we need to go to Temple Street?’. The reply, ‘She’s fine. Now put away that thermometer!’, was exactly what I needed to hear.
I also have a group with two mums who both have baby girls a couple of months ahead of Tess. They are constantly reassuring me that whatever tough stage we’re at will get better as they’ve just been through it. What I love most about this group is how weeks can go by with no messages and I can send ‘Boob biting alert! Does this get better?’ and a wave of sympathy, advice and reassurance comes flooding my way.
There’s also the groups with the amazing mammies I’ve come to know purely since having a baby. These ladies are my 2am texters, my early rising warriors and I would be utterly lost without them. There is no judgement here; we celebrate the teeth finally coming through or the first night of unbroken sleep (#notmybaby) or how we’re all considering stopping at one child now.
We may not have mutual friends, know each others’ histories or even have that much in common, but we all have babies and that is more than enough to make us great friends!
Of course, I message people individually, too. It has been a lifesaver to be able to send photos to my sister in South Africa or video call my aunt in London. But it’s the very special groups with other mammies that I now consider a vital part of my life since becoming a mother.
I may not get a latte on the way to the office anymore, but I can text and ask if anyone wants to join me for a buggy walk and a coffee. I can’t clock out, but I can check in and see how these women are feeling after another rough, sleepless night.
These amazing women are my new co-workers, and WhatsApp has become the village helping me raise my daughter.
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