I’ve been on an apology tour since I had my daughter two years ago.
Not because I’ve done anything horrible to get myself cancelled – at least not that I know of – but because once I became a mum, a feeling of icky guilt started to creep up on me.
And I’m not talking about that classic guilt we all feel when we’re holding ourselves to impossible parenting standards (I also feel that in droves though!).
It was this very distinct realisation I hadn’t been the amazing friend I thought I was when my girlfriends welcomed their babies.
At the time, I thought I was nailing it.
I’d show up at their door with a present for the baby – usually involving something completely impractical like teeny tiny ridiculously overpriced newborn sneakers or overalls.
Of course, I always asked if there was anything I could do to help while I was there and they always said no. But I should've known to push. To ask more. To do more.
I should’ve insisted they go and take a shower while I put on a load of laundry.
Or I should’ve taken the baby for a walk while they napped.
Or I should’ve shown up with a present for the mother because lord knows the tiny blob they just birthed doesn’t care what they’re wearing!
Of course, I know this now with the beauty of hindsight.
And when those same friends started showing up for me after I had my daughter, they did for me what I now wish I’d done for them.
Me with my brand new baby girl. Image: Supplied.
They brought me home-cooked meals because they knew I’d be too exhausted to cook anything myself.
They gave me useful, helpful things like baby bibs and moisturisers and lactation cookies.
They made me cups of tea and then left after a short time so I could rest.
One particular friend, whose kindness I will never forget, could tell I was struggling the first time she saw me. I didn’t say it out loud, but I was overwhelmed, feeling terrified every time I was left alone with my baby and developed chronic pain in my wrists from breastfeeding.
So the next week she came over – and despite having two kids of her own and never getting any free time – she strapped on my baby carrier and took us both for a stroll in the sunshine.
It was the simplest act of friendship. It cost nothing, and yet it meant everything.
Once I realised the true reality of new motherhood, I issued grovelling apologies to all of my friends who had kids.
"I’m so sorry I was such an a**hole," I cried. "I wish I had known what you were going through so I could’ve helped more!"
Another wonderful friend – who is now a mum-of-three – was as gracious as ever in her response.
"You don’t need to apologise. You only know what you know at the time and no one ever realises how hard it is until they do it."
And she’s right. I’d heard all the stories about how hard motherhood can be – especially in those early days.
And yet I just didn’t get it.
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I didn’t realise what a huge transition it was.
I didn’t realise that when they told me they needed to leave by precisely 9.45am because the baby needed their morning nap – and this would be the difference between them having a good day and an absolute disaster with an overtired baby.
I didn’t realise when they told me they were tired just how tired they were – that type of tiredness that sits in your bones and makes your eyelids feel as heavy as lead.
Of course, now that I know those things all too well, all I’ve been able to do is make sure that any of the mothers that come after me feel supported as possible.
And I guess that’s all any of us can do: Learn from when we’ve stuffed up and learn to pass on the kindness that was shown to us.
So consider this my official open apology to all the mums that came before me.
I promise I’ll look after the ones that come after me better.
Image: Supplied.
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