I just don’t fit : Georgie

The crazy thing about becoming a mum was that I had a timeline: by the age of 30, I had to have my first baby—this never happened. I was 39 and had been through some rough relationships to get there. When my now husband arrived in my life, I moved back to the UK from working abroad and immediately became a stepmum. I loved it at first, but when we got pregnant, the kids really reacted.

During my pregnancy, it was really difficult. I got SPD and then gestational diabetes, which affects about 2-10% of pregnancies. Most of us get told we are having a big baby and are at risk, which is what happened to me. At 35 weeks, I went into hospital and was told I had to stay in. We were moving house, and I hadn't handed over work, so I asked if I could come back once I'd sorted everything.

When we went in at 36 weeks, they said Amelie was big and I was in danger of a prolapsed cord, which my mum had had, so I was so nervous. After 3.5 hours of a complicated C-section, as my amniotic fluid leaked into my stomach cavity, they continually pumped my stomach for about 3 hours while I watched my husband sit in the corner holding my new baby. When they put her in my arms, I felt so sick from all the drugs and everything that was going on. 

I did not have the Hollywood moment of holding my baby; instead, I felt suffocated when they put her across my upper body as I couldn’t hold her. It was my husband who did skin-to-skin and spent the first few hours staring into her eyes. I was finally wheeled out with tubes still attached and a lovely newborn. The only issue was that I was weak and not very well. That night, I woke up thinking I was having a heart attack as I had pain in my arm up to my shoulder. The nurse gave me opioids, and on day 1 after surgery, I literally can’t remember anything. I think because of that, I was not able to tell anyone that something was not feeling right. 

On day two, I started to throw up a lot, and the ward gave me anti-nausea medication, telling me everything was okay. What I didn’t know at the time was that I had a paralyzed bowel and intestine. Then on Saturday evening at 3 am, I just started to throw up and couldn’t stop. They wheeled me down for a CT scan as they were concerned that something could still be in my stomach from the operation, and then they realised I had a paralytic ileus. From 3:30 am, it took until 10:20 am for them to put a tube down my throat and pump my stomach for 48 hours, which stopped me from being sick. You worry during pregnancy about your partner seeing you in terrible states, but this topped it—I had a tube down my nose into my throat, and when not in use, it was taped to my face like something from a horror movie.

After 48 hours of horrendousness, they took the tube out, and then I was expected to crack on with being a mum again. I had to breastfeed when I hadn’t had anything in my stomach for 7 days and was so weak I struggled to hold my 6-pound baby. My mum and husband helped build my strength up by getting me to walk to the nurses' bay and back every two hours in an open gown and attached to a drip. It was exhausting getting out of that bed, pulling myself up, and walking to the nurses' bay to turn around and walk back. I felt like I had run a marathon. All I kept seeing when I got to the nurses' bay was the picturesque couple walking out with their baby in a car seat, thanking the nurses.

When we finally left the hospital, my husband had to hold me up as I really was very weak. When we got to my parents' house, my stepdad saw me and welled up. He just couldn’t believe how ill I looked and how thin I had become.

Sadly, that was not the end of this ordeal. Two days later, I got a temperature and was rushed back to A&E. It turned out I had a hematoma and had also lost 2 kg in two days while at home. So back in hospital I went, now with the oldest baby on the ward, and my job was to be mum and get better.

I think that was the start where I had no idea what I was doing. I was so exhausted from the drugs, but Amelie still woke up crying for a feed. The feed was a bottle of milk, not my breast, which, before all of this, I had convinced myself I was going to breastfeed for at least 10 months. When she would take the bottle, she would choke, which on your own was so scary. I would just cry, feeling like the worst mum—that I was so ill and weak I couldn’t find a way out of this hospital, and due to leftover Covid rules, I was doing this all on my own.

When we finally left, everyone just expected me to get better and return to normal, but I felt completely and utterly lost. I adored Amelie, but I had no idea how to be a good wife, a doting stepmum, and run a company. I could barely concentrate having a coffee with a mum, and I definitely needed real conversation—not just what size nappy we were on or how much sleep we were getting. I kept saying to my husband, “I feel lonely,” and he just said, “But you have a baby; how can you be lonely?” I had to do a few work calls, but while Amelie slept, I was so worried I was not watching her that I just didn’t want to be doing those calls. I didn’t recognise myself in the mirror as I was so thin but with this bump, and I think that really took its toll on me. My life had become Amelie, so my relationship became Amelie, and even that changed for quite a while. I would get invited to London to meet some friends, but I wouldn’t go as I didn’t feel confident and didn’t want to leave Amelie, who was so little. My life did change.

Then one day, after all my doom scrolling and buying every possible gadget on Amazon, I found myself in a deep pit of confusion and despair. I typed into the search bar, “What is wrong with me?” hoping for some clarity or a glimmer of understanding. The NHS website popped up, highlighting symptoms of postnatal depression. My heart sank. I quickly shut the page down, terrified of the label. I didn’t want to believe I was struggling; I wanted to be the perfect mum, the one I had envisioned during those dreamy pregnancy days.

But as I scrolled further, I stumbled upon a small article about a mum’s identity crisis. It was like a lightbulb went off in my mind. The bubble I had found myself surrounded in for 9 months—totally confused about who I was and what was wrong with me—burst. I realised that I wasn’t alone in this feeling. The first words that hit me were, “This is perfectly normal.” So many mothers experience a profound shift in their identity after welcoming their little ones into the world; why don’t we talk about it openly and honestly, even before our bundles of joy arrive? It would help.

Suddenly, the weight of my confusion felt a little lighter. I got it. I wasn’t just struggling with the physical demands of motherhood; I was grappling with a complete transformation of who I used to be. I had entered a new role—one that was beautifully rewarding but also incredibly overwhelming. I was no longer just Georgie; I was now a mum, a stepmum, a wife, and a business owner, all rolled into one.

Each of these roles came with its own set of expectations and challenges. I felt like I was constantly juggling them, trying to keep everything in the air while feeling like I was losing grip. My old self—the one who could sip coffee leisurely, travel spontaneously, and enjoy nights out with friends—seemed like a distant memory.

I went to see a woman about it, and she asked me to write down Georgie before motherhood and Georgie post. The irony is that at the age of 39, I still felt like I was the 26-year-old who took a leap of faith and started a company. I had not registered; even that person had changed. Then when I wrote down Georgie as a mum, I realised how much I had grown, how much more I could juggle, fix, and do with lack of sleep—also realising it was perfectly normal and that my role had changed really helped me to see all of it positively. I didn’t feel bad saying no to things I actually didn’t want to do and learned to breathe through the tough days.

Then, when I started to talk about it openly to other mums at those coffee mornings, they also were feeling the same. So over those 9 months, instead of discussing Harry’s first tooth, we should have been sharing our real feelings because it would have helped.

This confusion is a natural part of motherhood. It’s a massive life change where you’re expected to adapt quickly, yet it’s normal to feel lost. The article made me realise that many women go through similar struggles, questioning their worth, their relationships, and their sense of self. It was a wake-up call that I needed to embrace this change, rather than fight against it.

If someone had just said to me, “Georgie, when you have a baby, you will go through some kind of role confusion. You will question why your relationship has changed, why being a stepmum has altered your role, how you feel about dedicating your life to work, and why you don’t want to go out with your mates on Friday night, even though you have massive FOMO,” then maybe I wouldn’t have felt for those 9 months like something was wrong when what I was feeling was perfectly normal.

What I want Mum Love to do is help you find this site and read real stories, all of which show it’s perfectly normal. Maybe with that, we can enjoy our 9 months without any judgement.

So I created Mum Love: real stories, real women, all helping each other. We all have a story, and some resonate with others more. By sharing these stories we can start to make a change and help shift the narrative we see. 

my message to mothers

I really hope this diary account shows you that you are not the only one. We all go through moments where we can feel a bit confused about who we are, pre-baby and now. Mum Love is built to do just that, and if you are ready and happy to, we would love to hear your story and show other mums that we all have a story.