*This article was first published in 2010 when my eldest child was a baby. Re-published now on request.

‘The first six weeks are hell; don’t feel bad if you hate it, it does get better.’

Of all the advice I received in the lead up to first-time motherhood (and believe me, there was plenty), this was hands-down the most valuable.

It came from a family member, of similar age, with two kids of her own. She also happens to be the most capable modern mum I know, so I took her words seriously and with a suitable amount of trepidation. If she said it was hell, I mused, it really must be tough.

While most advice dished out from friends, family members, colleagues, and random people on the street, focussed on labour and the birth itself (such a miniscule part of motherhood in the scheme of things), this was the first real nugget of gold I received about the most important and difficult step; bringing my baby home and being responsible for its care.

As my due date got closer, I tried to mentally prepare for the worst; with no illusions it was going to be easy. Don’t get me wrong; I was thrilled to be pregnant and excited to meet the little being that grew in my belly and took such pleasure keeping me up all night performing gymnastics.

But while I was fairly confident I would enjoy motherhood and could cope with what it would bring, I also knew there was a possibility I wouldn’t like those early weeks. In fact – shock horror – I might even hate it!

‘Don’t beat yourself up if you don’t love motherhood every minute in those first few weeks,’ I told myself over and over. ‘It doesn’t make me a bad person, or a bad mum. If it does suck, it will get better.’

Well, I’m very happy to report it didn’t suck. I do love being a mum and it is everything I hoped it would be, plus so much more. But to say those first six weeks were tough is an understatement.

My beautiful boy was born a week early on 8 April 2010 after an intense and fast induced labour, and we arrived home from hospital less than 48 hours later.

My husband was an enormous help, keen to be hands-on. But there’s only so much a new dad can do in those early days, when breastfeeding every three hours, for an hour at a time, consumes most of the day and night.

The sleep deprivation was hell; pure and simple. I explained it to my childless friends like this: Imagine you’ve had a big Saturday night and only three hours broken sleep. All you want to do Sunday is curl up on the couch with a DVD, no care and no responsibilities, before finally crawling into bed at 7pm to make up for the hours missed.

But instead, you have to be on your game, caring for a tiny, demanding little being that relies totally on you. Instead of going to bed early, you have to do it all again, and perhaps only manage two hours sleep. And then you do it again the next night. And the next. And then again after that…

On and on it goes. There is no chance to catch up on the sleep that is so desperately needed. The deprivation cumulates, with the missed hours whizzing away like minutes as you feed, change and comfort your ‘bundle of joy’.

Sometimes it all does seem too much. You realise why sleep deprivation is such an effective form of torture. Is it ever going to end? Will you ever get more than two hours sleep in one block again? How do people with twins cope?

It doesn’t matter how much you love your child, or how competent and confident a mother you are, without sleep you just can’t function properly or enjoy every second.

Thankfully these moments of hell are interspersed with many amazing moments of profound happiness as you bond with your new bub. These of course, make it all worthwhile. You wonder at the miracle of life, marvel at the tiny fingers and toes, laugh at the funny faces they pull, and learn to move quickly with a face washer to avoid being weed on.

Mercifully, the advice of ‘six weeks of hell’ was right. Almost to the day, those first six weeks were by far the most difficult. After that, things seemed to turn a corner and steadily improve.

My son started sleeping for a longer block at the start of the night and I made sure I slept then too. Settling him became easier as he finally worked out the difference between night and day.

He gradually became happier playing for short periods on his own. And then of course, there’s that magical first non-wind related smile: The one that melts your heart no matter how tired and grumpy you are.

While women are happy to exchange graphic labour experiences like war stories, when it comes to discussing the reality of motherhood in the first few weeks, we don’t tend to talk about just how difficult it is.

Perhaps it’s fear of appearing incompetent and unable to cope. Or maybe we worry people will think we don’t love our baby, or wrongly label us with postnatal depression, when we’re simply sleep deprived and overwhelmed.

Regardless of the reason, we need to make a change. Talking about the tough times should not be taboo. Providing expectant mothers with realistic advice, not to frighten, but to prepare and inform is important.

Reminding women to focus on motherhood, rather than birth is also key, as the distraction of a looming labour seems to make many forget there is a baby to care for at the end of it all.

Having realistic expectations for the early days of motherhood helps set you up for success. It lessens the shock and awe a new baby wages on every aspect of your life.

So look forward to motherhood, but not through rose coloured glasses. Prepare for the worst in the first six weeks and if it’s better, it’s a bonus.

Leah Mether is a writer, communications consultant, trainer, and speaker with her own business, Methmac Communications. She is now the mother of three boys, aged six, five, and three.