The parlour was hushed save for the faint murmur of the telly and the tiny, hiccuping whimpers of my newborn. I lingered in the dim glow, cradling Oliver in my arms, swaying gently as if caught in some endless, drowsy waltz. My limbs were leaden. My blouse carried the faint tang of stale milk and exhaustion. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I swallowed them back.
On the settee, Thomas thumbed absently through his mobile, one leg slung lazily over the armrest, a half-drunk can of lager and crisps strewn across the coffee table.
Three weeks. Three weeks since wed brought Oliver home. Three weeks of sleepless nights, relentless feeds, and weepinghis and mine. Id imagined wed shoulder it together. That Thomas would squeeze my hand and murmur, Youre brilliant, that wed snort-laugh through the mess of it all.
Instead, I might as well have been a ghost.
Could you at least sort the bottles? I asked, my voice fraying at the edges.
Thomas didnt glance up. Ive been at it all day, Poppy. Im knackered.
Knackered? My bones ached. My mind was unspooling. I hadnt slept more than an hour at a stretch. But I said nothing. Just turned away, rocking Oliver until his cries melted into drowsy sighs.
That night, after finally settling him, I perched on the edge of the bed and caught sight of myself in the darkened window. A stranger stared backpale, hollow-eyed, utterly adrift.
Days later, it all came apart. Oliver wailed, his little fists balled, his face ruddy with fury. I paced the parlour, murmuring nonsense lullabies even I didnt believe. Every sinew in me screamed for rest.
I glanced at the setteeThomas had dozed off, the telly casting flickering shadows over his face. Something inside me splintered.
I crumpled to the floor, clutching Oliver to my chest, and sobbed. Tried to muffle it, but the sound tore freeraw, guttural. For a heartbeat, I wanted to shake Thomas awake, to shout, Look at us! Were sinking, and youre not even here!
But I didnt.
Just held my babe tighter and whispered, Shhh, love. Mummys got you.
The next morning, Thomas found me curled on the nursery rug, Oliver still in my arms. He frowned. Whys he not in his cot?
Because he wouldnt settle, I said softly. Didnt want to disturb you.
He sighed, snatched up his keys, and left for work. No kiss. No thanks. No acknowledgement of the nights slow unraveling.
That was when I knewId vanished entirely.
Days later, my best mate Charlotte popped round. She took one look at megreasy hair, shadows like bruisesand gasped. Poppy, when did you last sleep?
I gave a thin laugh. Mums dont, do they?
But she didnt smile. Cradling Oliver, she said gently, You need help, love. Not just with the baby.
Her words lodged in my ribs. That evening, after putting Oliver down, I sat beside Thomas on the settee. The telly droned, but I clicked it off.
Thomas, I murmured, I cant do this alone.
He frowned. Youre making a mountain out of a molehill. Itll get easier.
No, I said, voice trembling, itll get easier when you try. When youre here. I dont need perfect. I just need you.
For the first time in weeks, he really looked at methe weariness in my gaze, the tremor in my hands. I didnt realise it was this bad, he said.
Thats the trouble, I whispered. You didnt see.
The days that followed were different. Not seamless, but changed.
One night, Thomas roused at half-two to feed Oliver. I awoke to the sound of him humming, horribly off-key, and my chest swelled. I hadnt heard him sing in ages. I lay there, silently weepingthis time from relief.
He learned to swaddle, to wind Oliver properly. Started leaving his mobile on the sideboard during tea. Not a fairy-tale shift, but a start.
And for the first time, I dared to hope we might find our way back.
Months on, with Oliver finally sleeping through, Thomas and I sat on the back step one evening. The air was still, the sky gilded.
I was terrified, he confessed abruptly. You always knew what to do. I thought if I bungled it, youd think me hopeless. So I kept clear.
I smiled sadly. I didnt need perfect, Thomas. I just needed you beside meeven when you were scared.
He nodded, eyes softening. I see that now.
Now, when I catch him rocking Oliver to sleep, spinning daft little tales, I think of those early daysthe silence, the distance, the exhaustion that nearly swallowed us whole.
Its too easy to lose one another in parenthood. To forget youre both learning to be something newnot just mum and dad, but partners all over again.
I used to think love was grand gestures. Now I know its built in the quiet, ordinary moments. In the dead of night, with a babe crying and two souls fumbling their way back to each other.
So when new mums write me now, saying they feel invisible, I tell them:
Youre not weak for needing help. Youre not daft for weeping at three in the morning. And if your other half doesnt see you yetkeep speaking. Because sometimes love just needs a nudge to remember its work.
Last night, I crept into the nursery and found Thomas asleep beside Olivers cot, his hand resting lightly on our sons chest.
The telly was silent. The mobile untouched.
And for the first time in so long, the quiet didnt feel emptyjust gentle.
