Grace Timothy - Lost in Motherhood

HarperCollins Publishers

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published as Mum Face by HarperCollins Publishers 2018

This edition published 2019

© Grace Timothy 2018

Cover layout design by Ellie Game © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019

Cover illustration © Shutterstock.com

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Grace Timothy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008278700

Ebook Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008271015

Version: 2019-02-06

‘At turns hilarious, horrifying and always painfully honest, [this] is a memoir about how one woman ‘gained a baby and lost her shit.’ This is the side of motherhood and what it can do to your mental health and your labia that isn’t covered in NCT classes.’

SARRA MANNING, Red Magazine

‘A spit-out-your-tea funny chronicle of becoming a mum for the first time, from the awkwardness of making friends on maternity leave to the politics of post-baby sex. A great read.’

Marie Claire

‘An honest take on the way we approach and define motherhood. It made me laugh and Grace is a refreshing voice on the subject.’

LORRAINE CANDY, Sunday Times Style

‘Hilarious in parts, poignant in others, reading Grace’s musings on motherhood felt like stumbling across the diary of a witty classmate. I wanted to hug her, thank her for reassuring me that I’m not alone in questioning my self-identity as a mother and then I wanted to invite her to the pub so we could chat about pregnancy wind and post-birth coital relations. Five stars plus a little bit of laughter-wee.’

SARAH TURNER, author of The Unmumsy Mum

‘I howled with laughter’

LUCY PAVIA, Marie Claire

‘Honestly brilliant’

EMINE RUSTON, Psychologies magazine

‘This is the best book my daughter ever wrote about her vagina.’

CHRISTOPHER TIMOTHY

‘Grace takes a deeper, more raw look at what being a mother means for a modern woman. Like Bryony Gordon did for the twenty-somethings in the Wrong Knickers , Grace has now shone a similarly funny and candid light on motherhood. She has managed to express exactly how I felt as a new mum, but in the way you’d like your funniest motherhood anecdote to be told.’

HELEN WHITAKER, author of The School Run

‘A friend of mine just had her first baby. I didn’t send her champagne or flowers or breast pads. I sent her Grace’s book. I’m now that baby’s godmother. It’s that good.’

GEORGIA TENNANT

‘Low on data but high on empathy, this is the memoir on the overwhelming identity crisis that becoming a mother can be.’

The Pool

‘This book absolutely blew me away.’

RUTH CRILLY

‘Grace writes with wicked wit and real emotional resonance too – even though I’m not a mother I related deeply to her exploration of what it’s like to navigate the world as a woman, and the expectations that are placed upon us all.’

DAISY BUCHANAN, author of How To Be A Grown Up

‘Brilliant!’

CLEMMIE TELFORD

‘Such a good read, even for us dads. There’s talk of vaginas, babies, IKEA chairs and, er, more vaginas.’

JAMIE DAY

This book is dedicated to my girl, of course. Kid, you made me as much as I made you, and the world is so much better with you in it. I love you. Thanks for your patience, your joyousness and your helpful notes. You’re already wise and funny beyond your years. I’m excited about you, bubs – go get it.

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Lost in Motherhood

Dedication

PROLOGUE

PART I: THE THREAT

1. THE FIRST TRIMESTER/SHOCK

2. THE SECOND TRIMESTER/DENIAL

3. THE THIRD TRIMESTER/ACCEPTANCE

PART II: THE STRUGGLE

4. BIRTH

5. 0–3 MONTHS

6. 3–6 MONTHS

7. 6–12 MONTHS

PART III: THE CRISIS

8. CRISIS TALKS

9. RECOVERY

10. THE WORST NEWS

11. RELAPSE

12. A NICE FOOT RUB

13. I EVENTUALLY SELF-SOOTHE, I THINK

THE AFTERBIRTH

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

About the Author

About the Publisher

I attempt to sit still, to look as relaxed and open as possible, but I’m on one of those chairs that leans back on a bendy frame. You know the ones? That kind of plastic-looking blonde wood with a creamy-coloured leather cushion. I looked it up online after our session – it’s from IKEA (obviously) and it’s called ‘Poang’, which is Swedish for ‘point’. As in, what’s the point? I think people buy them as nursing chairs, too.

Well, I would have lost a nipple if I’d tried to breastfeed in this chair, let me tell you. My stomach muscles were shot to hell once I’d given birth and I’d have been about as steady on a rocking chair as a drunken eel. Plus, my vagina was so mashed up, the idea of grinding it back and forth on a beech veneer would have broken me for good. I definitely rocked in those early days, but it was more of the rocking-in-a-dark-corner type of move, deprived of sleep and a functioning pelvic floor. The sort you can do on completely immobile furniture or even the floor.

You have to be so cocky to make one of these chairs rock gently and comfortingly, and not throw you off like a spooked horse. I am not cocky or relaxed in this scenario, and have to slam my feet down suddenly to steady myself. I’m aware it’s made me look uneasy. One false move and you look like you can’t handle it. This chair is basically a metaphor for motherhood and the predicament I find myself in now.

I am sitting here in a stranger’s living room with no shoes or socks on. Bit weird. It’s OK, I’m actually here for a nice bit of reflexology, with a birthday voucher from my mum and I’m finally getting round to using it six months later, on the day it expires. ‘You deserve a bit of a treat, darling,’ she’d told me at the time, ‘You look a bit knackered.’ Weird way to kick me when I’m down, I think, smiling through clenched teeth at the thought of trying to fit in this so-called treat, and of the new electric toothbrush I’d hinted at for three weeks. But my mum volunteered to babysit and now here I am on Pat’s Poang, answering her questions about my medical history.

I’m an easy customer in this respect – no operations, no medications, no family history of diabetes. Uneventful pregnancy and straight-forward vaginal delivery. Couple of stitches, nothing to write home – or down on a form – about. I don’t have so much as a high blood pressure or a tennis elbow, so we whizz through the checklist. A nice little foot rub, I think to myself, Might be awkward when she finds the verruca I picked up at BabySwim, but otherwise, I’ll just sit here, relax, be serene … Then she says it: