The parlour was hushed save for the faint murmur of the telly and my babys hiccuping whimpers. There I stood in the dim glow, cradling Oliver in my arms, rocking him gently as I had done countless times that evening. My limbs ached. My blouse carried the faint scent of milk and weariness. Tears threatened to spill, but I swallowed them back.
On the settee, William idly thumbed through his mobile, legs sprawled, a half-drunk ale and crisps strewn across the table before him.
Three weeksthat was how long it had been since we brought Oliver home. Three weeks of sleepless nights, endless feedings, and tearshis and mine. Id imagined wed face it together. I thought William would clasp my hand and tell me I was doing splendidly, that wed chuckle through the mayhem.
Instead, I might as well have been a ghost.
Couldnt you 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 breather.
I nearly screamed. A breather? What was that? I hadnt slept more than two hours straight in days. My body hadnt yet mended. My mind was fraying. But I held my tongue, turning away to rock Oliver until his cries ebbed into faint murmurs.
Later that night, after settling him at last, I perched on the edge of the bed and stared at my reflection in the darkened window. The woman gazing back was a strangerpale, spent, and utterly alone.
A few nights on, matters came to a head. Oliver wouldnt cease crying, his tiny fists balled, his face flushed with effort. I paced the parlour, murmuring lullabies I no longer believed in. Every fibre of my being cried out for rest.
I glanced at the setteeWilliam had dozed off, the telly casting flickers over his face. Something within me splintered.
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 heartbeat, I longed to shake William awake, to cry, Look at me! Look at us! Were sinking, and you dont even notice!
But I didnt.
I only held my babe tighter and whispered, Hush now, love. Mummys here.
The next morning, William found me asleep on the nursery floor, Oliver still in my arms. He frowned. Why didnt you put him in the cradle?
Because he wouldnt stop, 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 took simply to survive the night.
That was when I understood how utterly unseen Id become.
Days later, my dearest friend Charlotte visited. She took one look at meunwashed hair, shadows beneath my eyesand gasped. Eleanor, when did you last sleep?
I gave a feeble laugh. Mothers dont sleep, do they?
But she didnt smile. Cradling Oliver, she said softly, You need help, Ellie. And not just with the babe.
Her words struck deeper than Id expected. That evening, after putting Oliver down, 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 get easier.
No, I replied, my voice trembling, itll get easier when you try. When youre present. I dont expect perfection. I expect partnership.
At last, he looked at mereally lookedtaking in the weariness in my gaze, the tremor in my hands. I didnt know you felt this way, he said.
Thats the trouble, I whispered. You never noticed.
The days that followed felt different. Not flawless, but changed.
One night, William 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 months. I lay there, weeping silentlythis time from relief.
He learned to swaddle properly, to burp Oliver just so. He even left his mobile on the sideboard during family hours. It wasnt a miracle, but it was a start.
And for the first time, I dared to hope we were finding our way back to one another.
Months later, once Oliver began sleeping through the night, William and I sat on the garden bench one twilight. The air was still, the sky gilded.
I was afraid, 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 offered a wistful smile. I didnt need perfection, William. I only needed you beside meeven when you were frightened.
He nodded, his gaze tender. I see that now.
Now, when I watch him rocking Oliver to sleep, whispering nonsense tales, I recall those early daysthe silence, the chasm between us, the exhaustion that nearly shattered us.
Its frightfully 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 believed love was proved in grand gestures, but Ive since learned its woven in small, quiet moments. In the dead of night, with a babe wailing 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 weak for needing help. Youre not daft for weeping at three in the morning. And if your partner doesnt see you yetkeep speaking up. For sometimes love merely needs reminding of the work left to do.
Just last night, I stepped into the nursery and found William asleep beside Olivers cradle, his hand resting gently on our babes chest.
The telly was silent. The mobile untouched.
And for the first time in an age, the quiet in our home felt serenenot desolate.
