The parlour was still save for the faint murmur of the telly and the delicate, hiccuping whimpers of my infant. I stood in the dim glow, cradling Oliver in my arms, swaying gently in a futile effort to calm him yet again. My limbs ached. My blouse carried the faint scent of milk and weariness. Tears threatened to spill, but I swallowed them back.
Upon the settee, William thumbed through his mobile, one leg outstretched, a half-drunk fizzy drink and crisps strewn across the table before him.
Three weeks had passed since wed brought Oliver home. Three weeks of sleepless nights, endless feedings, and tearshis and mine. Id imagined wed face this together. Id thought William would clasp my hand, assure me I was doing splendidly, that wed chuckle through the madness.
Instead, I might as well have been a ghost.
Could you at least lend a hand with the bottles? I asked, my voice scarcely steady.
William didnt glance up. Ive been at work all day, Eleanor. I need a rest.
I longed to shriek. A rest? What was that? I hadnt slept more than two hours at a stretch in days. My body still mended. My mind frayed at the edges. Yet I held my tongue, merely turning away, rocking Oliver until his cries dwindled to faint whimpers.
That evening, once Id finally settled him, I perched on the edge of the bed and studied my reflection in the darkened window. The woman gazing back was a strangerpale, spent, and utterly alone.
A few nights later, matters reached their breaking point. Oliver would not be consoled. His tiny fists balled, his face crimson from wailing. I paced the parlour, murmuring lullabies I scarcely believed in anymore. Every fibre of me cried out for respite.
I glanced towards the setteeWilliam had dozed off, the tellys flicker playing across his face. Something within me splintered.
I sank to the floor, clutching Oliver to my breast, and wept. I tried to stifle it, but the sound tore freeraw and wretched. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to shake William awake, to cry, Look at me! Look at us! Were sinking, and you dont even notice!
But I didnt.
I merely held my babe closer and whispered, There, there, little love. Mummys here.
The next morning, William found me asleep on the nursery floor, Oliver still in my embrace. He frowned. Why didnt you put him in the cradle?
Because he wouldnt quieten, I murmured. I didnt wish to disturb you.
He sighed, snatched up his keys, and left for work. No kiss. No thanks. No acknowledgment of what it had taken to survive the night.
That was when I truly grasped how unseen Id become.
Days later, my dearest friend Charlotte paid a visit. She took one look at memy unwashed hair, the shadows beneath my eyesand gasped. Eleanor, when last did you sleep?
I gave a feeble laugh. Mothers dont sleep, do they?
But she didnt smile. Cradling Oliver, she said softly, You need aid, Ellie. And not just with the babe.
Her words struck deeper than Id expected. That night, after settling Oliver, I sat beside William on the settee. The telly droned on, but I seized the remote and switched it off.
William, I said quietly, I cant manage this alone any longer.
He frowned. Youre making too much of it. Itll grow easier.
No, I replied, my voice unsteady, itll grow easier when you try. When youre present. I dont expect perfection. I expect partnership.
At last, he looked at meproperly lookedtaking in the weariness in my gaze, the tremor in my hands. I hadnt realized you felt this way, he said.
Thats the trouble, I whispered. You didnt see.
The following days felt different. Not flawless, but altered.
One night, William rose at two in the morning to feed Oliver. I awoke to the sound of him humming tunelessly, yet my heart swelled. I hadnt heard him sing in ages. I lay there, weeping silentlythis time from relief.
He began learning how to swaddle, how to wind Oliver properly. He even left his mobile on the sideboard during family hours. It wasnt a miraculous change, but it was a start.
And for the first time, I dared hope we might be finding our way back to one another.
Months later, once Oliver began sleeping through the night, William and I sat upon the terrace one evening. The air was still, the sky gilded with dusk.
I was frightened, he confessed abruptly. You always seemed to know what to do. I feared if I tried and bungled it, youd think me hopeless. So I kept my distance.
I offered a wistful smile. I didnt need perfection, William. I simply needed you beside meeven when you were afraid.
He nodded, his gaze tender. I understand now.
Now, when I see him rocking Oliver to sleep, whispering absurd tales, I think back to those early daysthe silence, the chasm between us, the exhaustion that nearly shattered us.
Its all too easy to lose one another in parenthood. Easy to forget that both are learning to become something newnot merely mother and father, but partners anew.
I once believed love was proven through grand gestures, but Ive since learned its fashioned in small, hushed moments. In the dead of night, with a babes cries and two souls strivingtruly strivingto rediscover their harmony.
So when new mothers write to me now, saying they feel invisible, I tell them this:
Youre not feeble for craving aid. Youre not overwrought for weeping at three in the morning. And if your partner doesnt yet see youkeep speaking. For sometimes love merely needs reminding that it has work to do.
Last night, I stepped into the nursery to find William asleep beside Olivers cradle, his hand resting lightly upon our babes chest.
The telly was off. The mobile forgotten.
And for the first time in ever so long, the quiet in our home felt tranquilnot desolate.
