Mummy bloggers tend to have interesting adjectives that precede the title of Mummy. Scary Mummy, Young Mummy, Crash Test Mummy… well, if I were a mummy blogger my preceding adjective would be naïve. The Naïve Mummy. Quite a literal description but very apt.
When I became a parent for the first time, I was naïve to lots of things – how much washing I was going to have to do (two loads per day minimum), how most of my day would be taken up with feeding my small human, and surprisingly, just how important things that had never concerned me would suddenly become. Like finding the right medical team for my family.
Before I was a parent I pretty much doctor shopped. In my early 20s I would go to the nearest bulk-billing GP. In my later 20s I realised I was using none of my health insurance entitlements and started to visit some ‘extras’. But since becoming a parent, all of that has changed.
Like many parents-to-be, my husband and I were overly ambitious in the nesting department. Three weeks before our first born was due not only did we relocate 954km, but we also gave our house a facelift. I was much more preoccupied with getting the baby’s nursery right than I was with establishing my roots and getting my support network in place (see… Naïve Mummy).
So after a particularly traumatic birth experience we brought our three-day-old tiny human home from hospital. I vividly remember placing the carry cot on the lounge, sitting down and thinking “what next?”. “What next” was a turn for the worse. Our baby cried, and cried, then cried some more. She “slept” in five-minute bursts, while I couldn’t sit up both from exhaustion and pain. Plus, my milk seemed non-existent.
I thought that what I was experiencing was normal and my assumptions were reinforced by the visiting midwife, the community health nurse and the various 24-hour medical help lines that I called. So a week later, when I was still losing a lot of blood, I suggested we call into the hospital on our way to visit my Nan because things just didn’t seem right.