“You’re doing really well, sweetheart. Come on.” It was a moment of perfect
intimacy – one that characterised our relationship. Jamie and I had been
together five years, and probably sickened friends with our obvious
happiness: the way we held hands in public; the way we listened to each
other, instead of bickering like other couples. It was a marriage – nine
months old exactly on this cold winter’s night – seemingly made in heaven.
Then the warm hand left my back. He was no longer at my side. I heard a baby
crying ... and that was it. That was the night we lost each other. I have
been in mourning for our marriage ever since.
The baby, a boy, was hefty and healthy. We called him Oscar. He seemed, and
still does, an utter miracle – he was conceived on honeymoon, after three
years of NHS doctors, acupuncturists and Harley Street gynaecologists.
“Spontaneous conception,” my pregnancy notes read; it was the last
spontaneous thing to happen to me.
I do now vaguely remember friends moaning about the mundane details of their
lot and me (apparently infertile) thinking, “Oh, for God’s sake, you’ve got
a gorgeous child and a husband. Just shut up about how tired you are/how
droopy your boobs are/how you spend all day scraping dried food off the
floor.” However, once I joined the club, what shocked me far more were the
other things – things that couldn’t, perhaps, be shared with friends without
the teller feeling shame, failure or fear.
Having a baby is supposed to bring you closer together as a couple, isn’t it?
From night one, in the labour ward, we began to unravel. I was given a
private room in the NHS hospital, and then my husband and I went our
separate ways. I gazed into the baby’s unfathomable black eyes and felt the
centre of my world shift. Jamie lay on his own at home, marvelling at what
had happened: a physical experience he would never be able to own; a little
boy he couldn’t, yet, nurture.
“I’LL DO IT” BECAME MY MANTRA
As soon as Jamie arrived the next morning, it began. “No, don’t hold him like
that. Now you’ve made him cry.” And: “ You haven’t
slept all night? What about me?” As the hours crept by, I began to feel so
unequal to the task that lay ahead (for the next two decades) that I pleaded
to be able to stay in the room for another night, and then another. Oscar
was our son – but Jamie was, in effect, out of the picture. Without
realising what I was doing, I began edging him out of the triangle.
Three weeks later, Jamie went back to work, and suddenly I was the only one
who knew how to change the nappy properly, where the muslins were kept, how
to do up the infernal poppers on Oscar’s sleep suits (24 poppers, each one
etched on my psyche). I was slightly freaked out by my new role as domestic
drudge – and yet I owned it absolutely.
“I’ll do it” became my mantra. The more I did it, the less Jamie offered. Or,
when he did try to get involved, I would be behind him, hissing like a
harpy, eyes blazing: “You let the door bang. You’ll wake him up!” or,
neutrally: “The nappy is on back to front. What happened?” Everything I said
was either an instruction or a criticism. I couldn’t remember what on earth
we used to talk about, let alone laugh about.
A few days into motherhood, I sent a semi-humorous e-mail to a childless
friend entitled: “Why didn’t we get a dog?” This pinged back and forth
between us for some weeks into Oscar’s life, filling me with increasing
guilt and hollow fear every time I saw the subject field. What had Jamie and
I done? I felt we had wrecked not only a perfectly good relationship, but a
perfect relationship. We now had this extraordinary, irrevocable little
creature whom we clung to and photographed obsessively – but no warmth or
empathy between us. Instead there was something like anger, even hatred. How
had it got to this so fast?
I NEVER EXPECTED TO FEEL SO LONELY
Moments come back to me from those first, bleak weeks: sitting on the sofa,
baby plugged to a raw breast, desperate for a cup of tea. Call Jamie. Call
louder. Thirst now raging. Start to feel claustrophobic and desperate. Shout
at top of voice for husband, who rushes into the room as if the sofa has
just caught fire. Meekly: “Could I have some tea?” Jamie, who never, ever
shouts, bellows at me until the veins in his neck pop up.
I never expected to feel so lonely when I was married with a baby. I had
friends who had dropped me because my new life seemed so whole compared with
theirs. Tears rolled down my cheeks as Oscar’s hand clutched at my breast,
his face puckered in concentration. Had he heard us? Did he understand that
something was dreadfully wrong?
Of course, we wouldn’t divorce, I told myself, but the marriage was clearly
over. If I articulated this extraordinary fact to myself often enough, it
made me feel better. That’s it, the worst acknowledged. Better that than
trying to ignore the sick, sneaking fear that we no longer loved each other.
We would stay together for the sake of Oscar. I would probably have an
affair in time; Jamie would keep paying the mortgage. We would become one of
those couples who sit silently in restaurants.
THE PHYSICAL ACT OF LOVE? IT DIDN’T HAPPEN
Having a baby made me suddenly understand, with acid-sharp clarity, why the
divorce rate is so high. I had always blamed poor staying power and
selfishness. Now I understood. Having children drives an enormous, invisible
wedge between the sexes.
What it does – unless you have a full-time nanny, cleaner and personal shopper
– is propel you backwards into the gender stereotypes of the 1950s. Jamie
and I went from absolute equality to living on different planets. He went to
work: he schmoozed important people, he ate out, he bought new suits. I
stayed at home: I cleaned, I washed, I cooked, I shopped, I washed again and
I thought about our Oxford degrees a lot. I was profoundly shocked to
discover that this was the deal; that there was no other way of continuing
the human race. I mean, I wanted to be a full-time mother, but I hadn’t
reckoned on falling out of love with my husband as a result.
Little chores that used to be acts of love (pairing his socks, preparing him a
nice supper) became venom-loaded. As for the physical act of love, it just
didn’t happen. Aside from the exhaustion, neither of us felt loving enough.
All the kissing was for chunky-thighed, gap-toothed Oscar.
I remember a friend telling me that she and her husband didn’t make love for a
year after having their first baby. I was incredulous at the time and
thought she was hinting that their marriage was on the rocks. But now, there
they are, robustly happy, having just had their third (another year of no
sex is looming, poor Andy). Another friend tells me that she loves her
husband, Mark, but hasn’t been able to “show him love” since she had their
two children. She feels too angry – and yet I believe she is also profoundly
happy as a mother. “I kept thinking about murdering him in the first three
months,” said another friend, of her other half. “I couldn’t stand his
presence in the house.” They went on to get married and have baby number two.
What happens to a relationship once a baby comes along? Do people just give up
on the past? Resign themselves to the present? Does the present get better?
THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM
When Oscar was six months old, an aunt came to stay for the weekend. “I want
you two to go out,” she said. “I’m going to baby-sit.” Go out? But I was
breast-feeding, Oscar was still waking up and screaming, it was a Saturday
night and we hadn’t booked anywhere, and ... I realised my greatest fear was
that we wouldn’t have anything to say to each other, that we would have to
confront the elephant in the room and acknowledge that we didn’t love each
other any more and stare bleakly at the future.
In a pizza-chain restaurant full of out-of-towners, we faced each other over a
withered pink carnation. We giggled as the second Croatian waiter in five
minutes asked if everything was all right. “Hello,” said Jamie. He touched
my hand. We drank a bottle of wine and walked back like teenage lovers. I
felt very raw, very vulnerable, as if I had just cried for three hours. It
was going to be okay. We were still the same people.
I would say that the period of mourning for my marriage lasted about a year.
But as the months went by, it seemed less tragic and less relevant somehow.
Our old, self-absorbed, navel-gazing selves were like insect skins that we
gradually shed. We had always lain in bed and talked in the mornings: now we
played in bed with Oscar. We gradually endeared ourselves to each other as
parents as opposed to lovers, and found, among all the blame and exhaustion,
the kernel of what we once had to build on again.
“What about me? What about me?” I cry, when Jamie kisses Oscar all over his
tummy. I’m joking, but sometimes it cuts me up. And Jamie might well say the
same to me, when I pull my gorgeous little boy to me and bury my nose in his
spun-gold hair. He is the love of my life.
The author wishes to remain anonymous
I hope this honest article will help people think twice before irrevocably ruining their lives and hastening the death of the planet by having more unnecessary children.
My parent's marriage started falling apart as soon as I was born. My father went off with an 18-year-old and my mother eventually committed suicide. Far more often than is ever admitted in print, this situation does not "come out ok" but results in trainwreck for everyone involved. You should never assume it will be different just because they are your own.
In contrast to my parents I have been extremely lucky. As soon as I reached my majority, I started fighting like a lioness to find a doctor who would sterilise me. I finally succeeded when I was 28. That was the most joyful, liberating day of my existence and I would recommend it from the bottom of my heart to any intelligent, self-aware, non-script-following person.
Artemisia, Paris, France
I just hope this honest article will cause people to think twice before destroying their lives and encumbering an already dying planet with more unnecessary children.
My own parents' marriage fell apart after I was born. My father went off with an 18-year-old, my mother eventually committed suicide. There are plenty of cases when it never does get better, and it isn't necessarily different when they're your own.
As soon as I reached my majority, I fought like a lioness to find a doctor who would give me a voluntary sterilization and finally succeded when I was 28. That was the happiest day of my life and I would recommend it from the bottom of my heart to any intelligent, self-aware, non-script-following person.
Artemisia, Paris, France
I feel sorry for the husband. Although if a smarter man would have dumped her as soon as she started getting broody. 3 years of fertility clinic followed by 9 months of no sex during pregnacy, and then however many years of bitchy post-natal behaviour. Ugh.
Redcliffe, London,
This article, and most of the responses to it, confirms what so many studies of married couples have discovered: That childless and childfree couples are happier than those with children, and that when the children leave home, the level of happiness rises, but not to that exhibited by those who never had children.
Children are most often a wedge between the man and woman, instead of a bridge.
Jerry Steinberg, Vancouver, BC, Canada
Lord almighty, woman, take the kid to grandma's and go out with your husband! Life needs balance. Love your child. Enjoy your child. And take him the heck to a babysitter's a couple of times a month and love and enjoy your husband, too. If you don't nurture your marriage, and show your son how two healthy, rational people, make it work, what do you think will happen to him when HE ends up a father? He'll take off and you'll be crying you don't get to see the grandkid enough!
The author needs either therapy or a swift kick in the pants; I can't decide which. And saying her friends dropped her because her life was "whole?" By her own admission, she's absolutely miserable.
My parents had jobs and season tickets to the theater and bridge clubs, and my brother and I had the best time at grandma's house every month. Is that sort of childhood really so unusual these days?
Ashlyn, Missouri, USA
I read this article and now understand why my marriage is failing. My wife has been a stay-at-home mom for the past three years and we've been out once together in those 3 years. She's a full-time mom, leaving no time for her or us. No matter how hard I try to make the marriage work, it's failing. I understand now that she left it a long time ago.
Stan Donguard, Toronto, Canada
Its such a pity my husband didnt read this article instead of "running off" with the first woman to pay him some attention 8 months after our son was born. I am rebuilding my life as a single mother and life is starting to get good again but it could have been so much better had we stayed together as a family. Maybe it wanst my fault we had stopped talking after all.
sharon, leeds, uk
the same is the case with me... our two-year-old son has usurped all my love and attention, and my husband's. as a result our marriage is practically over. all we have left for each other are harsh words. i agree i get angry more easily, but that's because i feel so hurt all the time. i want to have a happy life with my husband, but there seems to be no affection between us. i've had this kind of a life for almost 6 months now. we tried to repair things sometime ago, but its back to the same old cold war state. sometimes we talk about important things through sms. the less we talk the better teh day goes... i am so sick of it all. we saw each other for 5 years before we got married, and had the baby 5 years after the marriage. for a year after he was born, things were fine. my husband is an extremely caring person otherwise...he has always helped with the baby and can do household chores all by himself... why are we in this state today? i am failing miserably. dont know what to do..
paromita kar, Calcutta, India
Why not forgo the whole thing? for anyone with a true maternal/paternal vocation, there's a child out there really needing to be adopted.
Carla Michaels, Carnac, France
I just wanted to agree with some of the comments on here. The period following a child's birth is SO difficult, partly because it changes both of you. When my daughter was born, I felt like I was a slave to her and my partner wasn't very helpful. He would get back from work and claim that now he wanted to relax, when I was desperate for a hand. I had to beg him to keep an eye on the baby so that I could have a bath etc. What saved us, is that my partner was made redundant just before I went back to work, and we made the decision that it made sense for him to look after our daughter full-time for the next 6 months before starting to retrain. Once he had to look after her on his own, he suddenly started to understand what I had gone through and he couldn't apologise enough for not supporting me more.
We aren't the same people that we were before we had a baby, and our relationship isn't the same, but in many ways it's better.
Rachel, Taunton, UK
This article, and the comments, make me angry. My baby is now 4 months old and I have always felt supported by my husband, from the first moments on the labour ward up to now. He has been around to listen, help, change nappies, take the baby when I lose my patience occasionally, do the washing up, look after her when I go to the gym... and when we go out for dinner, we have our daughter with us and it becomes a proper family outing. I love seeing him play with our daughter and my love for both of them only grows stronger every day. Becoming parents is hard, yes, but it's something you do together and I can't believe my husband is the only good father out there!
Silja, London,
Oh my gosh, I am actually crying in my office!!!
I so wish we had done what you did and mend things, and not fallen apart as we did..
Great article
Julia, Basingstoke,
Oh my how that resonated with me. It's like reading the story of my marriage in black & white. My baby boy is 14 months now & we still haven't been out as a couple since his birth. We had fertility treatment to have our boy after 6 years of trying naturally & I sometimes feel ungrateful for feeling the way the writer does - after all we got what we wanted didn't we?
I was in hospital recently & the silences when my husband came to visit were awful, we are so far apart sometimes & like the writer seem to have nothing to say.
I will work at my marriage but it's hard & sometimes I wonder if it's worth it.
Gill, Portsmouth, Hants
Wow. I could have written this myself!! We had exactly the same experience after our first born. It really does take a year I think to make the huge adjustment to parenthood and turning your marriage upside down. I try to warn my friends what they have in store (because nobody tells you about this before you have kids) but they don't get it. They are so confident that they will be 'different', that their man will be perfect because he's 'so good with kids'. Let's see how that one goes when the baby's been screaming for 4 hours in the middle of the night...Thanks for writing this. FYI I am now happily married with three children. And now an Au Pair. Go figure.
S, Princeton, NJ, USA
Me too.
I too was in tears by the end. All so familiar, and it makes me so sad. I made my husband read this article and have saved it to read next time I feel like giving up on our marriage! For me, this has really happend since the birth of our second child, now 8 months. It definitely helps if you are able to tell yourself that this is not an unusual way to feel. I think the hardest thing is not really knowing what you want. I have chosen to be a full-time Mum, so why do I sometimes feel so unhappy?! And why the anger towards my hard-working husband, whom I love - or used to - with all my heart.
"Venom-loaded" is exactly the way to describe my feelings towards him. I feel so angry that he seems to be able to just walk away from everything, yet I am so trapped by it all. I tend to glamorise his life, and I know I forget that it's not all roses for him either.
I know he thinks (as John Sherban above) that I am going completely potty. Perhaps I am, but at least I am not alone!
Rebecca, London,
I've been a SAHM for 6 years, with 1 daughter aged 6 and 1 son aged 4 years. I've am now out of the baby stage and have a great relationship with my husband. Wanted to confirm that nothing prepared me for the sheer hard work having 2 toddlers would entail. The worst being the shift from being an equal individual, sharing a carefree fun attitude with my husband to someone who was (and still is) grounded and cloaked in responsibility for my children . My husband's attitude to me did change, as much as my attitude to him changed. Within the first 2/3 years of having my first child the rows we had were huge, hurtful and I still carry around the emotional scares. The important point to my responding to your article is that perhaps the relationship you have with your husband/partner before babies is destined to die - the good point being that, rising from the ashes, you will have a relationship which isn't as a couple but as a loving family where everyone is important & loved.
Shelly, Ashford, Kent
Surely this extreme resentment of her husband was down to their polarised positions? If he was working full-time and then assuming that this entitled him to sit and do nothing to help when he was at home, then it's no wonder she was angry and resentful. Society overemphasises the role of the mother. It would be more ideal (but difficult to achieve) if both parents worked part-time on co-ordinating schedules and cared equally for their child: that would share the burden fairly and make both parents sympathise with each other more. When one partner works and the other is at home, I can well imagine that empathy evaporates on both sides.
MB, Edinburgh,
This must be very heartbreaking for couples, particularly when the relationship has previously been idyliic. I was a single parent from the moment I decided to go ahead with my accidental pregnancy and my boyfriend (of 6 years) wanted no part. I was of course devasted, heartbroken, humilated etc but I survived.
Much as I wouldn't have chosen my status as a single parent and it has been a struggle, I have to say it has crossed my mind more than once to ponder how I would possibly meet the demands of being in a relationship as well as being a parent. How many people's conflicting needs can you meet, especially when one of them is so all consuming. I don't think I would have coped.
JP, London,
My heartfelt thanks to the Lady who wrote the article and revealed that how the world changes after marriage and after the arrival of the first baby. Her article will help thousands of couple to think twice about their relationship and help gainig courage to reestablish their heavenly relationship like the primary days after marriage.
Abubakar Rahil, Dhaka, Bangladesh
Thank you for writing this article. I wish I had read it 3 years ago. I've lived with 3 years of guilt for 'falling out of love' with my husband after our first baby was born for all the same reasons the writer gives. My husband and I definitely had an elephant in the room with us which we ignored out of sheer tiredness. The article gave me the motivation to broach the subject with my husband, and after a long heart to heart, we've finally culled the elephant and I hope are now on track for a happier marriage. So thanks for putting a taboo subject in the spotlight
Name withheld, berkshire, UK
As one of the "infertile" ones, I guess I have to own up to having one foot in the how does it happen camp... except that I do know how it feels to lose each other as a couple, to feel as if your husband is a complete stranger and then find yourselves again. A lot of things can do this to a marriage it's just that even though you know it's going to be tough, I doubt many of us would expect something like having children to have this effect... It must make it a double whammy when it does.
Then again, if our mothers admitted this kind of thing to us or if we knew exactly what we were in for when we conceived, the human race would probably have died out years ago.
This is an excellent and honest article, food for thought, especially for somebody trying, as my husband and I are, to turn life upside down by making spawn of our own.
Baby Chaos, London,
As one of the "infertile" ones, I guess I have to own up to having one foot in the how does it happen camp... except that I do know how it feels to lose each other as a couple, to feel as if your husband is a complete stranger and then find yourselves again. A lot of things can do this to a marriage it's just that even though you know it's going to be tough, I doubt many of us would expect something like having children to have this effect... It must make it a double whammy when it does.
Then again, if our mothers admitted this kind of thing to us or if we knew exactly what we were in for when we conceived, the human race would probably have died out years ago.
This is an excellent and honest article, food for thought, especially for somebody trying, as my husband and I are, to turn life upside down by making spawn of our own.
Babychaos, London,
Or how lazy men are!
Why, when we have cared for the child all day, do we have to clean, cook, shop, and launder?
Childcare, especially the first 12 months, is not all lounge around reading the papers, drinking tea all day, as some men seem to think.
AnonyMs., uk,
This is only the second article I've ever read about motherhood / being a new mother and wife that has made any sense. It absolutely describes my experience of the first year and made me almost cry remembering how bloody tough it all was back then. The only good news is that, now, with a nearly 5 year old, life is so very different and so very good again - with re-balanced but much more even and loving relationships with both husband and child! Hang in there - the hellish part does pass!
RM, London,
Beautiful column and it captures very much a little admitted insight. However it is also nearly universal and generational. There was a saying that a man loses part of his wife for every baby they have. The first few days and weeks of parenthood are absolutely draining and test every nerve in your body for patience. It is odd that nature gives us these huge challenges of intense work at the very time women's bodies are the most exhausted and in hormonal upheaval. Immature men and some women do cave under such pressure and society needs to put in a lot of moral and financial help to ensure there are no other stressors to make things even worse. But I did find with my four kids that those diffiicult times also create parents - make us be calm when the child is not, make us be selfless. The fact we now reassess our marriage is also healthy though we need to not make big decisions right now. If either of you married for comfort, ego, to have a slave, now's when you know it.
Beverley Smith, Calgary Alberta, Canada
It just goes to show how crazy women are.
John Sherban, Durham,
"I would probably have an affair in time; Jamie would keep paying the mortgage."
Yet more evidence, guys, that marriage is an act of total insanity.
Face it. Pressure to get married and have children usually comes from women. And then, too often, exactly what's described here transpies. You have kids, your wife starts to hate and resent you. Then she has an affair while you "keep paying the martgage". Or they divorce you, taking your home, money and children with them.
Marriage, today, is the greatest source of risk most men will face in their lives. Don't do it.
Malcolm, London, UK
"I had friends who had dropped me because my new life
seemed so whole compared with theirs." Or perhaps they dropped you because the only thing you had any interest in, and talked about, was your child. Perhaps you bore them - in the same way that perhaps you bore your husband.
There's nothing worse than a woman with children placing blame for strained friendships with childless women, on the fact that "oh, they must be jealous of me." More often than not, the life changes to one person simply highlight that there wasn't that much in common in the first place.
SH, USA,
Well done on your brave article. Lots of women feel like this but are too ashamed to really admit it to themselves (let alone everyone else) -- and, as someone who suffered from PND, I'd like to ask women who recognise these feelings to talk frankly to their GPs. It does not always have to be this hard.
Lucy, Leeds,
Thankyou so much for having the courage to write this article and for printing it.
I cannot tell you how relieved I am to discover that I am not alone with these feelings.
Please pass on my sincere, heartfelt thanks to the author.
witheld, london, uk
Ladies, know this. This is *extremely* *normal* when you have your first baby. Why people don't talk about it I'll never know. The exhaustion, the lack of control, the hormones, the readjustment of your priorities and the way you relate to each....both parties in a relationship just tend to go psycho for a while. I know I hated my husband for about 6 months and thought I had broken our relationship for good. 5 years (and two children) later, I love him more than ever and I would say our relationship is pretty equitable - I certainly don't pair his socks!
To see how common it is, check out any parenting website (mumsnet is good).
One day, soon, I promise, you will wake up and you will be in a new normal, where you will be able to go out and do the things you want (although not with quite the same ease for the next 13 years!) and you will, if you are lucky, have more love in your world than you ever had before.
HJC, cambridge,
This is exactly how I felt. I welled up when I read it, it was like having therapy. Our son is 21 months old now and we have come out the other end and things are getting back to normal.
Vicky, Northampton,
absolutely spot on. I think women are beginning to realise they are not alone feeling like this. I too had a great relationship, then after the birth of our first daughter everything changed. I particularly agree with the 1950s stereotypes - am I going to resent cooking every meal for him for the next 30 years?
MsTitian, Egham,
I have just read the "I wanted to be a full time mother" relationships article, and it reduced me to tears as I am going through the exact same thing. I know the author wants to remain anonymous, but wondered if there was any way you could pass on my deepest thanks as knowing that I am not a freak for feeling like this, and that there is light at the end of the tunnel, makes me feel so much better. My baby is 5 months old and I've been feeling exactly the same about everything this lady had written. I have (until reading this) been about to give up on us as a couple. Many, many thanks.
Name withheld on request, Colchester, UK