Days bleed into one huge ball of newborn time. I lose track of days. My to-do list dissolves into forgotten things and The Daily Dzedze becomes a near-daily submission. It feels somewhat revolutionary to throw stress to the wind and let it all be as it is.

Yesterday, like most days, I had a big cry. This particular cry started in the kitchen as I was talking out loud to Nyaniso, who didn't audibly hear a word because he was out at the gym. Baby in my arms as I paced, water streaming down my cheeks, I spoke my feelings out loud.

"I'm lonely. I feel like a lack of personal contact with anyone else is stunting my process. I haven't felt witnessed in motherhood yet. I haven't been seen, or more importantly felt, by my loved ones. I want to sense that this initiation is shared with others. Planted in their hands so they can carry the importance of this precious time with me. I feel alone in this process and it's starting to really affect me. I want someone to come."

Nyaniso arrived home from the gym. I told him about my talk and cry, and then looked at him and blubbered some more. He smiled. A kind of smirk that made light of my emotions, whilst saying, "I see you and I love you and what you're moving through is valid" at the same time. This is part of emotional health in our home. We let it all move, without clinging. I was in the water splashing about and he was on dry land, holding full faith that I know how to move out of the water when I've finished washing there.

Today, for the first time, our baby met family. Nyaniso's sister came to our home with her husband and two sons. Knowing they were on their way, Nyaniso and I felt a protectiveness surge inside. Any want for visitors that I had cried for the night before took a back seat. I snivelled that our child was growing up too fast, as though she was flying the nest already. My husband chuckled at me again and revealed his own feelings of not wanting to pass her to anyone.

Waiting for their arrival, we fed, changed and bathed her. I then hopped in the bath to freshen up. The last time I had washed was two days prior in an attempted-cute family bath that our little one magnificently pooped in. This time, I washed my hair, scrubbed myself and gave thanks to my body for an immensely fast recovery. I stepped out of the bath and got properly dressed (in more than slobs) for the first time since birth. I went to fix us breakfast. I pottered in the kitchen and our family arrived.

The kids have grown since I last saw them and were eager to say hello to their cousin, the younger of them pinching her cheeks with a smile. Nyaniso's sister, currently initiating as a sangoma, had beads around her wrists and ankles and white paint across her face. She scooped up her niece and cooed over her gently. Spoke of how much warmth she feels from her and fed her with the bottle I had prepared a little earlier. I finished up preparing food, served drinks and felt happiness for new energy to bless our home.

Nyaniso's protectiveness evaporated the moment her sister held her. I felt subtle layers of myself feeling mildly confused by the experience, not knowing how to process it. For the most part though, a deep relaxation ran through my bones. A trust that my baby girl is safe, and our village is a beautiful one. That relaxation carried me to bed where I put deep-sleep music on and napped. Xhosa chatter floated in from the other room where phone calls were made to relatives and our baby girl slept on her aunt's lap.

Later, I awoke to our family having left and a sleeping baby snuggled against my back. My husband's hands reached over her little body to hold me. One hand at my waist, the other over my head. Together we formed a cradle for our little one who dreamed merrily between us.

Having cooked dinner, danced around the house with her and moved into the evening gently, it feels right that we hadn't introduced our baby girl to anyone until now. Equally so, it feels right that family visited today and held her with promises to raise her well with us. I'm breathing in the experience and processing the immensity of being a mother. We have a child. My husband and I have brought life into this world. A precious baby girl who is getting stronger and more animated by the day. Every moment of motherhood introduces me to more of who I am, what I am capable of and what really matters most. I can't imagine anything more life-affirming, grounding, and utterly wild.