Bradley Cooper didn’t instantly bond with his daughter. I know how he feels

But this week, he has given me yet another, certainly more tangible, reason to respect him, when he admitted in an interview that, for almost a year, he struggled to bond with his little girl.

‘The first eight months — I don’t even know if I really loved the kid,’ the 49-year-old Hangover actor admitted when talking about his daughter, Lea, now six.  

‘It’s dope. It’s cool. I’m watching this thing morph. That’s my experience. Fascinated by it. Loved taking care of it. But would I die if someone came in with a gun?’

Well done, Mr Cooper, for admitting something so many new parents go through, yet so few admit – especially dads.

And no wonder when you see the kind of backlash that the actor and director received, with social media awash with comments saying he was ‘a horrible person,’ an ‘awful parent’, and even saying his daughter would ‘hate’ him for what he said.

It does, in some ways, seem harder for men. 

With the rise of mum forums, bloggers and influencers, it is becoming more acceptable for women to confess to the sometimes harsh realities of motherhood – the isolation, the pressure things like breastfeeding puts on us and yes, the struggles to bond with our babies.

But it is really heartwarming to hear a dad be so open and frank about his feelings. 

It is incredibly hard to own up to these things. And I have to admit, I struggled to understand what people meant after I had my first child, Theo, now six.

From the moment he was placed in my arms, I felt that rush of love that everyone gets all misty-eyed when they talk about – and me and my husband Tom agreed, as they were still stitching up my stomach, that we had to have another baby, just to recreate it.

We brought Theo home and basked in our new-baby bubble. Presents and cards would show up at the door, our friends and family all turned up to meet our new addition and I’d find myself just staring at him. ‘I made you,’ I’d think in amazement. ‘You’re my little boy.’ 

So, after I’d recovered enough from my last surgery, we went on and fell pregnant again. I was so excited at the thought, not just of having another baby, but of holding her – because we found out we were having a girl – in my arms for the first time. 

Of feeling that euphoria again.

In theory, this birth should have been easier.

Having been induced and gone through 26 hours of contractions before being taken to theatre for an emergency caesarean the first time, I decided to bypass all of the pain and preamble and opted straight for an elective c-section at 39 weeks.

But for some reason, it just wasn’t as magical the second time around. The operation wasn’t painful per se but it certainly was uncomfortable. Maybe I wasn’t given quite enough anaesthetic and I could feel then rooting around inside me, trying to get Immy out.

When she finally appeared, it was, of course, amazing to hold her tiny 7lbs 14ozs weight in my arms. 

And when we were taken to the recovery room, and she immediately latched onto my breast to feed in a way I’d spent countless unsuccessful hours coaxing Theo to do, I forgot all about the birth.    

But just as I was relaxing into that post-delivery glow, the midwife who was doing her first checks looked concerned. ‘It sounds like she might have a heart murmur,’ she told us. ‘It’s probably fine but she may have a small hole in her heart.’

I remember looking down at Immy, and realising how just fragile my new baby looked. I had hardly any idea what they meant, but I was terrified.

In a couple of hours, more checks were done, and she was fine.

But by then, I was even more stressed. When we’d called my mam to tell her about her new granddaughter, she mentioned that Theo, just a couple of weeks shy of his second birthday, was really upset that we weren’t there.

‘He won’t let me cuddle him,’ she admitted. ‘He just keeps walking around the flat, crying.’

Hardly ideal conditions for bonding with your new baby.

Nor was it, when we arrived home the next day, as soon as I could persuade the midwives to discharge me, Theo took one look at the baby in my arms and started shrieking. ‘My mummy! My mummy!’

I collapsed onto our bed and looked down at Immy. Theo had just snuggled so easily in our lives, but it seemed like she was going to have to get her elbows out and carve out a space for herself. My eyes filled with tears.

Later that night, when we finally got both babies settled and Tom and I were alone, we looked at each other, both drained. ‘Do you think we’ve done completely the wrong thing?’ I asked, voicing our fears.  

We hadn’t. Of course we hadn’t.

This only lasted for a few days, far less than the months-long struggle that Bradley Cooper went through. But even now Immy is four, I still feel guilty that her birth involved so many more complicated emotions, other than the unequivocal joy Theo brought with him.

Have I ever talked to anyone about this properly? Not to a soul other than Tom, and certainly not on a podcast listened to by millions of people like Bradley Cooper. Whenever I mentioned it to my friends, it was said in a jokey, comedy anecdote manner.

But I wish I had spoken about it more. Because, years after they’d given birth, I’ve recently discovered just how hard two close friends found those first days and weeks as a new mother. 

And if I’d been more honest about my experience, maybe they’d have felt more comfortable to share with me how they felt.

Maybe they wouldn’t have felt so alone.

So, thank you, Bradley. Not just for being a beautiful human being. But for being honest in a way I couldn’t be.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

MORE : Doctors said ‘keep working out to lose weight’ but I knew something was wrong

MORE : Everyone who has been cancelled in the Oscars selfie 10 years on

MORE : I potty trained my 5-month-old baby — it’s not that hard

This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.