Zashadu | Mum Life
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How to be a working mum!

Leaving my business for almost 5 months, and operating it from another country was honestly so daunting and frightening, but somehow I was able to make it work. I’d go virtual ‘shopping’ selecting leathers at the tanneries with my assistants via FaceTime, keep in touch with my team via Skype, and set weekly goals as usual. Right from the beginning I knew I had to be upfront with clients and inform them I was out of town. But I was surprised by how much I still enjoyed working; especially in the last days of the pregnancy, I was grateful to channel my angst into work, even on the day I had him, the only messages I responded to from my hospital bed were work related.

 

Here are 9 things I learned on the way to becoming a working mum

  • Clients are very understanding if you are upfront with them; my pregnancy brain was in a league of its own, but thankfully clients saw the humour in it and were supportive
  • However being yourself is always the best option. If you know deep in your heart that operating your business whilst pregnant will push you over the edge, don’t be afraid to give the business a break. The time away will most likely refresh you, give you new ideas and allow you to take your business to the next level inadvertently.
  • Video calling is a life saver, and vanity is still important when you’re as big as a whale. Before every video call, I would take a bit of time to wear some make-up however little to make myself feel good, and to inspire my team!
  • So is CCTV
  • You need people you can trust, so learn to foster a good team spirit

And upon becoming a working mum

  • Be very gentle with yourself, especially if you’re a workaholic like all entrepreneurs. Take the time out to take care of yourself, watch a nice movie, eat your favourite meal, do things that make yourself happy, regularly. A happy mum is the best mum. Talk about your feelings, don’t believe social media constructs of alleged ‘post natal reality’, remember that this new you is a phase and all your insecurities will pass especially if you address them. BE YOURSELF.
  • Don’t make too many changes – I opened a store at 32 weeks, left the country at 33 weeks, came back to the country when he was 3 months old, left the store, fired some staff, found, rented and renovated a brand new store, all the time breast-feeding him exclusively for 6 months. It’s no surprise that I had a breakdown at 8 months post baby.
  • Don’t forget your partner in all of it! Try not to play victim and instead take control of your emotions. Although I couldn’t physically be away from my baby for the first 6 months (and now in hindsight, I would extend that to 9 months for 1st baby at least), it helped that I took the time out mentally to DECIDE and nominate myself as the parent that stays home in the first year whilst my partner traveled for work. That little shift of perception allowed me feel empowered and added to my happiness.
  • Be Yourself

My new reality: early days of motherhood

Whilst pregnant I was on the receiving end of unsolicited advice from strangers most oft-repeated was; “Sleep as much as you can now!” spat out with urgency, conspiratorially, eyes widened, as if passing on some golden nugget of wisdom. Well let me tell you something, no amount of pre-baby sleeping can prepare you for a firm, decisive, consistent head-butting of your breasts at 2am, in search of a dribbly nipple.

The thing I found most surprising about being thrust into motherhood, was exactly that. Being thrust into it. I was alarmed to find that there is no lull between delivering the child and suddenly having to attend to his every need and decipher his cryptic codes. On the third day of offering up my breasts to this little one probably every 30 minutes, to be suckled for 30 minutes straight, I was convinced my nipples were going to fall off to the floor.

Then there was the constant chase of the oh so elusive burp, it became the most beautiful sound in the world, peace inducing and anxiety relieving, at once, pure music. I would sit up with my back against the head board, cushioned by pillows, knees up and straddle him across my knee, leaning his torso against my chest, 20 minutes into his sleep, the bubbles would work their way up and the beautiful burp would surface, he would smile in relief and I in delirium not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the one hour of sleep that would ensue.

 

Twice at 8 weeks old my baby sister took him overnight, with bags of frozen milk and excited cousins looking forward to having Aunty Zainab’s baby. The first time, after she left, I screamed down the house excitedly, hopping from room to room, chattering away to myself, going to the bathroom unaccompanied, taking a long shower, tears of joy mixing with the water, star fishing on the bed. I was so excited with my free time and the possibility of all that I could achieve that I promptly passed out into a sleep coma, startled to wake up four hours later by boobs that were ready to explode.

The second time, I scheduled a date with the boyfriend, managed to comb my hair and apply some lipstick, (outside my lip line, I later found out) and sauntered off to the Cinema, walking in the crisp winter air, trying to take deep breaths whilst constricted by my baby snap back thing. Operation snap back by force. That’s another thing that shook me to the core; the shape of my stomach post baby. I looked down at this wobbly mass of a soft shrunken belly, deeply pigmented, totally alien. I was convinced I would have to start to wear a waist trainer permanently like those girls I’d been laughing at on Instagram.

“Noooo, Nabs, it gets back to normal for sure”, my friend Oreke said in consolation, super-mama of two boys, abs of steel, size UK XXXS. Her post baby body gave me hope, but she’s also a professional runner and a part-time control freak, so hope itself isn’t enough!

BIRTHING BABY Z

I gave birth to my son in the UK in the winter, I arrived London at 33 weeks, my doctor practically pushed me on to the plane, but I was so freaked out about leaving Lagos, my home and more importantly, Zashadu HQ, that I secretly hoped to arrive at the gate and be sent back home, banned from flying; but my mother’s prayers over-powered mine and there she was waving frantically and beaming widely at me, at the arrival in Heathrow “You don’t even look that pregnant Z!” she fibbed as I waddled my way through, huffing and puffing, pushing my luggage trolley along.

6 months pregnant in Milan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I planned to stay till he was 3 months old, before heading back to Lagos. Once at my parents’, I was glad to be away from the hustle and bustle of my Lagos life. I slept and slept and slept  Ziemife grew large in those last few weeks. “Mum, my lower back is going to break, I’m certain of it” I groaned over and over, the only thing that helped was yoga which I did daily, swirling my hips and trying to remain calm.

5 days overdue and ready to pop!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I did everything extra, that was available to me; homeopathic therapies for the psoriasis that flared up from nowhere, acupuncture for general good feeling, reflexology to stimulate labour, hypnobirthing course, I employed a doula to be our own personal cheerleader and support system, and when Zie was 10 days late, after two membrane sweeps and the promise of being induced in 48 hours, a deep tissue, Thai massage. “Zainab, your beck soo tight, you put a brick in there?! Pan our long time family masseuse howled in laughter as she kneaded my legs and lower back for two hours, and I winced in pain.

I went into labour the very next day, “Stina what does early labour feel like?” I fired off a text to my doula, at 10pm she replied describing symptoms I was feeling, “But it’s probably just your membrane sweep, I wouldn’t be too worried” she replied. At 4am, I was rudely awakened by the most intense cramps and quickly rushed to the loo, certain I was going to do a monumental number 2. Nothing.
What is this? I thought, angry at the interruption to my sleep, I got up to head back to my bed, when another wave of cramps from hell engulfed me, I writhed around for sometime, trying to find a comfortable position, then my body was silent once more. I tried to stifle my moans, intent on not waking my mother in case it was a false alarm, but the surprise of warm water gushing between my legs gave way to a stifled shout. Then I was sure, I was in labour. I was also sure that I wouldn’t make it to the birthing centre in a taxi, the only position that gave me any comfort was not going to work in a taxi; I looked at the time, 6am, My contractions were strong and fast, my mother was a frantic mess, and I was having to calm her down, “Omg, Mum, chill out, It’s just a vagina!” I felt sorry for the emergency services operator on the phone, all he asked was whether she could see the baby’s head from my vagina, “It’s an abomination”, she retorted haughtily, “How can I look at my daughter’s vagina, you people are sick” the ambulance arrived at 7am, my mother gave them a dirty look, we got to the hospital at 7.20, and after 5 smooth pushes, my 4.1kg heavyweight of a baby was born naturally, and without drugs, at 8.22, my active labor had lasted all of 4 hours. “You’re a birthing goddess” gushed Stina in admiration, and as I munched on my second Pret chocolate croissant and between sips of hot sugary tea, whilst my mother cooed over her grandson, I smiled widely and deliriously, nodding in agreement.

Getting to know my Zizi

Going out gave me anxiety so I had to force myself out. It passes, thank God!