Living a Charmed Life

A few weeks back, my mother's group decided that we should all get out of the house and do a lunch at the new Tapas & Wine Bar in the Town Centre. At this long awaited lunch, one of the mums mentioned that she had been sharing her lunch plans with her husband that morning when he had laughed and made a joke about her 'living a charmed life'. As I sat absorbing this, I felt grateful that my husband had never tried to be quite so hilarious. Perhaps I'm not the right audience for these "oh so funny" comments. Any digs about my easy day would result in a swapsies situation where I would quite happily head off to work and allow my husband a go at living the good life.

I looked around at the seven tired faces before me and doubted very much that any of them felt that they were living a charmed life. Half of the women are still getting up to their babies multiple times during the night. A few have babies that will not sleep at all during the day. All of us have sore backs and shoulders from endless carrying, changing and breastfeeding. Most of us have frightening amounts of hair loss and no opportunity to vacuum it up. Charmed life? Please. These aren't bored, rich women, filling their days with expensive boozy lunches and shopping, these are new mums who spend what little free time they have, googling baby issues and doing their pelvic floor exercises so that they don't wee themselves every time they sneeze.

My morning leading up to the lunch was something out of a Stephen King novel. No one told me that at six months my son would completely change personalities and decide that he cannot play, sleep or fill his nappy without being held while he does it. It had taken me almost 1.5 hours of patting, rocking, shushing, cuddling and finally feeding before I could get him to sleep for his nap. By the time he fell asleep it was time for me to leave so I considered not going as there was no way in hell I was going to wake him. Luckily for me (note the sarcasm) he only slept for 25 minutes, so I decided to show up very late instead.

At the mention of lunch, I'm sure our husbands imagine seven fresh faced women, dressed in their best, clucking over their babies and sharing recipes (I admit, their was one discussion about lamb shanks), but the reality of a lunch involving seven new mothers and seven young babies is that there was at least one unsettled baby the entire time. Just when one was finally asleep in their pram, another would start with the I'm hungry/tired/simply bored routine. No one wants to be the table annoying the rest of the patrons with noisy children and prams blocking every possible exit, but that was us. We tried hard to read the elegant paper menus without the babies tearing them up, and we all mentally frowned at the prices and tried not to let it show on our faces. A lunch with the girls is not without guilty spending, after all, we are the ones that are no longer contributing financially to the household. Losing an entire income sure makes this charmed life difficult.

This was not a lunch for women living a charmed life. It was a lunch for a group mothers trying to do something normal and understanding that they will pay for it later with an overtired child. It was a lunch to break up the long, lonely week at home where housework is a luxury, not a given. The lunch was to remind ourselves that their are other food options besides toast and long life soup. It was a chance to put on nice (pre-baby) clothes even if they immediately get dirtied up by dribble and sticky hands. To be clear, husbands, a charmed life would be a fancy restaurant with no thought of the cost. A charmed life would be babies at home with the nanny and a guilt free glass of wine without timing breastfeeds. My idea of a charmed life has a housekeeper to take care of the constant washing and endless dishes and perhaps a husband who is capable of putting a dirty spoon in the dishwasher.

Maybe next time boys, thoughts to yourselves.

The Big Easy?

'There is one thing nobody warned me about when I became a mother: what a breeze it would be'. This quote is from Jacinta's Tynon's article which appeared in an August edition of Sunday Life. The article was smugly entitled, The Big Easy. For the lucky few that missed it, I'm going to take you to the darkside for just a few moments. I have mixed feelings about this article and they range from a reluctant understanding of some points, to wanting to ram her repeatedly with my shopping trolley if I should ever have the pleasure of running into her at the supermarket. The article was always going to create some controversy (perhaps that was its purpose) but I really believe it was irresponsible and potentially did a lot of damage to new Mums who aren't finding it a 'cinch'. I could forgive Jacinta if the article had been a point of view piece, but it wasn't. It was an attack on new mothers who are already riddled with self doubt and guilt about the job they are doing. Even if that wasn't the intention.

Tynon's comparison of today's Mums to our Mothers/Grandmothers is ridiculous. 'I do think we could learn a thing or two from our mothers and grandmothers. You never heard a peep out of them about mucking in to double the kids and double the workload, with no online groceries or disposable nappies'. I believe similar challenges would have existed for our Grandmothers. They may not have had the same opportunities to discuss them opening and honestly, but does this make them better mothers? Do we really want to step back to a time of fake smiles and feelings swept under the carpet? Should we also start sending women with postnatal depression to psychiatric hospitals for shock treatment, like in the good old days? Even our Grandmothers would agree that the expectations of mothers nowadays are different. These high (sometimes unrealistic) expectations mashed together with the increasing isolation and lack of support, mean that you cannot compare being a mother now to 50 years ago.

With regard to the big topic of sleep deprivation, Jacinta states that, 'there is nothing difficult about being up all night with the love of your life'. She describes it as a privilege. To some extent this is true however I have spoken to women who have babies that literally do not sleep at night. A friend of mine was getting up to her crying child every 20 minutes to 1 hour for the first six weeks, and I can promise you she wasn't gushing about what a privilege it was. It was hard, she didn't pretend that it wasn't, and she shouldn't have to. 'Our generation acts as if we deserve a medal', Tynon says. If I thought a medal would have helped my sleep deprived friend, I would have given her one, however I have never met a mother who wants a medal. Some sleep? A shower? An uninterrupted meal? Absolutely.

Some other classic quotes from the article include, 'It’s not like we didn’t know what we were signing up for', 'I can't see what all the fuss is about' and 'Babies don't cry to annoy us. They cry because they are hungry or tired and we are here to solve that.' Who has ever said that babies cry to annoy us? I think every mother understands that a baby cries because of needs. It doesn't make it any easier to listen to hours of heartbreaking tears whilst your trying to figure out what that need is. I agree that most women understand what they are signing up for, but it doesn't make the lack of sleep and bleeding nipples any easier when you are living it. The fuss my dear, is about the overwhelming love you feel for this helpless person. It's about the constant worry for their well being. It's about temporarily losing all the things in your life that make you, you, including the job you have spent your whole life working towards and some of your friends. The fuss is about your perfect child in this sometimes crappy world. What's all the fuss about? Really?

I hope that the article didn't do the damage I'm imagining. I hope that no new Mums read it and began to doubt themselves because they don't feel the same. I also hope that Jacinta's toddler years bring her back to the real world where motherhood has its rewards, and challenges. Perhaps baby number two will put a stop to her reckless mummy brags. Feeling overwhelmed doesn't mean that we love our children any less, so lets not feel guilty for recognising the hard parts.

Sweet Potato

The other day I was making a casserole to welcome a new family to the neighborhood (complete lie, it was for us, I don't like most of our neighbours) and during the preparation I discovered I had forgotten to buy sweet potato which happened to be the key ingredient for this particular recipe. BB (before baby) I would have swooped up my car keys and wallet, and headed to the supermarket without a second thought. BB I would have used fresh herbs that ended up costing more than the meat. BB I may have even made my own stock (gasp!). BB I wanted maximum success from each recipe to ensure appropriate levels of praise from my husband. However, the other day when faced with my sweet potato dilemma, I did a quick outing versus outcome analysis and decided that I would use carrot instead.

I'm curious as to whether other mother's do this analysis when weighing up daily excursions. For the instance above, the 10 minute eating experience and 5 second grumble of gratitude from my husband, was not worth the 10 minutes of planning and 25 minute excursion to get the ingredient (pram in, pram out, pram in , pram out...). The scales might have been tipped if it had been an anniversary dinner, or friends were joining us or if I needed an excuse to buy donuts, but it was just a weekday dinner, the two of us and I had some posh ice cream to distract me from the donuts.

Going to the shops for a last minute purchase isn't what it used to be. It's only a two minute drive, but it can literally end in tears if my son falls asleep on the way and I have to wake him to put him into the pram. So I plan short trips for when he has just woken, had a feed and still has a few minutes of good mood in him. If he is tired, I sing and make silly noises to keep him awake. Yes, I'm that weird person. I also don't want him to fall asleep in the pram for the five minutes I'm in the supermarket, because then I have to wake him to put him back in the car. A five minute pram catnap often results in him not going down for his next nap which means an over tired child and no opportunity to actually cook dinner anyway.

The preparation involved tires me just thinking about it. Do I have nappies, wipes and a spare change of clothes in case he does one of his infamous poos in the small time we are there? Is the pram in the car? Do I have spew rag for the inevitable vom as I'm getting him out of the car? I dress him in a billion layers of clothing to protect him from Melbourne's winter and find a hat for his bald little head. I then force myself to change out of my dirty house trackies into some clean trackies (because I've got class) and put on a billion layers of clothing myself. It's a lot of effort for donuts...I mean sweet potato.

The bigger car trips require even more planning. I tend to leave at nap times to ensure he sleeps because I can't listen to 45 minutes of heartbreaking tears. There is only so much entertainment value I can offer from the drivers seat and like me, my son is easily bored. Sadly, he is too young for car games, and I've recently been advised by my husband that the games I play (most of which I make up as I go) are not fun anyway. I disagree and believe that when my son is a little older he will hop into the car and feel like he is boarding the party bus. I can hear crickets chirping as I type.

In the old days, women used to run next door to borrow a cup of sugar. I understand this now. A trip to the supermarket must have been a nightmare with their large herds of children and lack of modern conveniences. Perhaps it's time I stopped judging my neighbours by their front yards and started sharing pantry essentials. So next time you need a sweet potato, feel free to knock on my door. I probably won't have one to give but I should be able to offer a carrot substitute and a few tips on maintaining your lawn.

The Lioness

A few months back, I bundled my son into the pram and went to Target to get a few essentials (yes, Cherry Ripes count as essentials when they are on special). This particular day was very busy due to some last minute Easter Egg shopping, so I joined the long cue and waited semi-patiently for my turn. Slowly the cue of people moved forward until finally I was next to be served. There were many registers open to cope with the busy rush so I watched closely so that I would be ready to go as soon as a checkout became available. It was only a matter of seconds before a staff member called out, 'Next please', but before I had a chance to move, the man behind me placed his hand on my pram, gave it a push forward, and said, 'Go'.

I consider myself a tolerant person, an understanding person, a sane person, even a nice person, but the moment that man's hand touched my pram, a foreign (demonic sounding) noise which was meant to be my voice, roared at him, 'Don't touch the pram'. He stepped back, I stepped back, I think most of the surrounding customers stepped back and I believe my son would have stepped back if he could have. Anyone would have thought that the man reached out and slapped my child or pushed the pram into oncoming traffic. I actually had to take a moment to regain my composure before sheepishly wheeling my pram to the register and placing my embarrassing stash of Cherry Ripes onto the counter. I was suddenly the protective mother. I was a lioness.

When my husband came home from work that evening, I told him there was no need for him to ever worry about our son. I knew that I was going to protect him until the day I died. If he got stuck under a bus, I was going to be the super Mum that single-handedly lifted the bus off him. My husband didn't look convinced. He said that I couldn't be there his entire life to protect him. He said there would be school yard fights and sports injuries that I could nothing about. Panic immediately rose within me as I imagined my son getting punched by another teenager. My next thought was of me saving him, appearing on top of a hill like in the movies, a tough walk towards them as the watching crowd separates in fear. Or maybe he will get knocked on the footy field by one of those freakishly large teenagers that shouldn't be allowed to play with the children. I'll jump the barrier, leap across 50 metres of playing field in two bounds and take out his opponent in a single tackle.

When I shared these thoughts with my husband, he looked liked I had just shared plans of a massacre at our sons school. Apparently teenage boys don't like to be saved by their mothers in front of their peers, who knew? As a lioness, am I meant to send my cubs out into open African plains unprotected? Come on husband, we've all seen The Lion King and know where Simba would be if his Mum had just sat back and let boys be boys.

I'm not sure whether my Disney references help my argument so perhaps there is a compromise between our lines of thinking. Until this compromise is made, I remain a lioness, so back away from the baby people.

It's On

In my former life, I used to walk in to a room full of people and begin to check out other women. It was never a conscious thing (or a sexual thing, much to my husbands disappointment) but my eyes would immediately find the women with the great hair, cute handbags, hot shoes, the perfect dress or that statement belt. I would elbow my husband and say, 'She has the exact boots that I want' or 'Would I look like a wrestler wearing that belt?' or 'Do you think that dress would emphasize the fact that I have the body of a twelve year old boy?'. My husband would respond with, 'Ask her where she got the boots' (not likely), or 'Yes you would look like a wrestler' (fair enough), and 'You may have the body of a young boy but you live life like a Nana, so that levels things out' (...thanks...). I didn't realise it at the time, but this behaviour was driven by an inbuilt competitive streak that every woman has. This streak varies according to a persons nature, their interests, their priorities, stage of life and the people they surround themselves with, but its always there.

When I fell pregnant, things began to change and I started only taking notice of other pregnant women. I became really good at gaging how far along they were, whether they were suffering from morning sickness, whether they were tired and whether they were uncomfortable with their size. I would compare my kankles with their kankles. I would compare my practical shoes with their practical shoes. I would look at their over sized clothes and then at my over sized clothes. Suddenly I didn't care about handbags.

Now, when strolling the streets of Babyboomsville (where I live), my eyes immediately go to other mothers passing with their prams. With a flick of the eyes I manage a quick analysis which can be broken down as follows. My first thought is always to the child in the pram. How old is the infant? What is its gender? Does the child have a freakishly large head or a suspicious amount of hair? (I'm awful). My next thought is a sum up the pram. What brand is it? Is it lighter than mine? How much shopping can you strap on the back before it tips? Did they sell a kidney to afford it? And finally my eyes meet the mothers, where I have a brief moment to establish whether she is getting more or less sleep than. After all, sleep is the biggest win a mother can have over another mother. This process is reciprocated, and whilst the passer by might not have the same fear of large headed babies, she's making her own notes.

Lately, I'm discovering that any gathering of Mothers can be a breeding ground for competitiveness. Forget about prams, nappy bags and all materialistic items, it's all about whose baby is 'sleeping through', using a dummy (and cue the debate disguised as a discussion), gaining weight (the baby's thank god), breastfed, starting solids (cue second debate) and the all important (apparently) reaching of developmental milestones. I personally don't care whether my son rolls at 4 months or 10 months. I assume it doesn't affect what school he gets into or his ability to make friends later in life. I do care that he doesn't become a drug addict or get his highschool girlfriend pregnant. Perhaps later in life I can start the disappointed lecture with, 'first you take ten months to roll, and now this'.

One of the most competitive activities amongst Mothers is 'tummy time'. I've literally seen babies lined up, on their tummies, with their Mums secretly cheering them on. No one wants their baby to be the first to cry, complain or rest their head on the rug. This activity also provides an opportunity for rolling which would be a double win.

I don't imagine this ever stops. In 30 years we'll be sitting around comparing Grandchildren and retirement plans. In 50 years I'll walk into a room full of people and start checking out their walking frames. I'll elbow my husband and say, 'that's the exact seat walker I want. The Voyager 2817'. He'll respond with, 'why don't you go ask her where she got it?'. Not likely.

A Safe Place

Safety is a big topic these days and the fear of harm coming to your child begins at pregnancy and continues on...well to the end I imagine. When I was pregnant, I remember the constant disappointment of discovering new things that I couldn't eat. I was enjoying a chocolate mousse one day and was told (with huge alarm) that there was raw egg in it which I shouldn't eat. I'll never forget looking down and seeing the decorative cream still intact. Luckily, someone was willing to swap for a fruity, strudely thing which I quickly ate before any lectures on the dangers of pastry could arise. My poor food choices mixed with my occasional (completely guilt ridden) half a glass of wine, meant great relief was felt when our baby finally arrived a picture of health.

After the birth, our next safety concern (besides me accidentally dropping/drowning the baby) was SIDS. The amount of handouts and information I received on this topic had me utterly convinced that each time I went to check on my baby, I would find him dead. Even after four months, I still go into his room during naps and sleeps to check that he is breathing. Unexpected long sleep periods at night should be a chance to catch up on some rest, instead, I wake in a panic (and with engorged breasts) and rush down to the hall, ready to begin resuscitation. I have no doubt that safe sleep education has been key to the 85% decrease in deaths over the last 20 years and whilst I'm grateful for the knowledge and the small amount of control I feel over this one threat to my child, the constant reminders make for many worries.

Of course, there is always something new to worry about. A few weeks ago my Mother's Group had a session on safety which I walked away from in a state of shock. That evening when my husband came home from work I announced that we would need to move house. When he didn't react, I went on to explain that there were far too many dangers to our son in our current home and a simple home of 4 padded white walls was the only way I was ever going to be able to sleep again. My ever patient (and annoyingly rational) husband waited for me to explain, so I gave him the safety talk. I told him horror stories of kids falling into dishwashers and impaling themselves on knives. I told him about the drownings in nappy buckets. I told him that babies were hanging themselves from change table safety straps. Yes, safety straps, designed for their safety! I also told him that the power balls in dishwashing tablets fall out all the time and are eaten by innocent children who think they are lollies. These balls burn through their esophagus and the few that survive are fed via tubes. When I didn't get the desired response, I told him we currently use those exact Power Ball tablets (he'd know this if he ever put the dishwasher on - but I must not digress). This actually got me wondering why we are washing our dishes with this product at all? I've been blinded by the dazzling sparkle of my wine glasses for too long.

At the end of the Safety session the Health Nurse showed us an entire plastic tub of safety bits and pieces. She told us to go home and crawl around on the floor (sober, oh how I've grown) to see what changes were needed. This is when I realised it might be easier to sell and start fresh. The only items missing from our dangerous, war zone of a house, were loaded firearms scattered on the floor and a few grenades in the cupboards. We seriously have some safety work ahead of us. In the meantime, I have instructed our son not to reach any new developmental milestones that might endanger him. Rolling, crawling and walking are strictly prohibited until our house is disarmed or Daddy agrees to move us to the padded white room.

The reality is that we have years of safety worries ahead us. Safety when riding bikes and scooters, safe crossing of roads, safe driving of cars and lets not forget safe sex (from the age of 30, to an approved partner). It's too stressful to think that far ahead, so for now I'll mourn the loss of my chocolate mousse and try to remember to close the dishwasher door properly.

The List

If you wanted to, you could quite easily spend all of your earnings on your baby. Between clothing, furniture, equipment, accessories, toys, parenting books, masses of nappies and the random 'that's cute' purchases, separating the needs from the wants can be a very difficult task for new Mums. There is a lot of money to be made in baby world if you have a good idea and someone to market it. If you haven't walked into a Baby Bunting lately or ventured online to shop, then hide your credit card and take a look around.

Shopping for a new baby can be pretty exciting. There are many parenting sites that now provide you with a list of must haves and nice to haves. When I was pregnant I was given one these lists and began chipping away at it over the weeks so that it wouldn't be one big financial shock. I was fortunate to get a lot of furniture second hand from family but still had to go out and get some big ticket items, such as a pram. The problem is that when you go to buy a pram, you can potentially walk out with a pram, compatible car capsule, pram liner, sun shade, rain cover, foot muff, transport bag, cup holder, stroller tidy, snack pod, double kit (for number two), cushy straps, piddlepad (yep), head support, a fan (!), pram wrap/blanket and some attachable toys. Its terrifying to think of what you could spend if all of the above is just one item off your 7 page list. I often wonder how I survived as a child without a stroller fan? There doesn't seem to be any long term damage from my mother using a standard blanket as opposed to a pram blanket, though some issues may surface later in life. Watch this space.

Sleep products are surely the biggest cash cows. Gone are the days of bunny rugs and blankets. Now its all about wraps, swaddles and sleeping bags. Each product claiming to keep your child at the optimum temperature or in the safest sleeping position or to closely resemble the womb. Anything that gives parents hope of more sleep is going to sell. These are the sort of products that you buy when you are sleep deprived without looking at the price tags. I have the Wrap Me Up swaddle bags where their arms are positioned up. My little guy won't settle if he can't suck his hands. I very sensibly bought two however the other day one was pooed one and one spewed on, so I tried putting my son down for a nap without it. It was a teary disaster. His little arms were frantically flapping in the air and he had no idea how to fall asleep with those things waving in front of his face.

You may have guessed that I didn't end up buying everything on the list. I probably only bought around half of the items. I was never going to buy a bath thermometer when I have a perfectly good, free elbow. That money went towards a cabbage, which was strangely never mentioned on any of the lists, yet was my number one must have. Oh the relief. I did however end up buying a play gym, which I first scoffed at and deemed unnecessary. My son loves it and I do wonder how I filled my days as a baby without one. The many attachable toys with all their unique sounds, the mirror that my son smiles at (he thinks he has a friend that Mummy keeps in the cupboard), the colourful play mat with different fabrics for him to feel and throw up on, the musical foot pad that I have never put batteries in but look forward to discovering one day. Yes, arm me with a cabbage and play gym and I'm sorted for child number two.

These days, every aspect of parenting is supported by a mass of 'things'. There are so many toys, activity tables, gyms, walkers, jumpers, swings and various sleep aids, that all you need is a wet nurse to take care of the feeding and someone to invent a nappy changer, and you can sit back with a good book and let the gadgets raise your children. Of course I'm a massive hypocrite. I'm sitting here looking at my sons rocker which has both vibrate and music options because heaven forbid I just buy the rocker that rocks.