A Life Outside Of Routine
I’ve always thought of myself as a spontaneous person. One day when I was 17 I logged onto my UCAS account and rejected all my university offers (much to my mother’s despair) in favour of going to theatre school to study sound and lighting design. At 19 I applied for a job that involved living above a music venue and moved in three days later. At 27, I moved to Australia to live with a guy I’d only known for a few weeks. I’ve always tried to say “yes” to any opportunity, from an invite for a coffee to a job on the other side of the world.
My job is varied and constantly changing, and my life has never had a routine; at times I’ve barely stayed on the same time zone for more than a few days, let alone the same schedule. I’ve never needed eight hours sleep a night or three square meals a day, I work with what I’m given. I love to wake up in the morning not knowing where I’ll have been, who I’ll have seen or what I’ll have done by the time I close my eyes that night. And I love catching up with friends and family and regaling them with stories about the places I’ve been or the lives of the rich and famous I’ve skirted around the fringes of, just enough to gather some hilarious (or scandalous) anecdotes. I’ve had an extremely fun life and career, and I’m wholly grateful for the experiences I’ve been blessed with.
So when I found out I was having a baby, I told people that it wouldn’t have to change this. I would be one of those mothers whose little one slept anywhere, at any time, whilst I got on with work or jumped on the tube or chatted over a coffee. I would nap when the baby naps and the only real change to my day-to-day would be the little one strapped to my chest. And for the first few months, I thought I’d nailed it. I was one of the lucky ones that felt that magical rush of love as soon as I laid eyes on my daughter, and I never wanted to put her down. She came everywhere with me, sleeping in her carrier, sitting on my lap as I caught up with friends or had work meetings. I breastfed her in cafes, on trains, at the office. And she was the perfect baby all day, snuggled up to me quietly or watching the world go by. Night-time was a different story, but I convinced myself I could handle it. It won’t last forever, I would say, plus I’m used to only a few hours’ sleep – I’ll just have another coffee.
But what I hadn’t appreciated was that in my old life, the days and weeks of long hours, bad diets, late nights and early starts always had an end date. A day marked on the calendar where I would crawl into bed and stay there for 24 hours leaving only for supplies, and emerge refreshed and rejuvenated. But with my girl, there was no break. I was running on two, maybe three hours of broken sleep a night, and it was starting to show in my mood and my work, least of all my face. I knew it wasn’t sustainable, and I knew what I had to do. My friends-with-babies, health visitors and desperate 3am Google results were united in one thing; babies thrive on routine. Routine. My nemesis. It COULDN’T be the only option. But I knew I had to try. My baby is a free spirit like her mama, I convinced myself, it won’t work anyway.
But it worked alright. On the first day. Surely it was a fluke, surely it can’t be that simple. But apparently for her, it was that simple. She started sleeping for 12 hours straight, her three, four, five night feeds disappeared. I could set my watch by her two daytime naps. And suddenly I was a different kind of Mum. I woke up in the morning and I knew how every minute of my day was going to go – every plan revolved around naptimes, mealtimes, bedtime.
And here I am now - a routine Mum. And here’s the kicker. I hate it. But I’ve become addicted to that sweet, sweet sleep and I’m too scared to mess with it. Every single day is fundamentally the same, every activity squeezed into the post-nap pre-meal slots, every minute accounted for. Gone are the days where I could answer the phone, throw on some jeans and be at an event half an hour later. And having that last little bit of spontaneity taken from me has really hammered home the other end of the scale, the whole other world that disappeared before my eyes the moment I became a mother, if not before – last minute job opportunities, late night networking drinks, overnight work trips. I don’t even know half of what I’m missing; I simply don’t get asked anymore.
Maybe I could be a little more flexible now, maybe her sleeping skills are established, her training complete. But one bad night now and I’m wiped. Post-lockdown, she is even more dependent on me, on familiar surroundings, on her little baby agenda that has had so few reasons to be broken for months now. Plus, as an events professional, even my WFH opportunities have all but disappeared. I’m no longer a working mama, a professional mama, or even a social mama. I’m just a mama. And even though it’s truly the best, most rewarding title I’ve ever had, the fact it’s the only one I have right now is still hard for me to take.
I know it’s not forever, and I know how lucky I am to be in this position – to be able to stay at home and look after my daughter, to have a partner that supports us financially and in every other way, and least of all to have a baby under nine months old that sleeps through the night! And of course I sometimes long for the days I would wake up to an e-mail saying “can you go to Paris next week?” or “can you be in town in an hour?” and I could say yes, absolutely, I’ll get my passport, I’ll pack a bag, I’ll put on my gear and be out the door in five. But maybe more than anything I feel it in the conversations I have when friends or colleagues get in touch. It’s no longer “where have you been?” or “what have you been up to?” or “who have you been working with?”, it’s only “how’s your daughter?”. I know it’s meant well, and I appreciate the genuine care and interest shown in my new life by those still living my old one. But it’s just another reminder, another sign above my head that reads “mother” and nothing else.
But I’m not looking for sympathy. I have a wonderful life, a wonderful family, and a future full of new opportunities that I’m confident will present themselves when the time is right. But there are thousands of mamas like me, who no longer recognise themselves, who’s old lives are figuratively and literally packed away in boxes. So next time you have a role to fill or a prospective job, don’t just skip over them because you “know” they’re busy with their little one – let them know they’re still on the list, even if they have to say no this time. And next time you chat to one of them, ask them how they’re doing before you ask about their baby. Ask them where they’ve been, what they’ve done, who they’ve seen. Even if the answer is nowhere, nothing, no-one, I promise they’ll appreciate it. I would. And honestly, I’ll probably just tell you about my daughter anyway. Because that’s who I am right now. Mama. And for now, that’s ok.
Written by Nat Walker
@natskywalkr