My eldest daughter is obsessed with all things babies and birth. I daresay the fact that I am a doula means that her exposure to said subjects has been more thorough than most kids. My second is not so baby-obsessed and usually chooses to be a dog or a zombie when they play families, even if her role has been firmly stipulated by her big sister. They are at that stage where they spend the whole time naming the different roles of those involved and exactly zero time enacting them.
Although they are only four and two and a half, their disjointed games recently got me thinking about how we care for new mothers as a culture. What does our culture teach us to do when someone we love brings a baby into the world?
When I was pregnant with my first daughter, I launched into buy-it mode. So much of my preparation centred around what the baby would need. I relished receiving gifts for the baby at my baby shower and researched with abandon to find the right pram at the right price.
Don’t get me wrong, buying my babies’ clothes still brings me more joy than buying myself clothes; and there are items that are essential when you welcome a baby home, as well as items that will make your life easier as you adjust to parenthood. Both are necessary.
But, in hindsight, there were some very obvious missing pieces to this preparation. I prepared for my daughter the way that my internalised capitalism taught me: by spending money on objects in an attempt to satiate the complex emotions arising in me at the onset of my journey to motherhood. So alongside the essential baby items list, I have retrospectively thought about what I would have really needed.
Number one spot goes to, you guessed it, a doula! Occasionally, in my mind, I visit my past self, pregnant with my first baby and just hold her. She was anxious and oblivious and trying so hard to control it all. I hug her, validate her fears and help her to release her grip on the moving boat and just surrender to the water. What I would have given to have expert hands hold me softly as I transitioned to motherhood.
Number two spot is couples counselling! Here in Australia, we tend to view therapy as a crisis response. Which means we wait until things are falling apart to seek help, if at all. Although my relationship deepened after the birth of my first child, couples therapy would have given us space to talk about the big stuff, baby-proofing our marriage and providing the tools to navigate the intensity and disconnect that accompanied my second postpartum.
The number three spot is not something that can be bought at all, but is arguably the most important. That is: finding mum friends. Ones with whom you can share every messy facet of your life as a mother without the fear of judgement. Tragically, I think this is somewhat rare, but when you do find those people, lean in and hold on for dear life. I met most of mine at women’s circles, where the connection is based on deep listening as a sense of commonality among us all. These friends have become my soul mates. I neither can’t nor want to imagine life without them now.
Most of these things can’t be gifted in their entirety to a new mother or family. But, gift vouchers do exist, and I guarantee that any gift that centres the mother will be the most appreciated. By all means, give gift vouchers for therapy, doula sessions and women’s circles. But if that feels too edgy, massage vouchers and subscription to food delivery services hit the same note of nourishing the mother so that she can nourish her family.
That brings me to my final item: One of the most nourishing and connective gifts you can give a new mother is a home-cooked meal.
Yesterday, my eldest was playing make believe in her treehouse. In her scenario, her invisible, pretend mummy was giving birth to twins, a boy and a girl. She called over to me excitedly: “Mum, the head is coming out!”
Amused, I answered: “Oh wow, how wonderful. What are you going to do?”
Her response, complete with a little shrug: “Um, make them soup.”
Play is therapy for kids. Well, I believe play is therapy for all humans and that play simply looks a little different for adults. Regardless, watching my daughter act out this scenario was therapy for me. Both tiny and monumental, that moment closed a loop, bringing warm catharsis crashing through my chest. She cut through time and space in that moment, showing me the imprint I have gifted her. She showed me how my values and the way I work and mother, the way I exist in the world is changing the tide. It is opening a way of being that is humanity-forward. Gently, microscopically it is opening a world that breaks us down to our core needs, common among every human on earth. If my only achievement as a doula is that my daughter knows to bring soup to a new mum, then life is complete. Let that be my legacy.