From birth partner to postnatal supporter

The first night with your baby in hospital is a long night for both parents - especially after a C-section.

Read how I prepare myself and support families overnight in hospital with their new baby. Discover the difference having an extra pair of hands can make, and why we often expect so much from birth partners when they’re exhausted too.

Preparing to be an overnight postnatal supporter

On the morning of supporting a family overnight in hospital, I usually wake up thinking of the soon-to-be mummy.

Around 7am; they'll be arriving at hospital around now, preparing to birth their child via c-section. I close my eyes and take a moment to wish them a positive experience.

I always clear my diary for the day before and after overnight support. So after walking my children to school, I’ll normally walk our dog or meet a friend for a coffee and a chat. When my husband asks me how my day looks, I say, ‘I’m just swanning about.’ And I am. I intentionally spend my time taking it easy, watching a few episodes of a TV series. I pack my bag with consideration, make dinner ahead for my family and make sure uniforms and sports kits are ready for the next day, pre-empting tomorrow morning’s chaos and minimising potential drama of a lost item that it seems only mum can find!

Around 1pm, I get into bed and read. I listen to a guided relaxation track and can usually nap, squeezing in an hour or more of additional sleep and preparing for a long night ahead.

Depending on the time of the C-section, I’ll typically get a message from the birth partner in the afternoon. I feel a little jolt of joy and relief when I read that all went as planned, celebrating their baby's safe arrival with them. I respond with congratulations and ask if there’s anything they need. Knowing it will have been a long day for them both, and Dad especially has probably been surviving on snacks, I share what I’ve made for dinner and offer to bring some in. There’s usually a swift response of, ‘Yes please!’

6.30pm - I eat dinner and package up an extra couple of portions in boxes.

7pm - A refreshing shower, washing off the smells of the day, which also helps me feel more awake.

7.30pm - I enjoy a nice a coffee and refill my water bottle, whilst I wait for a taxi.

8pm - I arrive on the postnatal ward at the hospital.

And so the night begins

As both parents gratefully eat the dinner at surprising speed, I put up fairy lights around the curtain. They’ll give the space a cosy, magical effect once the harsh overhead fluorescent lights are turned off.

Once Dad has said goodbye, I sit quietly by the bed, observing the new mother’s awe as she looks at the little person she’s created. I make sure she’s comfortable, replacing the hospital’s plastic-lined pillows with something softer. I refill her water bottle, remind her to drink, offer snacks, ask if she’s comfortable and keep an eye on how she’s feeling. I write down the events of the night so we can answer the midwives when they ask, ‘When did baby last feed?’ ‘Has baby done a wee?” There’s roughly two to three hours between feeds, but it often feels like only ten minutes since the previous feed finished.

There seems to be no concept of time on these nights.

The new baby is settled on Mum’s chest, where babies naturally seek closeness after birth. Skin to skin contact helps babies regulate their temperature and breathing and supports the early feeding and bonding process. At some point, a midwife appears. I silently point out that Mum is finally sleeping encouraging her not to disturb them. She nods with a smile, then indicates that she will move the baby into the cot because that’s hospital policy. I startle.Mum is resting, the baby is settled and I’m there. So I quickly reassure the midwife with hand gestures that I’m watching the baby and ask that she doesn’t disturb them.

Throughout the night, I gently settle the baby and change nappies, making a note of whether they’re wet or dirty. I suggest different positions to help baby latch. I fetch the frozen syringes of harvested colostrum. I patiently collect colostrum with a syringe as Mum expresses with her hands, this can be visually reassuring for mum to see that, once orally administered, baby has been fed something. When feeding challenges are beyond my skillset, I press the call bell for the midwife to provide hands-on help.

I admire and recognise every new mother’s determination and perseverance to care for and feed her baby throughout exhaustion, discomfort and pain. I offer to hold her baby whilst she attempts her first walk to the bathroom, straighten the sheets and tuck her back into bed. I have a fan for when she’s hot, a blanket for when she’s cold, an eye mask if it’s too bright and earplugs to block out the noise. I reassure her and help her feel safe.

As the sun rises and the ward starts to wake, I send a message to her partner, who is hopefully waking restored from sleep, with an update on how things have progressed overnight. Sometimes sending a list of additional items that Mum has requested or links to information that could help over the following few days but is too overwhelming to share with mummy at this time.

Reminding both parents when I leave that their package includes a postnatal visit at home too.

I return home to sleep uninterrupted; what might be considered a luxury to new parents! until the afternoon school run when I switch from doula back to mum.

Every time, these nights feel an absolute privilege to support, and remind me to look at my own children in wonder of how quickly the time has passed since the night I first touched their heads and held their tiny fingers.

Then I receive a text: “Thank you so much, I don’t know how I’d have got through last night without you”.

The contrast on the other side of the curtain

Last weekend I supported a woman overnight on the postnatal ward.

Whilst I was there, a new mum in another bay was tearful. It sounded like feeding wasn’t going well and both parents seemed unsure of how to calm their unsettled baby.

I overheard her partner asking for paracetamol for a headache. Just after midnight, his headache had become so bad that he was vomiting in the visitor toilets. He didn't want to complain to his partner. He seemed determined to be helpful and stay with her. Shortly afterwards, a midwife came and told him he would need to go home. I could understand why he didn't want to leave her alone with their baby.

Once he had gone, she rang the call bell for help.

She was in pain and struggling to feed and move. She was told she shouldn’t sleep while the baby was asleep on her chest, but she was struggling to stand and reach her crying baby in the cot.

What was she supposed to do?

It sounded like a really difficult night. A tough start to parenthood.

It wasn’t his fault; however birth had unfolded, even a planned casearean makes for a long day; an apprehensive/excited night before, a 7am arrival, nervously waiting, adrenaline pumping, nowhere to rest, no proper food to eat. A birth partner doesn’t have the day to prepare as I do, but is expected to provide the same level of postnatal support.

That’s a lot to ask of one exhausted person.

I couldn't help wondering: Was she really supposed to do this without someone by her side?

Part of your team

I don’t claim I can make it the perfect overnight hospital stay. I can’t guarantee exactly what I’ll do or what support you’ll need from me.

What I can promise is that I’ll be prepared. That my presence is intentional. I want you to feel safe, capable and cared for.

I want your partner to feel able to hand some of the responsibility to me, so they can rest, recover and refuel too.

I’m there as a dedicated, reassuring supporter by your side - someone who understands, responds without judgement and helps you navigate whatever the night brings.

Please arrange a free consultation using the form below, to plan and prepare your postnatal support.