My new book — The Complete Guide to Postpartum - a mother-focused companion for life after birth — is now available to preorder! Publishing in Australia, the US + the UK in early July.
If you want to read this but you’re pulled away by your baby, come back later. I’ll be here waiting when you’ve got a pocket of time to sit and read slowly.
In 2015 I wrote a letter titled: Brand New Mum in response to an email I’d received from one of my readers. I returned to it recently and there was a tiny spark of an idea; why don’t I write a series of letters to a new mother? I’m now an ‘established’ mother of four and a postpartum doula, and I’ve just spent the past few years researching and writing a book on postpartum. These letters will be personal and gently informative; how to practise simplicity in the depths of postpartum as you learn about the mother you’re becoming.
I remember Wednesdays being a bit challenging in early motherhood, when the week already felt long and there were still a few days to go. So, every Wednesday you can expect a letter from me. Sometimes it will be a little check-in note, other times it will be a longer, more informative piece and and for those I’ll also record audio so you can listen while you make a bottle or stir the dinner or pat a nappy-padded bottom.
For the next few weeks every letter will be free but I’ll eventually put them behind a paywall because I’m a mother/writer and I value my work. I encourage you to foster a similar mindset in regards to what you do and create. If the work you’re doing right now is mothering, know that it’s the most important, the most challenging and also the most socially undervalued.
Thank you for being here. Please forward this onto the new mothers in your life.
I’m writing this on the full moon, seventeen years after I was full with my first baby. My eyes were swollen from tears but no one had ever told me that there’s more than one way for your waters to break.
It would be another 12 days till I gave birth. If I close my eyes and sit in stillness, I can feel the heaviness and overwhelm of late pregnancy; a distinct liminal phase where I moved slowly from one room to the next, not quite sure what to do. I picked things up and put them down again, double-checked the hospital bag, washed the only clothes that still fit me, drank another cup of raspberry leaf tea and wished it was English breakfast.
In-between two worlds and in the waiting I breathed slowly, quelling the fear that sat just below.
The contractions started slowly, as they usually do. Sporadic but acute. And I lifted out of them, shoulders and heels raised, trying to escape. It would take me another 26 hours to learn that clawing out of a contraction wasn’t helpful; sinking into it was the only way.
I’ve grown, laboured and birthed four babies. I’ve stepped gingerly through four postpartums; softer and a little more aware with each one. And now that I’m out of early motherhood - no more nappies, prams or car seats - my head is clearer yet my body still wears the marks of growing; the lines and dimples that signify expansion and surrender.
Over the past few years I’ve reflected on and picked apart each postpartum experience, returning to those memories with a deeper factual awareness of exactly what I was experiencing and why. There is so much I now know, but also so much I had to figure out for myself.
Perhaps you feel the same as you wake in the early hours and think about the night that was and the day that’s slowly unfolding. A little one tucked into your body as you list all the things you want to get done. But then you remember that these days are fleeting and entirely unpredictable and the only way is surrendering to the flow which is sometimes smooth but always demanding. Your questions may remain unanswered for another day.
So let’s simplify it: what do you know about today? That your baby will feed and that you should feed yourself, too. Warm food, if you can, and water so you stay hydrated. Maybe you’ll put on a load of washing and hang it out to dry. Although, even if it’s sunny and there’s a gentle breeze, it may just be easier for you to put the clothes in the dryer. Sometimes it’s best to choose the easy option.
If you can though, step outside under the sky and take your baby with you; show them the trees and the grass and the birds. Talk as you take small steps on the footpath or in the garden and while you’re there, take a few deeper than normal breaths. Roll your shoulders back and down. This might take five minutes or you may linger there for a little longer, where the light and the air relieves you and delights your baby.
Feed your baby and feed yourself. Breathe some fresh air - slowly and deeply. Choose the easy option.
Till next time, take care x
Oh Jodie, what a beautiful idea and beautiful timing as my third daughter was born in the end of July. I’m s looking forward to reading these letters of yours while going through the upcoming months with my last baby ♥️
Thank you Jodi, this is such a beautiful piece. I read this as I approach the first birthday of my son on Saturday - I so vividly remember the waiting of late pregnancy just a year ago! You captured it so well here, it brought a tear to my eye. I really look forward to your weekly letters and feel so happy knowing there are brand new mums out there who can read your wisdom every week.