gummy

on first smiles

It’s wild how it creeps in, the anxiety. Like waking up with a scratchy throat, or a brown envelope from HMRC landing on the doormat; neither planned for but not a huge surprise. Two mornings ago my son and I watched the Wolf Moon set into the city’s blushing skyscrapers and the year felt ready and promising. Now he is back at nursery, my husband is back at the office, and the baby and I have our days to unfold together. I have longed for this quietude, to sit in bed typing with a snuffling newborn asleep on my chest, but it lets other things in besides.

This is our time to play with, our rhythm to beat out. I eat Christmas cake for breakfast. I give her a bath. She stares back at me with eyes the colour of the sky before dawn breaks. I try to balance the noise of this new motherhood (should she be waking so regularly at night? Should I be getting her on a bottle more often? Should I be playing with her more? Is she stimulated enough? Am I giving her enough? Am I enough?) with the similarly loud pressure of Enjoying The Baby. I sniff her head, note how her legs are unfolding with bittersweetness. The last of the newborn clothes sit on the side, I’m not sure what to do with them now they are too small.