Aside from morning sickness, I had a very easy pregnancy. My whole life, my mother told me how easy I was as a baby. So I had no reason to think things would be difficult for us. In fact, I secretly knew we would have an easygoing baby.

When I was pregnant, my friends commented on how active my baby was. I loved feeling my little squirming alien kicking me at all hours of the day, so I didn’t really think anything of it. I pictured myself holding my calm newborn, who would look up at me with big eyes and coo, then nod off to sleep. I imagined my days as a mother would be filled with lots of sweet cuddles with my smiling boy, quiet trips to the coffee shop with the baby asleep in his expensive wrap carrier, peaceful strolls through the park with other, laughing moms, and me making lunch while my baby rocked gently in his swing or played happily in his activity gym. So I wasn’t prepared for what came next.

One morning at 38 weeks, the contractions started. My labor progressed quickly, and before I knew it there was a little human on my chest. I gazed into his eyes and didn’t flinch when the doctor explained that I had torn in three places and would need stitches.

Recovery from birth itself was difficult. For the first few months, my tailbone throbbed in pain and it hurt to sit (sitting is incidentally the position one must sit in to breastfeed). Going downstairs was too much and would make me bleed, so for nearly six weeks I stayed in bed and rested. At my 8 week appointment I learned I had granulation tissue, which is why I was still in pain every time I walked or moved. At 3.5 months I passed a massive clot, and finally the pain started to subside and I felt like I could be whole again. However it would still rear its ugly head whenever I would wear the baby, because the extra weight of the baby was just too much for my body to handle.

And with Wesley, things were different for us from day one. From my hospital bed, I watched other mothers, healed, walking past my door casually with their cherubic babies, as our baby cried and fussed constantly at my breast. The nurses gave us a chart to fill in every time Wesley fed, and they were surprised when we ran out of room on the sheet they provided us. Wesley nursed constantly. I longed for 5 minutes of respite for my tired bum and sore nipples.

On day 2, the night nurse entered the room to find me exhausted, sleep deprived, and bawling. We couldn’t get our baby to settle to sleep. The nurse was exactly what we needed that night. She reassured me in her thick, authoritative Russian accent that everything would be okay, told me it was totally normal to feel upset, and urged us to take the baby to the nursery once he settled.

The nursery opened at 10pm. I can remember rolling Wesley down the hall that night at 1am, the last baby on the ward to arrive. It had taken 3 hours to settle him to sleep. An hour later, as I was drifting off to sleep, we got a phone call. Wesley was awake and needed to be fed. I dragged myself back down the hallway and extracted my boy from the room full of sleeping babies. Presumably their mothers were getting some much needed sleep.

I remember telling my husband that Wesley was different from the other babies. He didn’t see it at first. “He’s just a baby,” he would say. “All babies cry.” He asked me to please stop worrying. But it was more than just worry. As a breastfeeding mother, Wesley’s behaviour was directly tied to my health. The more needs he had, the less my own basic needs - for food, water, warmth, and sleep - were being met.

The pattern continued when we got home. My parents helped us to navigate the first 3 weeks of Wesley’s life. The 4 of us took turns holding Wesley all day and all night; at 2 weeks old, he would no longer settle in his bassinet. Throughout this period I got sleep whenever I could but was woken to nurse frequently. The surge of hormones, combined with living in close proximity to my parents, took its toll. On many occasions, I lost my temper. I cried a lot. This seemed impossible. And the worst part was that the baby boy I loved so dearly was never content. I looked at the Facebook posts of my friends with their calm newborns and was confused. Why wasn’t our boy never happy?

Over a period of 6 weeks, it became clear to us that Wesley had reflux. I felt relieved, and vindicated. So THIS was why our baby was so difficult, upset, and clingy. Finally an explanation for the sleepless nights and constant feeding. But when the reflux subsided at 10 weeks, we still had the same intense, clingy baby.

At 7 weeks, I took Wesley to parents’ group. The first mother shared how upset she had been when her son cried at his vaccinations. His face had gone red, she explained, and he stopped breathing for a few seconds. The other mothers looked at her aghast. That must have been so hard, they consoled her. Now I have a reputation for being a bit cynical. Wesley had gotten his shots that week, and I made the comment that the extreme reaction her baby experienced was a normal, everyday occurrence in my house. The other mother looked at me in terror and proceeded to share little anecdotes about their babies as we went around the circle.

When it was my turn to share, I took full advantage of the situation. Surely these mothers would have some good advice to give me. I explained the reflux, the crying, the clinginess, the constant feeding, the pain I was still feeling from the birth. But instead of seeing nods of understanding, I saw blank stares. No one seemed to be going through what we were experiencing. The conversation passed quietly to the next mother, leaving me feeling more isolated than ever.

My husband tried to console me, saying that the mothers who went to parents’ group were the ones with the easy babies. Surely there were other parents like me who were stuck at home with their crying babies and didn’t make it to parents’ group. Maybe you’re right, I said.

But my husband came around when I dragged him along to parents’ group one day. Seeing all the other well-behaved, still babies, it dawned on him: our baby WAS different. And that understanding really helped him be more supportive of me, too.

We waited patiently for 1 month, then 2 months, then 3.... through 2 bouts of mastitis, several illnesses, a move. Weren’t things supposed to get easier? The other mothers were meeting up for churros and movies, going back to work, leaving their babies at home to go to weddings, and going to the gym. I knew their perfect Instagram posts weren’t real life, but what was I missing? Why did the simplest things (going to the bathroom, putting on pants) feel so hard? Was I just having postpartum depression?

Turns out all I was missing was a community of people who got what it was to parent a high needs baby. I was lucky enough to come across several moms, first an Australian Breastfeeding Association counselor, and then a work colleague, who just “got it”. You know when you find these people because their stories just resonate so strongly with you and you find yourself going “yes! Yes exactly THAT.”

At 4 months, I can’t say it’s gotten much easier. Wesley still feeds constantly (to the point that I have been embarrassed to tell people how often!). My husband sometimes gets home to me sitting in a dark room, unfed, unshowered, with my boobs hanging out. Some days are harder than others.

I sit here now on a mattress at 6am on the floor of our apartment. Wesley is asleep on my breast and has just finished eating for the umpteenth time tonight. We have never really been able to put him down to sleep and my husband and I still take turns holding him all night long. But my head is clear, I am rested, and I am at peace.

What has changed since those early days? Certainly not my baby. He is every bit as difficult as he was then, and in some ways harder: he is physically stronger now, leaping from my arms like a fish out of water; and he has stronger preferences. I want THIS, mommy, NOW!!!

But now when the sun comes up, instead of feeling a sense of dread that I have to start another day (when I haven’t even slept), I feel totally at peace. Of course the hormones have gotten themselves under control now. But I have also been speaking to other mothers who have gone through similar trials, and they make me feel like this is all normal, that it’s all ok.

We’re just a bit hard to find. It’s probably because we spend our time tending to our babies’ many needs. We’re not the parents writing blog posts, or bringing homemade muffins to mothers’ group. But in an age where villages of mothers no longer exist to pass on the shared experiences of motherhood in all its diversity, it’s really important that we find ways to connect.

High needs babies!