New mum Alex brave to tell all
GRATEFUL thanks must be extended to refreshingly honest One Show presenter Alex Jones who has dared to describe new motherhood with unflinching accuracy. Instead of the usual showbiz version of maternity featuring smiling bonny baby, glamorous already slimmed down to pre-baby body mum, freshly tended bouquets of fragrant blooms and the proud father extolling the pleasures of nappy changing, Alex tells the truth.
Without putting a glossy top-spin on what have been the most harrowing days of her life, Alex, 40, spills the beans about debilitating exhaustion, marital spats with her husband Charlie Thomson, crying jags (hers), crying jags (the baby’s), and a terrifying sense of being so woefully out of control you can’t quite believe you are going to be responsible for this tiny unpredictable bundle for life.
Alex adores baby Teddy but attempting to breastfeed him was an agonising nightmare, coping with sleep deprivation tested her beyond endurance, the strain made her tetchy with her husband, and the sight of Charlie snoring blissfully as she struggled out of bed for the umpteenth time ignited feelings of deep resentment she could barely contain.
The situation was exacerbated by Alex’s decision to return to work three and a half months after giving birth, not to mention her commitment to writing a book.
Alex now says ruefully that when she merrily signed up to both she naively imagined her baby sleeping sweetly in his crib as she plunged headlong into work. The notion that he might not oblige simply had not occurred to her.
Bless Alex for breaking the conspiracy of silence. Praise be upon her for admitting having a baby can be a derailing experience which plays havoc with the confidence even of a well-established mature career woman.
A reality check is inestimably helpful. Advance warning is a boon. At least you have been warned that far from – as you fondly imagined – beaming contentedly at your little bundle of joy from inside a bubble of bliss, you will be battling insecurity, existential despair and most dramatically the knowledge that you must be a chronically inadequate mother, deficient in maternal instinct, since every other woman on earth has made a much better fist of what everyone has always told you is supposed to come naturally.
IWAS only 24 when I had my first baby. Unlike Alex, I had achieved nothing but university and marriage before I gave birth. I had no prestigious job to wave goodbye to, no illustrious career to mourn, no battalions of fans urging me to get back to the studio.
Nonetheless I vividly recall the sensation of drowning on dry land. Used to cramming for exams I feverishly devoured every “How to” baby book and panicked when my baby didn’t conform to the “expert” opinion.
I gazed at my carefree childless friends with unseemly yearning. I wondered if I would ever again have enough time to myself to butter a piece of toast, let alone eat it. I would have given my eye-teeth for a heads-up from someone with the warmth and wisdom of Alex.
She is just what the midwife ordered and Teddy’s immensely lucky to have her for a mother.