Things a Mother Discovers (and no one talks about)

By Filipa Fonseca Silva

In this humorous essay, embellished with fun illustrations, Amazon Top 100 author Filipa Fonseca Silva shares things no one talks about before you become a mom. Things she learned from her experience as a mother of two and wished someone had told her as soon as the pregnancy test got positive.
Written in a sarcastic tone, it’s the perfect book for new parents (who will learn precious tips on how to deal with the unexpected), experienced parents (who will know they’re not alone), pregnant parents (just to get ready for what really comes ahead) and also for those who don’t want to be parents and needed new reasons to stay so.

WARNING: The following content may contain elements that are not suitable for people with no sense of humor and for all those who believe that the best thing in the world is being a mom. If you don’t agree with affirmations such as “holidays with kids are not holidays” or “breastfeeding is boring”, read at your own risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Filipa Fonseca Silva
• Release date: Oct 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311781284

Filipa Fonseca Silva

Filipa Fonseca Silva is a copywriter, blogger and Amazon Top 100 author. She’s mostly a fiction writer ("Thirty Something - Nothing's How We Dreamed it Would Be" 2011, and "The Strange Year of Vanessa M." 2013) but recently ventured in the non-fiction with this humorous essay on motherhood, which caused quite a controversy in Portugal, where it was originally published. Besides writing, Filipa loves painting, collecting shoes and eating watermelon. She lives in Lisbon with her husband and two children.

Book preview

Introduction

I was very young when I first realized I wanted to be a mother. I was eight, and I treated my dolls like they were real, and set the alarm clock for four in the morning to pretend the baby had woken up in the middle of the night and needed a bottle. When I was twelve I had the good fortune to have a little sister arrive in my life, and it was almost like having a daughter of my own. I put my playthings aside and dedicated myself to her with a joy I’d never known: she was my real life doll! And as I was old enough to help my mother with everything to do with the new member of the family, I spent my adolescence and early adult years in close contact with all the good things a young child gives us. The good things, and the bad things too: the ailments and viruses, the tantrums and fixations, the parents’ meetings and the three-hour-long Christmas parties just to see her on stage for five minutes, the Saturday nights babysitting and the Sunday mornings watching cartoons.

So when I got married, I was in no hurry to get pregnant. And I made a point of enjoying our life as a couple to the full. Not that I didn’t want to be a mother, just that I knew what was in store for me: it was hard work, and unpaid, and there was no retirement date. Yes. As if I really knew what lay in wait for me. Despite my experience, living through the birth and growth of my sister, despite remembering the lamentations and outbursts of my mother and her friends, nothing had prepared me for the harsh reality.

Being a mother is a unique experience. For better, and worse. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world, but it’s also the most exhausting. It’s great happiness and profound anguish. It’s not giving up a single minute we spend with our children for anything, but it’s also missing the times before they existed (or secretly wishing they’d disappear for an hour, so we could hear ourselves think). And of all the masses of books and articles written on the subject, none tells us the whole truth. Mainly because there’s always a tendency to overrate the good things and overlook the more difficult aspects.

It was exactly this that made me start posting ‘things a mother discovers’ in my blog: basically, an account of things I’d noticed in the course of the endless trials my dear children had subjected me to since the moment of their conception.

I know some mothers (some fathers, too) will be alarmed by some of the things I write here and accuse me of going too far. But others will identify with my stories, and even think I’m over-tolerant. And others still will get indignant with my frankness and think I’m a selfish bitch who doesn't love her children. To all of these readers I say: this is not a scientific work, and it’s not a textbook either. There are no universal truths in here, and no patronizing advice either. There are only experiences which I want to share with you. My experiences. Told with a good dose of humour and demystification of the maternal figure. Because children are the best thing in the world. Although spending the day alone on a deserted beach with only a mojito for company doesn’t come far behind.

Pregnancy (or, a preview of the rest of our lives)

All pregnant women talk about is babies

The first thing a pregnant woman discovers, the moment she breaks the big news to the world, is that she has a special status. And that’s exactly the way it should be: she’s a superior human being, for she’s carrying a new life inside her. But what I didn’t know until I got pregnant for the first time was, most women can’t talk to a pregnant woman about anything except pregnancy. And it isn’t just talking: it’s opinions, advice, warnings about everything in store for us in the coming months. It’s as if a woman suddenly stops having her own personality just because she's pregnant. And stops having any intellectual worth, even if she’s a lawyer or an artist or holds a Nobel Prize in physics.

Obviously for a mum-to-be it feels good to be pampered and see people taking an interest in this fabulous phase she's going through. I’ve always been perfectly happy to answer the ‘normal’ questions everyone makes: How has it been for you? Is it a boy or a girl? Have you chosen a name yet? When’s the baby due? Is the layette ready? It’s also nice to get a tip or two from people who've been there (pregnancy), or when they offer to lend things that babies only use for a few months. So far, so good. A short conversation, ten minutes, then we change the subject, yes? No. Not many women content themselves with ten miserable minutes, especially if they’re pregnant too, or have recently given birth. Worse still: for some women it’s an inexhaustible subject.

These women ask all the questions everyone else asks, and then some more: they want to know every detail of the gestation, from the baby’s growth percentile to the method of delivery. And they’re not shy about sharing their personal histories either, as if they held qualifications on the subject – when they’ve only had one child themselves. And many of these stories are truly shocking. Twenty-six hours of labour... a slow and painful recovery from giving birth... and the descriptions of what life will be like once the baby’s born, which typically include phrases like ‘You’ll stop going out at night’, ‘You’ll have no time to read’ and ‘You’ll stop buying things for yourself.’ Well thanks very much, but is all that detail necessary? Did you hear me ask anything? It happens when it happens, and it’s been that way for millions of years. And life does change, of course, but only as far as we let it.

Yes, I’m a mother now. Yes, it’s amazing to create a human being inside and outside ourselves. Yes, children are the most beautiful thing in the world (although certain pairs of shoes give them a good run for their money, and don't wake us up at night either). But every mother is first and foremost a woman, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a thousand other things. To me, reducing her to that maternal figure is an insult. I refuse to dilute my personality in another being. I refuse to replace my social media profile photos with photos of another person (yes girls, I’m sorry to tell you, but your baby is a person, an independent being, with its own personality and legal rights over its own image). I refuse to let my baby function as a sop for any emotional, professional or social shortcomings I might feel. And I think not letting a conversation about babies last more than ten minutes is a good start.

So when you see me around, my dear friends, my acquaintances from the doctor’s waiting room, pregnant again or with kids in tow, please talk to me about politics, books, films, new fashion collections, the wonderful holidays you’re planning and I can’t even dream about yet, even football. Stimulate my brain cells! We go without so much when we’re pregnant and new mothers. Don’t make me go without my individuality and interesting conversation. Thank you.

Pregnancy – a fashion victim’s nightmare

It’s no secret that pregnancy isn’t my favourite condition, although I’ve been through two pregnancies already. Yes, there are lots of wonderful moments, like feeling the baby kicking, hearing its little heart beat, having priority in every queue we join. But the privations we suffer during this so-called state of grace (nausea, headaches, back pains, swellings, extra weight, gastrointestinal problems – I won’t go into details, but they’re not flattering – fatigue, sleepiness, lack of alcohol) almost make me forget the good things. And there’s one particularly unfortunate privation: the lack of wardrobe options for mothers-to-be.

There’s no getting round it: most of our clothes no longer fit us, and that inevitably involves the added expense of buying a few pieces of maternity wear. And that’s where the nightmare begins, for the options are limited. Maybe women with more classical tastes can find something decent, but for followers of fashion… well, forget it.

Let’s start at the essentials: underwear. Your breasts grow. A lot. An awful lot. Which means you inevitably have to invest in that department. But since not everyone can afford underwear they’ll only use during pregnancy, the first thing most pregnant women buy is a maternity bra, the kind that’s suitable for breastfeeding. That’s when our first nervous crisis comes. Everything is so ugly, so basic, so prudish, you’d think it was