There I sat, on the same sofa, in the same room, staring at the same four walls. 'Is this it?' I thought, 'Am I destined to remain here for the rest of my days doing…this?'. This was breastfeeding my newborn baby. She was only three weeks old, and I was already very much in love with her, but it was lockdown 2020, a time that brought specific challenges to those of us who happened to give birth during this unique period.
Having a newborn can, as anyone who's had one knows, be a time of extreme contradictions. On the one hand you are almost never alone, and yet, it can also feel very isolating. Every day seems to bring new moments, changes, and challenges, and yet your life has simultaneously been turned into a seemingly never-ending groundhog day of feeds, naps, nappy changes and burping. This all felt magnified by the pandemic, with no visitors, no trips outside the house, no baby groups to break up the day and night.
So, there I was, sat on the same sofa, in the same room, staring at the same four walls. I looked down at my beautiful but hungry little baby nuzzling away at my breast. For me, breastfeeding was another uniquely contradictory experience. One that simultaneously made me feel a surge of deep love and closeness to my tiny little bundle, but also intense anxiety as I wondered how much milk she was really consuming, and whether I was 'doing it right'.
Then, I glanced across the room at the dreaded breast pump machine (the sound of which still gives me chills to this day). I knew I’d have to soon move from breastfeeding to the pump in order to quell my fears that my (very) little one was really getting a full belly of milk.
A thought suddenly flashed through my mind. I’m a cow. A human cow. A walking talking milk machine. I felt an inner sense of panic. Was this all I was good for any more? Was this….it for me? It sounds irrational I know, but when you have a new baby it's sometimes hard to see past the next feed, or next sleep. It's hard to hear what everyones telling you, that everything is 'just a phase'.
I knew that I needed to do something. Something to prove that I was still a functioning, thinking, and creative human being, distinct from my role as a milk providing mother. I pulled out my phone and opened up my notes, and as my baby continued to feed I started to write. The words, somehow, poured out of me. Perhaps it was all the stories I'd been telling my toddler whilst our baby slept. And the story I’d been vaguely musing over for a while, that of a little bee (who was pink and danced and was very different from the others) emerged. Baboo the Unusual Bee was born. And I knew that even if Baboo remained on the notes of my phone, he was a reminder to me that I could be a mother and, and yet retain my own separate sense of identity.
We, as a society, could do so much more to support new mums and help them to feel less invisible.
Lliana Bird
This is something I believe society often tries to convince us of otherwise. Too often treating us as suddenly 'invisible' as anything other than 'mother' once we've stepped over that threshold. I became even more keenly aware of this when I shared my story of my own struggles to retain my sense of self and individuality after becoming a mother using the hashtag #disappearingwomen. I was met by a virtual tsunami of heartfelt messages and stories from women who also felt they had been made to feel somehow less valuable after becoming mums for the first time - overlooked for promotions, spoken over in the office, made to feel lesser, or judged for choosing to pause their own careers and focus on the incredibly tough but rewarding job of raising their children.
We, as a society, could do so much more to support new mums and help them to feel less invisible. Anna Whitehouse (Mother Pukka) is doing an incredible job of advocating for better working conditions for women with her #FlexAppeal campaign, but we could all take a leaf our of her book and do more. Could essential childcare costs be counted as taxable expenses for self employed or freelance parents? Can laws be passed that breastfeeding mums be allowed to work from home if they're job roles allow for it? Should the NHS offer lactation consultants with ongoing essential support for all new mums? And what measures could we put in place to ensure women who wish to breastfeed in public places, or workplaces, or on public transport?
Happily for me, Baboo got picked up by a publisher and it's been a joy to see so many kids enjoy it at one of the many readings and festivals we’ve taken it to. To see how many kids and parents seem to relate to Baboo’s message, that your differences are the very thing that make you special, whether that be your size, your race, your hair colour, or the things you love to do, has been heartwarming. But for me, Baboo will always be the thing that reminded me, at a time I really needed it, that with the right support, motherhood can be the beginning, not the end of our creativity.
Baboo the Unusual Bee is out now with Rocket Bird Books (an imprint of Harper Collins). Click here to buy.
