Getting unexpectedly familiar with my heart

2 July 2024

In London for a work trip, due at three events across the city that day. I felt the burn of chest pain on rising in my hotel room. Bit weird but nothing major. It steadily got worse as I got showered, dressed and drank a brew, till it felt like the classic Hollywood heart attack looks: crushing central pain with cold sweats and nausea. I knew I needed to raise the alarm so grabbed a passing hotel guest in the third-floor corridor before I lay on the floor from the pain. An excellent choice of messenger as he bolted to reception to call an ambulance.

Lay on the carpet in pain and sweat feeling both relieved and petrified. First thought: Clara. Second thought: this might be about to REALLY hurt.

Hotel staff came to relay my details to 999 and wait with me. Managed to steer me back to my room as I asked so people didn’t have to step over crying, dying (?) woman.

Pain subsided a bit on the bed and hotel staff were brilliantly calm and reassuring. I reasoned if I can talk then I’m not having a heart attack. Not entirely convincing myself.

Paramedics arrived about 20 mins later. ECG showed bradycardia – big word for slow heart rate. I remembered it from our days on the neonatal unit.

They got me in a wheelchair then into an ambulance. More monitoring; paracetamol. Thankfully short drive to UCLH. Brendan called on the way. Aussie paramedic (‘ambo’) heard him on speaker and subsequently called me ‘darl’ incessantly (I guess once he’d ascertained I must know what that meant).

More wheelchair, then handed over to resus and put in a room with a glass wall. Something about ‘incapable of mild exertion’. I think this referred to picking up a water bottle. I told the story for the first of what would be dozens of times to a series of nurses and doctors, all with that brilliant NHS persona of knowledge and skill, laced with reassuring lightness.

Industrial quantities of blood thinners administered to blast any clots. I was told they were treating my symptoms aggressively. Continuous observation: medics to me; me eavesdropping on them, then googling what I heard. INFORMATION. Wellens Syndrome, Deep-Ts, ECG, echo, some shrugging, something something. Had a wee in a chair. Heartrate still in the 30-40 bpm range.

After an hour or two, I was moved to something called Majors for more obs. Brilliant nurse called Jabu who argued with me that my name was Nicola. A gross but appreciated tuna sandwich appeared. More repeat storytelling to several members of the medical team. Apparently this isn’t just to inform a wide range of people, it can be helpful in recalling new details each time. Brendan arrived, which made a scary situation feel much better.

After another couple of hours I was moved up a floor to the Emergency Care Unit. Took my corner bed in a ward of elderly Cockney heart patients. Abandoned business trousers for open backed pink nightie and settled in for a routine of blood tests and bleeps. Much love being WhatsApped, which helped a lot.  

Then 24 hrs of:

• ·        Blood tests.
• ·        Being told I didn’t *look* like I’d had a heart attack. And had minimal risk factors. Some chin scratching.
• ·        Being asked if I had an Apple Watch. By many staff and at regular intervals. Emergency medicine are big fans. A baseline bpm would have been very useful.
• ·        Being asked if I’m an athlete (despite appearances). My resting heartbeat is SLOW. Pretty surprising for an anxious/hiNRG old stick like me.
• ·        Learning about the gender gap in heart care from the excellent BHF website. https://www.bhf.org.uk/informationsupport/support/women-with-a-heart-condition/women-and-heart-disease
• ·        A noisy night of getting tangled in wires, having various things monitored, and trying to fashion a sleep mask and ear defenders. Bloody machines and a fair bit of shouting.
• ·        Echocardiogram. Ultrasound of my heart – cool to see my heart doing its thing.

Cardiologists came to talk in the morning.

They confirmed that multiple troponin tests had come back clear – this is the reliable biomarker for heart attack. The echo was clear. Various other measures were clear (thyroid, white blood cells, other things I didn’t understand and don’t remember). Final ruling out was a D-Dimer to track any clots:  nada.

So after ruling out all probable causes of my chest pains, my diagnosis partially crosses into the murky area of stress and related. Anxiety + low heart rate = coronary arterial spasms causing pain.

I was polite but strident when checking:

a) that the cardiologist would give the same diagnosis for a man presenting the same, and

b) that we're definitely arriving at anxiety as a final explanation after all other likely things have been ruled out (my heart is not in my head).

The cardio said yes on both counts – and conceded the real possibility of implicit bias, and that he welcomes patients bringing up the topic of gender bias in medicine. I’m glad he was that way inclined.

I was discharged around 36 hrs after the initial event. Got the train back to Leeds with some GTN spray (‘just in case’) and deep reflection on life past and future.

Parting words of the discharging nurse:

"Have you thought about getting an Apple watch?"

I do not need to work 60 hours a week to succeed in academia*

*or It's Just a Damn Job

I recently suffered a short bout of ill health, a benign but strident virus that sent me to bed for a few days. It was the longest I’ve spent convalescing for a few years and whilst unpleasant and frustrating, it gave me the chance to reflect on how long my work-life balance had been out of whack. How long it had been since I hadn’t been tired.

I had been trying to shake off the same cold for a few months. It had manifested as the bogus-sounding ‘leisure sickness’ – a boomerang-like lurgy that seemed to stream only at weekends, when I allowed myself to relax from work a little. In the process of flooring me on a Saturday or Sunday, it stole me from much-needed time with the family, before being suppressed come Monday morning when the academic hamster wheel cranked up again.

A little research suggested what I suspected; leisure sickness is a symptom of workaholism. In one of the only studies on the phenomenon, many of those affected were found to share certain characteristics: a high workload, perfectionist tendencies, eagerness to achieve, and an over-developed sense of responsibility to their work (van Huijgevoort & Vingerhoets, 2001). Sounds boomingly familiar, even without the structural issues in academia that necessitate a long-hours culture.

I hadn’t allowed myself enough rest time to recover from my crazy weekly schedule for a long time. Weekends were a whirl of chores and obligations, a period to get through before I could lozzack on the sofa for an hour before going to bed (and lying awake, insomniac, but that’s another symptom).

On this occasion, the cold had taken hold and wasn’t taking shutup for an answer. A colleague warned me to rest, mumbling something softly about pre-ME symptoms and ‘long roads to recovery’. This spooked me. While I wanted to succeed in my job, I craved rest and headspace, and did not want to be incapacitated.

So, at that point when being ill in bed tips from being boring to secretly being a bit nice, I thought a lot about how I can regain my balance. My list of wants is modest, but have a common factor:

1. More time to see / talk to friends and family;
2. More time to allow me to run more regularly;
3. More time to just be; to be with my husband and daughter, and sometimes just with me.

To get there I have a simple (though not necessarily easy) to-do list:

1. I’ll use a basic app to accurately track and limit my working hours. Feeling like I’m always working has got to contribute to these feelings of exhaustion. Documenting the hours might reveal things aren’t quite as heavy as I feel they are, and when I hit my daily target; 40 hrs a week (give or take), I’ll stop. Limiting evening working will help my wellbeing hugely. I can still catch up on tasks left undone when I have to razz to the school run, but when the time’s up, I’ll stop and relax or do those things on my little wishlist.
2. I’ll switch off email push notifications after my clock-off time each evening, and for the whole of the weekend.
3. I’ll take my 25 days annual leave.

I’ve made these resolutions before, but this time feels different. This semester is the first time I spoke out against a massive teaching load coming my way, and this time, my managers (and some amazing colleagues) have diverted it. As a result, I'm breathing easier, writing regularly (thanks also to the writing group my School has implemented), and enjoying work more than I have in a while. This time I’ve been ill, not seriously, but enough to kick me into action.

The Twittersphere has recently been ablaze after a tweet asserting that you’re not a #RealAcademic unless work=life. It’s been a great conversation about our toxic overworking culture, and has led me to revisit some wise blogposts such as Meghan Duffy’s You do not need to work 80 hours a week to succeed in academia and Arjun Raj’s timely How much do PIs work?

I turn 40 in a couple of months. As a measure of success, I heard some people aim to have their pay packet match their age. For me, for now, it’s not to let my weekly hours exceed my age.

Final morning: Spain to Cambridge

House is packed up and the lovely ones are still sleeping. I’m emoting all over my keyboard.

What an amazing time we’ve had. It’s been the opportunity of a lifetime and we’ve seized it. Six weeks in green and blue, bathed in sunshine. I have a strong sense of being reconnected with nature: the sea, the beach, the mountains, the waterfalls and lush gorges. Watching the green oranges turn. Whizzing past miles of olive trees (though they tell me there’s not many here). I never knew Spain could be so juicy like this – my previous experiences have been of the blazing South or the parched plains but here really are where the lungs are.

 

And my, what food! Who knew that a combination of pork, salt and oil could be so varied and delicious? And seafood served as a fresh, zingy, delight, far from the French way with cream. Galician octopus, gambas al alliolli, steamed mussels, calamari done six ways. I’m full yet energetic. I’ve drunk too much cold red wine.

And here is Spanish, as it should be. We met a British couple yesterday and it was nice to swap stories but I’ve loved six weeks of listening to the ribbons of Spanish – those threads are punctuated with words I know, words I understand, and more of neither. But it’s slower than it seemed when I arrived, which is a victory.

More personally, it’s been precious family time. Not just with Prev and C but with our other families who gave up time and distance for a couple of weeks of toddler and sunshine while we worked. Those memories are already so special – watching my mum and dad giggle at C's antics and playing shops and work and doctors and dentists and cafes and whatever other game with ever-changing rules FOR HOURS. Watching my in-laws drive off for the day with adventurous spirits and return with stories of fun and nurture.

Our work has taken a hit, no doubt. It’s been more part-time than our professional selves would like but it’s clear it’s been worth it. I’ve got a fair bit done, made some exciting plans and written a couple of proposals. It’s been a busy time for my Spanish collaborator, which means we’ve not spent huge amounts of time working together. But we’ve made some progress with a couple of projects, and laid down foundations for the next few weeks. Most importantly, we’ve become better friends and got a better sense of each other’s working interests and aims. I hope this means we’ll work more closely in the future – I’ll certainly think of her in my future work. She’s an inspiration in many ways.

And today we fly to Cambridge for another six weeks of abnormality. Love and luck to my husband driving our business tank up through Spain, across Western France and back to his hometown.

I’d love to keep up our affair with Spain. Let’s watch Almodovar films and read tapas cookbooks. Let’s send C to Spanish classes and flamenco dancing. Let’s come back.

Spain, week 5.

Holy cow indeed, we are coming to the end of our very porky Spanish leg after five wonderful weeks here in Sagunto. It's flown, of course, and has been all kinds of wonderful. C is the happiest I've ever seen her. At first I was worried that she would be bored here without parks and cafes to walk to. Instead, we’ve swapped those conveniences for pinecones, feral kittens, grapes from the vine, and affectionate locals. When we wash at night she’s grubbier than usual with little black soles, but happy, really happy to have mum and dad close and a new place to explore.

Of course the pictures I post on Facebook are the edited highlights. What you don’t see are our mosquito-bitten bodies, the swarms of ants in the dishwasher, and me basically crying in the library on day 5 of trying to get a f**king internet connection. Never knew not being able to work would be so utterly frustrating. And having family here for basically the whole time has put a fair bit of pressure on me and Prev but hey, Paradise would be boring...

That said, I’ve been mostly feeling calm and like there’s space in my brain. My memory has improved – I no longer need to write every little appointment and task down, maybe because there are fewer things on the list. Such a luxury to have the whole day to work on one project. And my evenings work-free to do things like blog and watch forrin news channels. Or drink G&Ts under the stars. 

Feeling very much at home now. Driving on empty roads is a pleasure; piecing together fragments of Spanish is a pleasure. Going for a pre-bedtime walk with C is a joy. People here are SO affectionate with kids. It’s quite overwhelming at times but also a great way of getting over the language barrier and connecting with people – sharing food (lollipops, yogurts) and games. The main difference is the lack of inhibition which women – and most notably men - show when fussing over C with their que guapas and gleeful tickles. It’s extremely refreshing, and goes hand in hand with the almost complete integration of children into Spanish life.

So, next week we move on to Cambridge. It’s gonna be freezing...

Upping sticks

Throughout 2015/16 I have research leave from my job as University lecturer. I’m lucky enough to have the means (i.e. an open-minded husband, a daughter not yet at school, many amazing family members offering childcare, and a paying lodger living in our home) to get away for the first three months. We’re spending six weeks in Valencia and six weeks in Cambridge, allowing me to work with two very dear collaborators who just happen to live in these two beautiful places. What follows are a few posts about our life on leave.

Re-engaging brain

Today was the last day of my Maternity Leave L

It’s been one of the best times of my life. I’ve loved spending time with C and trying my hand at housewifing for 9 months. And I reckon I’ve done alright.

I was a bit confused at the start. It took me a while to work out that Mat Leave was for giving C a secure, healthy start (my google history may just throw up the question ‘what is maternity leave for?). Anyway, apart from the (now) obvious, I had a few aims at the beginning of my leave. In rough order of importance, they were:

1.  find good baby groups
2. travel to see friends/family
3. go to exhibitions etc whilst Clara is tiny
4. take more holidays/trips
5. try the baby cinema (grown up films but babes in arms welcome)
6. make a monthly video diary
7. write a monthly blog
8. learn how to code
9.  do a car maintenance course 

Ignore 8 and 9, what was I thinking? For the first 3 months, it was achievement enough to make sure she and I were fed, clean and reasonably happy. 7, meh. I did do a bit of work which I’m very glad about now (I even got promoted). Keeping my toe in the water means going back is less of a big deal, and taking Clara to a conference while I could was excellent fun. But the most important things were the quality time with loved ones, i.e. 1-6, and I’ve done - and enjoyed – those in spades.

We’ve joined premmie groups, baby massage groups, singing groups, messy play groups, and had a blast. I’ve tucked C away in a sling and walked for miles, walked in the forest, whiled hours away in cafes.  We’ve hung out at home playing on the floor, eating together, swimming in the hot tub most days. We’ve explored new parts of the UK and found new ways of holidaying. We’ve seen more of my family than I’ve done in years. Not to mention some fantastic new friends I’ve made through NCT classes, those always surprising, hilarious, wise women have been a lifeline and sanity check.

Having C around makes everything more fun and exciting. At times it’s been hard, of course, when a grouchy refluxy baby could not be calmed and the hours dragged. Having Prev here working from home has been amazing, here to help with poosplosions and to share cute moments with. I’ve never missed adult conversation like people told me I would. I’ve enjoyed keeping C fed, medicated, clothed, and clean. I’ve developed an unlikely obsession with cloth nappies. I’ve spent way too many hours on Mumsnet forums.

And as for returning to work, I’m optimistic. Friends have found unexpected confidence and efficiency at work since becoming mothers, I hope something similar happens to me. I’m glad I’m starting out part-time, as leaving C is hard when she’s still so very titchy. And knowing that if the working mother thing doesn’t work out, we have options (though secretly I suspect that I’ll dig being back at work and my new life and old life will blend in all sorts of new and interesting ways).

Sending C to nursery is a headfuck. Well, more like a heartfuck actually, since my head knows it’s a good thing for everyone. I need to work, I want C to see me working and contributing to the world, the nursery we’ve found is amazing, and can offer her brilliant things to learn and have fun with. But then I want to hug her tight and inhale her smell and never let her go. She fits into my 1950s housewife fantasy just right. But maybe I don’t.

The Mother of all Questions: Why being a mum rocks their world

Another birthday whooshes by and tick tock, there goes the media drip-feeding childless women their stream of procreative nag. Hurry, you’ve only half a dozen eggs left (and those are probably a bit iffy). But make sure you’ve got a supportive partner and cash in the bank and four walls of your own and a career that leaves the door open, okay? And get ready for Jolly Hard Work and for the decimation of your body / sleep / relationships / bank balance etc.

In light of this depressive postnatal outlook, I ask: Why should we?

Because it’s so FULFILLING, they say. It’s so REWARDING.

And that’s all we get. No intelligent ballast against the rising tide of toil that these small bundles are said to demand.

Likewise, my contemporaries who have cultivated wee ones are not hugely informative. Invariably they tell me how GREAT being a mum is, but in the spirit of the Facebook soundbite I never truly find out why.

All this gives me a negatively skewed perception of the whole breeding thing which leaves me wondering why the hell they do it.

So, I posed my dearest and most fertile friends a question. What is it about motherhood which rocks their world? And damn, do these women love talking about their bairns! They replied fully and frankly about their experiences of raising children, who range between 3 weeks and 6 years old. Not one of them told me to butt out. A few apologised for gushing, which may explain why they typically hold their tongues about the upsides of motherhood.

Using a totally unscientific approach, their stories became my data. I identified ten common themes and report most of what they said verbatim. I try to bridge the interplanetary gap between pre- and post-child worlds, and aim to reveal just what drives mothers to do their thing.

1. Pure Crazy Love

By far the largest and loudest messages focused on a ubiquitous feeling of Pure Crazy Love. Whilst this most visceral of notions does not fit neatly within the rational frame of reason and logic, my respondents managed to convey the elation of being a mum. These women have been emotionally ambushed by some heavenly version of happiness that I don’t pretend to understand. If these words came from those without babes in arms, you might look for signs of either class A-use or personality disorder. Call it hormones, oxytocin, instinct, whatever; these women are seriously Loved Up. This is what they said.

Your heart is so full of love it feels like someone is squeezing it! That love carries you through pain, tiredness, frustration and beyond.

It's weird but I can honestly say there was just feeling of love towards him at every point, even when he was screaming.

A huge one for me is just how lovely and satisfying hanging out with your child is. Cuddling, holding, playing with, and possibly most of all, breastfeeding your child feels wonderful. It is quite like being in romantic love or a warm sunshiny lying-in-a-field feeling.

For some, this love-kidnap happens as soon as baby arrives:

When your baby is born you fall so powerfully head-over-heels in love that it is actually a physical feeling. I can remember it to this day. I was lying in the intensive care, drips everywhere, in so much pain and T. was placed on me and I felt this overwhelming tingle that started at the tips of my toes and washed slowly up and over my entire body that it actually made me shudder. It was such a physical feeling of love and I had never experienced anything so powerful. And that feeling stays with you forever. Every time you look at them - even when you've had sleepless nights or you can't stop them crying - the wash of love is there as you smile at their grumpy little face.

For others it built up gradually:

It's hard to understand how much you're going to love your children. This is true even when they're not so good at interacting, but even more now when W. gives me a hug or says 'mama'. Certain studies show that your average happiness is unchanged by children, but whereas the lows after having them are boring and mundane (more housework, nappies etc), the highs are amazing.

If I’m not mistaken, all this sounds very much like infatuation:

Much of the time you won't really want to think about or talk about anyone else.

Your child becomes the centre of your universe.

And it ain’t no fly-by-night crush:

Unlike being in love with another adult, it is a feeling guaranteed to last the rest of your life.

Did you know that every family is headed by a sword-wielding, flame-throwing, kung-fu heroine? Neither did they – they said that having children gives you a package of new instincts you never thought you would have. Bonus!

You would do ANYTHING for them - and I mean die for them.

It's somehow exhilarating to feel that if a madman with a knife was heading toward your child, IN A MILLISECOND you would throw yourself in front of assailant and die for your child (and weirder still is that you actually daydream about these scenarios). No questions, no debate, no thinking about it, no weighing up the options. Although you might think you feel like this now about your parents or your partner or your friends, it's not even close to the automatic sacrifice reflex you will have for your child. In a day-to-day way, this takes all kinds of forms while juggling bags of groceries or standing on a crowded bus- but the upshot is, you won't mind experiencing pain or inconvenience or hassle if it makes your child happy. Again, this feeling of selflessness is exhilarating in a way that's hard to explain.

But should it come to that, it’s well worth all the fight. For kids are all-round life-enhancers:

When everything is shitty, H. makes it better. I know that if I didn’t have him, I would be struggling a lot more to cope with what life throws at you but he gives me reason to keep positive and happy.

I also discovered a secret maternal hobby: SLEEPWATCHING.

I am not sure why but you can watch them sleep for hours and you would forgive them anything in that moment even if they have been terrors throughout the day.

I guess in the early weeks it's the overwhelming cuteness that a newborn baby oozes - I could just watch him for hours, not doing anything in particular, but just being him.

In advanced mum-Olympics, when kids talk more and nap less, I’m told that another pastime is trying to beat them at the 'but why?' game. Brilliant!

2. Reciprocation

Not only does the mother-love dial go right up to 11, it seems it’s blasted right back at them.

Every morning when I wake up, no matter how exhausted I am or sore or stressed or cranky, I see E's little face poking up out of her bed and I just want to weep with happiness. I am sooo happy to see her every morning. And she smiles back at me in exactly the same way.

Seeing someone love you with the same heart-squeezing feeling. Z. telling me almost every day that I’m beautiful is SO cool, and the best has to be “Mummy I love you so much I could punch you”!

3. Enhanced relationships

Babies put untold strains on relationships, the papers warn. Separations peak when the child is two, they say. But from what my people said, sharing all this gloriousness mainly enhances it:

Watching your husband being a father is amazing.

In my experience, having a child will ultimately bring you closer to your partner, because you both share the same feelings of Crazy Love for the same little person.

You are also aware that you made that amazing person with your other favourite person in the world!

In some ways having a baby has made our relationship even better than it was before, though in other ways we have to work harder to make time for each other and don't always succeed.

Seeing something that S. and I created grow, develop, make us laugh, make us cry, give us love is just out of this world.

Other relationships benefit too:

The new understanding it gives you of your relationship with your own parents.

Your relationship with your own parents and family will completely change, in ways that are hard to predict. In my experience, all good.

I always think of the future too, having grown up in a big family I want to be able to repeat this and make my own family and give them the love and happiness I have had.

4. Becoming part of the community

The mighty mama-love permeates the world outside and connects mothers to extended family, friends, neighbours and strangers. New friends are made and random acts of kindness abound:

When you do manage to get out of the house with a child, you will be amazed at how many smiles you collect from strangers. Having a child connects you to most of the rest of humanity- suddenly, grumpy immigration officials or your boss or the woman at the bank will want to talk to you about your kid and compare notes with you about their children. You feel part of this huge biological, social, cultural web, especially when you travel to nonwestern countries where they make no bones about loving children.

Friends and family and neighbours suddenly start coming out of the woodwork and doing lovely favours for you. My old uni friend sent me two huge boxes of wonderful hand-me-downs from her son, out of the blue- total postage cost $150! Another friend will insist on babysitting for an evening while you go out for an anniversary dinner, a neighbour you hardly speak to will pop round with a new teddy bear.

5. Heredity

So this is why people argue about whether baby looks like cute big sister or beardy Uncle Jack – it looks like ALL of them at some point! I guess seeing yourself and your partner all mixed up in one face has got to be pretty wonderful (though there’s probably an app for it out there).

You think: My God, that's my DNA in there! Every day another relative will pop out of the little face- the baby might have your sister's smile, your father's forehead, your cousin's scowl...and it's great.

You pick out each other’s features/characteristics and you marvel at how your love made a whole new person.

6. Watching the process of learning and development

Some of my friends are in psychology. Some are in sales. No matter, they’re all lapping up that developmental data..

If you're a linguist, it is eternally fascinating to watch the child acquire language. I have to hold myself back from posting things like "Today we discovered syllable codas! Wooo!"

I love watching him grow and develop, and I find myself wondering what he’s thinking, and what’s going on in that little brain, all those neurons making connections.

It’s really interesting having a child. Obviously, I'm interested in their development, and it's great to see W. experimenting with objects or learning to walk. I'm very much looking forward to his talking.

7. The most important job in the world

Being a parent entails being a teacher/ nurse/ tailor/ cleaner/ hairdresser/ actor/ taxi-driver/ mountain-rescuer. That’s a whole load of job satisfaction..

Seeing what you do, say and teach impacting on another person and the feeling of responsibility is joyous. Knowing that only you can keep this little person alive makes you feel like superwoman!

When they hurt themselves and only you will do ('I want my Mummy!')

There will be so many rewarding moments as he grows up, and I can say that I've helped him along the way. I don't want it to sound like a project, but in a way I guess it is, working each day to nurture a child that can one day leave the nest and become independent. Part of my wanting to be a mum is selfish, but part is also to give another person a chance to experience life. I know it's not all rosy, but I hope I can help make it as rosy as possible.

8. Fun and novelty

Now I know that doing cool stuff like going to zoos and farms isn’t just for families, but sometimes feel a bit odd to be the only four-legged family on site. Children are the perfect passport for a whole world of fun, a great excuse for childish behaviour, and a legitimate reason for a noisy messy happy house.

You rediscover the most simple joys in life - making a snowman, swinging on the swings, feeding the ducks, jumping in muddy puddles - all things you could do anyway, but had stopped.

I have friends who think that having a baby prevents you from doing the things you love to do. Not at all - we're still doing everything we used to and I. comes with us! Maybe it's just us but having a baby isn't a burden and we don't want to have any time off!

We were slightly apprehensive about going on honeymoon with H. but our two weeks away was the best holiday ever and he made it so much better! Seeing him loving every moment and getting so much attention from all the staff and other guests was so great. He was famous on our resort.

Every day brings something new - a different expression, a different food to try, a new trip out, meeting people you wouldn’t normally mix with (good & bad!)

9. Cutting the crap

Childrearing is hard work, but it’s good hard work. Without exception, these women enthused about their lives and whether they’re full-time mums or splitting their time between work and family, they cherish time at home. Overtime and the unnecessary social obligations seem to melt away once kids come along.

As soon as I became pregnant, I slowed the work side of things down and did what I had to do but no more. Last year made me realise how my life and the people closest to me are most important and that I don't have to take on a hundred responsibilities in order to enjoy my job or keep me occupied. I. has definitely made me realise that as much as I love my job, I will not sacrifice the time I spend with her for it.

10. They are the most entertaining person who ever lived

Kids are funny, but who knew that (one’s own) children hold the secret of comedy?

Once the child gets to be a few months old, they become HILARIOUS. Just watching the little nipper smushing a strawberry all over his/her face or being totally absorbed with a sock or whatever will make you laugh no matter what mood you're in. And it just gets funnier and funnier the older they get.

Lots of laughter (most of the time at them, not with them).

When he smiles and laughs it makes me smile and laugh in a way no adult can make me.

***

So there I have it. Ten wonderful, complex rewards for giving all that they have to a brand new person. Authentic, intimate stories to smash the nine circles of hell that the media warn us about. It sounds like an outright madness from the outside, and I feel like a flatland dweller trying to imagine the Himalayas. In any sane, childless world these comments could come from the lips of obsessive stalkers, wacked-out hippies and nitwits. I guess you have to be there to really get it.

Of course, my mothers also told me what doesn’t rock, but that’s another story and one which for now, I’ll leave to the press. These downsides appear on our screens and pages because they are easy to quantify: you can expect to lose x hours sleep and gain xkg on the hips; you’ll spend £x on childcare and risk x% decrease in the quality of your relationship. As I was reminded, we are not so great at writing about emotions – it’s a woolly business and it doesn’t sell papers.

I also think that we don’t often get to hear all this positivity because many people are just not concerned with it, and mothers are sensitive to this (damn hyper-empathetic creatures!).

In writing this, I’ve come to realise that childbearing is not really a why question – it’s not something that can be intellectualised. By my asking about it in this way suggests I am years from getting myself up the duff. I was told again and again how hard it is to put a finger on exactly what makes it rock. So thank you to my honest and open mama-friends for describing the indescribable.