Tomorrow is my son's birthday. We made it, three years, right into the heartland of the toddler years.

For that reason, no matter how much I assure myself I'll keep it low-key this year because he is delighted with a bag of sweet & salty popcorn and one of those Squeezy smoothies, I've still spent an entire week running around trying to make his birthday perfect. Finding the ideal Barbie-themed cake, his choice, thanks to his beloved new best friend Zarla and her ownership of a Barbie Dreamhouse. We bought wrapping paper and ribbons, ordered bin bags full of helium balloons to be collected, with all of which we’ll then traipse across town to a city farm. There, we and a gaggle of loved ones will coo at animals and then probably choose the vegetarian options for brunch at the cafe.

I've come to think of birthdays as an honour and a gift. To get older is, the saying goes, a privilege but no more so is it than to see your child grow older year by year. Our son bellows Aqua’s Barbie Girl at the top of his lungs, thanks his dad for a glass of water by casually drawling, "Ah, you're an angel". He collects conkers and remembers that he's left a rose hip in my coat pocket from a week ago and will demand it when I least expect it. He calls cuddles "bosies", and asks for them in a sweet whisper like a secret.

For me, there is a certain sort of personal graduation with each of his birthdays too. As I've written about in my forthcoming book, Newborn: Running Away, Breaking with the Past, Building a New Family, I both desperately wanted to be a mother and was extremely afraid of it. My own chaotic childhood could be loving but was often fraught, unstable and traumatic. Without that blueprint from motherhood I wondered how I would manage to step up to such a high-stakes job.

The truth is, mainly evidenced by my, as one friend called him recently, "inherently joyful" little boy, that I did pretty good, I think. Though don't imagine for a second that, like most mothers, I don’t question that every day anyway.

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So, for my son's third birthday, I thought I would share, for any new or soon-to-be parents, things I wish I had known when my baby was born into the world. In those early newborn days, when life is completely altered, in ways you couldn't have imagined, despite your protestations while pregnant that "nothing would change". It's a time when you're navigating this new world with only internet forums and other people's opinions to shine a light by. In fact, my first opinion - yes, I might have my own unasked ones to add to the lot - is to not listen to other people's opinions.

I wanted to be a perfect parent because I had no idea whether my traumatic childhood would revisit me in motherhood and tied myself in knots trying to do so. I read every baby book I could from the ones that told me to keep my baby swaddled to me 24 hours a day telling them what I was doing every moment, to others that implemented a strict regime that instructed me when I should be allowed to have my piece of toast (11.15 if you’re interested). I scoured baby internet forums. I read near-undecipherable, dry scientific reports on newborn development and care. But looking back, what I realise now is that, above all, parenting is mainly instinctive. You intuitively know when your baby is happy, comfortable and when it's not. You come to understand their rhythms and needs. And it seems to me each baby to me is completely different just as each family is totally unique. You will find your own way.

Which brings me to my next point: every week for the first six months of my son's life, that's 24 weeks, I googled "When does having a newborn get easier?" I'm telling you this so that if you feel exhausted and overwhelmed, no matter what anyone else is saying, you’re not alone. In fact, despite having my child in a foreign country, where we knew no one and I couldn't speak the language, during the pandemic, in many ways, my early months of motherhood were blessed. Much to my surprise, my mental health stayed fairly steady and I adored being a mother which is of course, not always the case and which is also, by the way, completely normal.

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Still, I often found it intensely difficult. Long, shapeless days and sleepless nights and the endless range of chores and baby sick and anxieties about strange noises and what was "normal" and am I doing this right? And when I googled, "Will it be OK? Will it be easier?" I read everything from the six-month mark being exactly the point where everything becomes golden to "Just you wait until they’re toddlers and then you'll know what hard work is! I dream of the newborn days!". But ultimately, you learn and you get used to your different way of life. Like any other huge transition you have to allow yourself time and each day’s trials teach you something new. It does get incrementally easier and your knowledge and comfort grows just like your baby does.

Finally, and this is the big one I wish I’d known, if someone is rude or critical of you then that’s nothing to do with you, your baby, the space you’re taking up or your parenting abilities. That is very much a "them" problem - either they’ve never had or have forgotten what it’s like to have a kid. Take heart, rise above their thoughtlessness and should your baby be turned in their direction during a projectile-vomit moment, well, so be it.