The parlour was hushed save for the faint murmur of the telly and my babys whimpering cries. There I stood in the dim glow, cradling Oliver in my arms, rocking him gently as I had done countless times that night. My limbs were heavy with weariness, my blouse tinged with the scent of milk and exhaustion. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I swallowed them back.
On the settee, Thomas thumbed through his mobile, one leg propped up, a half-drunk pint and a packet of crisps strewn across the table.
Three weeks had passed since we brought Oliver home. Three weeks of sleepless nights, endless feedings, and tearshis and mine. I had imagined wed face it together, that Thomas would squeeze my hand and tell me I was doing splendidly, that wed muddle through the chaos with weary laughter.
Instead, I might as well have been a ghost.
Couldnt you help with the bottles? I asked, my voice fraying at the edges.
Thomas didnt glance up. Ive been at work all day, Beatrice. I need a rest.
A rest? What was rest? I hadnt slept more than two hours in days. My body still ached from the birth, my mind unravelling thread by thread. Yet I said nothing. I simply turned away, rocking Oliver until his cries ebbed into quiet sighs.
Later that night, after finally settling him, I perched on the edge of the bed and gazed at my reflection in the darkened window. The woman staring back was a strangerpale, drained, and achingly alone.
A few nights later, everything came to a head. Oliver wouldnt stop wailing, his tiny fists clenched, face flushed with effort. I paced the parlour, murmuring lullabies I no longer believed in, every bone in my body pleading for respite.
I glanced at the setteeThomas had dozed off, the tellys flickering light playing across his face. Something inside me shattered.
I sank to the floor, clutching Oliver to my chest, and wept. I tried to stifle it, but the sound tore freeraw, desperate. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to shake Thomas awake, to cry, Look at me! Look at us! Were drowning, and you dont even notice!
But I didnt.
I only held my babe closer and whispered, Its alright, love. Mummys here.
The next morning, Thomas found me asleep on the nursery floor, Oliver still in my arms. He frowned. Why didnt you put him in his cot?
Because he wouldnt settle, I murmured. I didnt want to disturb you.
He sighed, snatched up his keys, and left for work. No kiss. No thanks. No acknowledgment of the nights toll.
That was when I understood how truly unseen I had become.
Days later, my dearest friend Eleanor paid a visit. One look at memy unkempt hair, the shadows beneath my eyesand she gasped. Beatrice, when did you last sleep?
I gave a feeble laugh. Mothers dont sleep, do they?
But she didnt smile. Cradling Oliver, she said gently, You need help, Bea. Not just with the baby.
Her words struck deeper than I expected. That evening, after putting Oliver down, I sat beside Thomas on the settee. The telly droned on, but I switched it off.
Thomas, I said quietly, I cant do this alone any longer.
He frowned. Youre making too much of it. Itll get easier.
No, I replied, voice trembling. Itll get easier when you try. When youre present. I dont expect perfection. I expect partnership.
For the first time, he really looked at meat the exhaustion in my gaze, the shake in my hands. I didnt realise you felt this way, he admitted.
Thats the trouble, I whispered. You didnt see.
The following days felt… different. Not perfect, but changed.
One night, Thomas rose at two in the morning to feed Oliver. I awoke to the sound of him humming tunelessly, and my heart swelled. I hadnt heard him sing in ages. I lay there, silent tears spillingthis time from relief.
He learned to swaddle properly, to wind Oliver without fuss. He even left his mobile on the sideboard during supper. It wasnt a miracle, but it was a start.
And for the first time, I dared to hope we might find our way back to one another.
Months later, once Oliver began sleeping through, Thomas and I sat on the garden bench one evening, the air still, the sky gilded.
I was frightened, he confessed abruptly. You always seemed to know what to do. I thought if I tried and bungled it, youd think me hopeless. So I kept my distance.
I smiled sadly. I didnt need you to be perfect, Thomas. I just needed you beside meeven when you were afraid.
He nodded, his gaze tender. I understand now.
Now, when I watch him rocking Oliver to sleep, whispering nonsense tales, I think back to those early daysthe silence, the gulf between us, the weariness that nearly broke us.
Its easy to lose one another in parenthood. Easy to forget youre both learning to be something newnot just mother and father, but partners anew.
I once thought love was shown in grand gestures, but Ive learned its built in quiet, ordinary moments. In the dead of night, with a babe crying and two souls strivingtruly strivingto find their footing again.
So when new mothers write to me now, saying they feel invisible, I tell them this:
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 simply needs reminding of the work left to do.
Last night, I crept into the nursery and found Thomas asleep beside Olivers cot, his hand resting lightly on our babes chest.
The telly was silent. The mobile untouched.
And for the first time in ever so long, the quiet in our home felt like peacenot loneliness.
