Three months in and I have crossed my own Rubicon – I now (with confidence and pride) consider myself a mother.
Perhaps it’s because I’m now officially in a ‘routine’, or maybe it’s because I know I can do this whole mothering thing – whatever it is I really can’t say – but the shift has been monumental.
It’s hard to pin point the moment when I realised life had taken an upwards turn. The entire process seemed to happen organically. Slowly, slowly, Georgia changed from a newborn into a baby. The erratic crying stopped and the screaming began. But, unlike the incessant all encompassing crying, the screaming came with a purpose and, finally, I could control it. I could decipher her patterns; when she was hungry, when she was tired and when she had a dirty nappy. The in between times became longer and more involved.
Then she started smiling ALL. THE. TIME. There wasn’t much I had to do, either. Just smiling back and telling her how much she was loved was enough.
Then her smile became enough.
Even now with our disruptive night feeds (yes, they continue, but the blocks of sleep time have increased exponentially to three-five hours at a time) and my lack of sleep, the anxiousness I once felt about being a new mother is subsiding.
I trust myself. I trust my instincts.
Watching her grow makes my heart swell. She’s already started saying things – by things I mean incoherent mumbles. But amongst the gibberish she’s managed to scream “mama” making me burst into a flood of joyous tears before gloating to my husband.
Just yesterday she giggled for the first time. As we clapped and played on the floor she let out a tiny laugh. My heart stopped.
“Georgia? Georgia? Did you just giggle? Can you do it again for mummy?”
And she did. And I lost it.
It was joy. Pure joy. That’s what motherhood feels like.