“It felt like a homecoming. I had returned.”
Exhausted from the early days of motherhood, Bump & Baby Club writer Lottie Lewis took to the ocean to recharge and recover her old self. She reflects on that pivotal moment and how 'filling her cup' has been a priority ever since.
Photos: Tom Vaughan for Surfline
Words: Lottie LewisBeing born and raised in Cornwall, my life has always rotated around the ocean. From clifftop walks to daily dips, my mum instilled within my sisters and I a deep love of the coast, which I have carried with me for three decades. Whilst I know many pregnant friends found solace in sea swims, when I became pregnant with Bonnie my mind shifted. I couldn’t bare the idea of getting cold. I’d written numerous articles on my love for cold water swimming, and the benefits of it and I used to be found taking the plunge all year round. But now the idea of stripping off and diving in literally and metaphorically sent a shiver up my spine. I stopped surfing at five months pregnant too. My wetsuit was too tight, my bump was too big, November had hit. All I wanted to do was hibernate. So for the remainder of my pregnancy I stepped back from my true love: the sea.
When I was pregnant my cousin Lorna, mum of twins, assured me that, “If you ever feel like you can’t cope, it’s because you’re tired.” When she said it, I took it at face value: newborn baby equals lack of sleep, and I vowed to heed everyone who told me to ‘sleep when the baby sleeps’. However, six months into motherhood I’ve realised that tiredness doesn’t always mean exhaustion. For me, tiredness hits when my cup is empty. When I have given and given until I have nothing left to give, without carving out even an hour to do anything for myself. Newborn life left me dry. The days rolled into the nights rolling into the days, and I survived the cluster feeding and postpartum healing by contact napping, indulging in hot showers when Charlie came home from work, and cups of tea with visiting friends. Whilst I’d venture out for the occasional dog walk, I’d been advised not to swim for at least six weeks whilst the stitches healed and my equilibrium returned.
Two months passed and I began to feel like I couldn’t cope. I remembered what Lorna had told me, and whilst I was physically and mentally exhausted, I also realised I hadn’t taken any time to recover my old self. But now that my stitches were healed and my body felt ready, I realised I could return to my favourite place to refresh and recharge. With my swimsuit the driest it had ever been, our new little family headed for the coast. Charlie stood on the shoreline, Bonnie snuggled in his arms, as I waded out into the cold spring water. The deeper I walked, the fuller my cup became. Taking a deep breath I sank below the surface. My cup overflowed. Here it was so quiet. I washed away the colicky cries and the sticky milk. My new body felt weightless. I opened my eyes to the evening sunlight shining through the surface of the water. It felt like a homecoming. I had returned.
Within the hour we were back at home, Charlie cooking dinner, Bonnie sleeping and me feeling completely nourished from the inside out.
Charlie’s family visited us during the Indian summer of September, and set up camp on Mother Ivey’s like real beach-goers: picnic blankets, cool bags, umbrellas, fishing rods, paddle boards and swimming costumes. In the cool shade, Bon spent the days being fussed over by her grandparents, aunties, uncles and other various new family members. That week Charlie and I surfed together for the first time in a year, I swam in the sea multiple times each day, and I learnt the meaning of the expression, ‘It takes a village.’ It’s hard to ask for help, but we all need it every now and then.
I don’t manage to find time to fill my cup every day. Sometimes it feels like there just aren’t enough hours. Sleep regressions, swimming lessons, teething distraction, household chores, breastfeeding and bath time fill our waking hours, and the other minutes are spent rocking Bon to sleep, singing or driving around in search of nap time. But at least once, if not a few times a week, someone allows me an hour or so to be me, not solely a mum. I’ll make sure I have enough milk pumped so Charlie can take care of Bonnie whilst I sneak off to an evening yoga class where I catch up with old friends, stretch, meditate, turn off my phone and find blissful stillness. Other times, the tides and conditions will perfectly align with an afternoon nap, and my sister will wander the clifftops, baby in the sling. In those precious hours I’ll pull on my wetsuit, rush down to the shoreline and paddle out for a surf. (Our signal that I need to get out is Monica holding Bonnie up in the air above her head like Simba.) With one eye on the beach, I float on the surface, I slide along waves, I dunk myself, I feel completely happy and free and lucky to have such a wonderful support network.
And on days where the stars don’t align, and I desperately need to recharge but there’s no one around to help and Bon refuses to sleep in bed, we compromise. I’ll head out somewhere quiet and wild with the lifesaving sling. A coast path seldom walked by others, or a winding trail through quiet woods. Sometimes with a friend, other times just the dog, a walk in nature never fails to recharge me after a sleepless night or long day. After all, a happy mum makes for a happy baby.
