Words by Haylee Penfold
I’ve always imagined myself as a mother. From a young age, I was an aunty, and I cherished it; then came the role of godmother, which I adored. I longed for a baby to call my own, and after a journey more challenging than I could have ever expected, I finally found myself pregnant. My partner and I would lie in bed, dreaming of who our child might become—would they be academic like him, or creative like me? He would smile and say, “No matter who they grow to be, they’re lucky to have you as their mum.” And in those moments, I truly believed him.
When my baby was born, the quiet moments felt overwhelming. Instead of finding peace, I was consumed with worry and constantly searching for ways to help my baby thrive. At ten weeks, I signed up for an expensive sensory class, swayed by the glowing recommendations from a mother’s community page, convinced it was the answer to everything. Without a car, I nervously took the bus with my newborn, my heart pounding as I pushed through my anxiety to get there. When we finally got there, my son fell asleep ten minutes in.
I bought all of the black and white books, the tummy time toys and set reminders each day to be certain I remembered my baby had time on the floor that day. Every night, I played white noise, unsure if it truly soothed him. My phone chimed every two hours, reminding me to check his nappy. My partner and I logged every feed, every nappy, every sleep. Completely consumed by structure and routine, the joy I thought I would find in motherhood was nowhere too be seen.
Those first six months, my phone could tell you what my son did, but I’m not sure I could.
I was so desperate to be the good mum I longed to be that it became obsessive. My social media, once a place where I could wind down and find creative inspiration, was now flooded with baby-led weaning recipes and sleep training hacks. My mind was constantly fixated with preparing for the next milestone, the next size of clothes he’d grow into. There was no escape from the pressure to be the perfect mum I felt everyone expected me to be.
Exhausted from the stress of ‘getting it right’, I asked myself what a good mum looked like to me. I thought of my mother, my grandmother, and my aunts. I reached for the photo album from my childhood, a time that felt simpler. Perhaps that’s what I’m truly seeking in my life as a mother—the bliss of simplicity. And that’s where my favourite memories lie: my Nan cooking me toast, my mum taking me to the bookshop, my aunts teaching me to scrapbook. I had a whole book of photos to teach me the real way to be a good mum.
So, I deleted the tracking apps, left the sensory groups, and made a conscious effort to be on my phone less. I let my instincts as a mum grow, teaching myself to trust them. I focused on the parts of motherhood that didn’t feel as stressful and let those moments flourish. My son now has a collection of books I loved as a child, and reading them to him is a moment where I feel connected to both him and the mother I want to be. The cuddles in bed and dancing in the kitchen remind me that I’m not far from giving him the same joy I found in my own childhood.
As I embrace the simple joys of motherhood, I’ve realised that to become the parent I wanted to be, I first had to find the joy within myself. It took time to trust my own maternal instincts, to release the pressure I placed on myself to be perfect, and to just be present. I’ve learned that, more often than not, the moments that matter most are the ones you never plan.
