I’ve been reflecting a lot lately, about the baby stage. You see, I’m out of that stage now, gratefully and also, sadly. My eldest is almost 10 and my youngest, nearly 5. There’s no more nappies, potty seats, prams, cots, change tables, spoon feeding or high chairs. The kids all sleep through the night. They can get themselves ready for school or kindy and they’re all somewhat self-sufficient.
But I remember what it’s like to be in the thick of it.
If you’re still in this stage, I’m writing to hopefully help you to find the words to ask for what you need during this time. I don’t think I was able to articulate it at the time, as much as I tried. I guess, in hindsight, I never had a spare moment to gather my thoughts, without drifting off with utter exhaustion.
Here is an open letter to the Dads (read: providers) out there, on behalf of the Mums (read: nurturers).
Note: This isn’t the space for me to discuss different stereotypical caregiving roles and gender, and all of the many variations of family dynamics, so just leave that conversation for now and read this as it is.
Dear Dad-of-our-child,
I’ve been angry at you. Resentful. For so many things. I don’t want to be. I know how hard you work. I know how much you do, and give, in order to provide for our family. In order to give us this beautiful life. But, it’s so hard to feel gratitude for all that you are, and all that you do, when it’s hidden under this thick layer of resentment.
I’ve been so angry at you.
Angry because, when we had children, your life remained relatively unchanged. You were still you – just that you were also a Dad now. Sure, you adjusted to new routines and less freedom, but you were still you. You still had your job, your friends, your independence, and your identity. After those first precious weeks at home together, after our little bundle arrived, you still got up each morning and went to work for the day. You were still invited to social events and went along, even if only for a few hours, and came home again. You went to bed at night, tired from a long day, and you’d sleep until the morning and do it all again the next day. You were resolved in your role as a good father, as a provider, doing your part for our family.
My life changed too. Irrevocably. It became fragments of time between feeding schedules, nappies and intermittent sleep. My sense of self was shattered. When we had our first child, I began to realise that I was no longer ME anymore. I was Mum now. During the few conversations I had with other adults, they’d ask about how the baby was going, and chuckle casually about how babies never sleep, and then they would go on with their day, and I would go back to my relentless caregiving duties.
There was no conversation about me, other than in relation to our baby.
As the months and years went on and I navigated the different stages – tummy time, crawling, walking, toddling, etc. – I began to feel like a shell of myself. Like ‘I’ no longer existed, outside of my role as a mother.
The creative, vibrant, quirky, intelligent ME that I used to be, was now buried under endless to-do lists of mundane tasks and running around from here to there, with nothing to show for it. Except, of course, for a few beautiful and sweet moments of connection with baby throughout the day.
“What did you do today?”, you’d ask as you returned home from work. You seemed genuinely interested.
“Oh, you know, kept our child / children alive, fed, dressed, toileted, entertained. Nothing much”, I’d respond with more than a hint of sarcasm and bitterness.
When I became a mother, my life and my identity, as an individual, was stripped away.
After a few years, when our baby grew older and needed a little less from me, I went back to work, to study, to anything, just so I could grasp at some feeling, some semblance, of the person that I once was. It felt wonderful at first. It was lovely to socialise, to talk about interesting things, to switch on my brain, to get dressed up and leave the house!
However, as time passed, it became harder and harder to juggle. When the kids got sick, or when there were things on at the kindy, or when I had less time to get the parenting and home tasks done i.e. groceries, laundry, lunches and dinner, it put more pressure on you at times. It put more pressure on us. It was a struggle to add another thing to my plate that was already so full.
“What are you talking about!?”, people would retort, puzzled, “You only work part-time?”
These comments often came from those without young children. They couldn’t possibly understand.
“You can just study at night when the kids are asleep”, they would suggest. Like, I hadn’t already tried that countless times.
“Why don’t you just give it up if it’s too much? Your Hubby earns enough money”, would be the brilliant idea that others would come back with.
Unbeknownst to them, this was not ‘just a job’, or ‘just a course’, because at that moment, I was hanging on, grasping with white knuckled fists, to anything I could, in order to prove that I was not ‘just a Mum’. That ‘I’ – not mum, not wife, not housewife – still existed.
I’m not sure if you’ve felt like this in your role, as a father? Like you’ve lost your sense of self? Like it’s all too much? Please, let me know if you have. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so alone in this journey, or so separate from you. It feels like our lives are worlds apart at times.
Dad-of-our-child, I need you. I really need you.
Not just as the provider.
When you get home, especially after being away for some time, I need your nurturing.
I know that being the provider is a huge burden to bear. I can’t fathom the pressure that it puts on you to be responsible for our family’s livelihood. I also know that because of these responsibilities you are missing out on so many beautiful moments everyday, while you are out working. Out providing for us.
But it is really, fucking hard sometimes when you’re not around. And as strong and capable as I am, I need you.
So, when you get home from work, which is stressful, and demanding, and thankfully, pays the bills, I know that you were hoping for some downtime. It will come.
But first, I need your nurturing.
Your downtime will be when the baby sleeps, when the toddler is at kindy, when the kids are at school. I know it’s not like that when you’re out at work, but that’s the reality of it when you’re at home. You’re on family time.
The most helpful thing you can do when you get home from work is make us both a cup of tea or a cold drink, even a glass of cold water. It’s more about the gesture than the beverage. We can sit down together, and you can listen to how it’s been here at home. Listen to all of the mundane, stressful, day-to-day shit that you’ve been away for, without any judgement or defensiveness. Then, take care of me for just a little while, before I go back to caring for the children. When the kids start to get restless, you can take them out to the back yard and play together, or sit with them in the sand pit, or do whatever is needed to entertain them while I take a load off for a few moments. I might slump into the lounge chair and doze off with exhaustion, but you’ll be there and I’ll know that the kids are safe and I can recuperate and rest for a little while.
That is exactly what I need from you when I say that I need your nurturing. I need you to take care of me. To nurture me. Like a mother would her child. Like a beloved Nonna/Nana would. Just for the afternoon. Just for the morning. Just something. So, I can recharge my energy and keep going. It’s not a lot, but it makes a big difference.
When you spend all day, every day, day in, day out, looking after little ones, with little or no appreciation, you really need a bit of nurturing yourself.
I’m sorry that you weren’t here to see it all, to experience all of the little moments. Some were beautiful, and many were far from it. But, it was exhausting.
Please, take a look in the fridge. Put a plate of food together for the kids and us. Put away your to do list for one day, and be there for me.
I love you and appreciate all that you are, and all that you do for our family. There’s just one more thing that I need from you.
I need you to nurture me.
Love from,
Mums-at-home
On behalf of the mothers in the thick of it, especially in the early years, when the children are babies – Dads, we NEED you to nurture us!
We NEED you to take care of us, so that we can have the strength to keep taking care of our children.
The role of being a provider (financially) is stressful and burdening.
The role of being a provider on the home and family front, is also stressful and demanding.
Remember that you are a team.
Take care of one another.
And maybe, for those of us without our mothers, whether they’ve passed away, or our relationships with them are fractured, we might just need that kind of nurturing even more. To have someone to hold us and tell us that ‘this too shall pass’.
Someone to listen, without judgement, and acknowledge that this is a really hard stage of life and that it is ok to be struggling with it.
Please, bring us a cup of tea during the night while we’re up breastfeeding baby, or make a nourishing dinner every now and then. Please, check in on us and ask “how are you going with everything?” and then, when we tell you that “It’s really fucking hard!”, we need you to tell us that you’ll look after things for a while so that we can have a rest.
We really need you in this way!
It won’t always be like this, but while the children are so young and NEED so much from us, that is when we NEED you the most.
To the Mums and Dads out there, in the thick of it right now, I send my love and nurturing. Keep talking to your other half. Do not hold onto that resentment. Speak up about what you need. Let me know how you’re going out there?
Much love,
MumOf3WRs