Big Words on Tiny Ears

My parenting style changes every day. Some days I think to myself there is no style, no technique, no fad, just love. Be myself, be comfortable, create a peaceful environment and love her in it. Strip it back and just go with my instincts.

Other days I'm dynamic Mum. Book Mum. Gina Mum. Rapley Mum. Jo Frost Mum.

I like being easily influenced. I like letting too many influences in. It's flexibility. It's being absorbent and experiencing life around you. There's something young and naive about having that much faith in everything and I love it. I don't want to be a cynic.

Today I'm "an-article-my-friend-Jane-found-in-the-Telegraph-Mum". Crudely summarised the article talked about the differences between girls and boys. Boys are power focused. Raising boys is about managing their relationship to power. Girls are about vulnerability and seeking acceptance. Apparently raising girls is about managing their want for approval and ensuring that they do not define themselves by approval from others.

Interesting. Often we (Steve and I) have commented to each other that Euna seems to mostly learn by accident. She does something by random chance and consolidates that knowledge when we praise her. For example she learnt to clap in the bath. I was pouring a trickle of water from a jug on to her belly, she tried to catch the water and executed an accidental clap. I praised her, clapped along, clapped along and now if I say "clap hands!" she claps.

So of my survey of one, The Telegraph has hit the nail on the head.

The article then talked about banning the word "good". Instead use other adjectives such as clever, strong, creative, loving etc. "YOU'RE SUCH A GENEROUS GIRL!" "THAT'S SO SMART! WELL DONE!" and so on.

I have clear memories of my parents debating about how, as parents, they should respond to me crying. Was I being silly and oversensitive? Or was I being empathetic and caring? My Dad (I see now with my baby as the eternal push-over) perceived me as empathetic. I was praised for it. I am now a very sensitive soul. I've bought homeless people dinner. I SOB at soap operas, game shows, charity appeals, pixar animations. I like that about myself. I see it as a strength. Now, am I like that because I was praised for it? Would I have always been like that but the variable is whether or not I'd grow to like it about myself? Should someone have toughened me up? All debatable.

Like with so many discussions I have with myself regarding parenting I loop back around to the time old nature versus nurture conundrum.

However, what I do not want is too much of an emphasis on obedience. I want her to be gentle because she is loving, not because I told her. Thoughtful because she enjoys exercising her clever mind, not because her teacher will be cross if she doesn't. Funny because she likes expressing wit, not because her friends laugh. I want her to be wonderful things independently.

So whilst I'm talking to her I will definitely be throwing in a wider vocabulary of praising words. She is strong and clever and brave and affectionate and she will be praised more specifically for it. The pinch of salt taking comes in the form of not damning myself when a "good girl" slips out.

Lessons

Her ears are tiny, so words are big.

I want to be a thoughtful parent so I'll think, but I want to be a relaxed parent so I'll forgive myself at the same time.

If you Pintrest it there are million inspirational "10 Things to Tell Your Child Everyday" esc links to feel fuzzy reading and get your broader positive reinforcement vocal started... I started a board for you guys.

Home.

Is where the heart is? Where you hang your hat? Is a state of mind?

We're moving. Not imminently, but balls are rolling.

I thought this was a simpler concept at first. We want a bigger house. There. How hard can it be? HARD.

It has occurred to me for the first time I am not just house hunting, I am childhood-backdrop hunting for my baby (babies). We're selecting the scene for so many of her firsts. Her first memory will probably be in this house. A multitude of other firsts she will and won't remember. No doubt a BILLION photos she won't give a chuff about until she's having babies, will be taken here. The walls, the sofa, the floors, the kitchen, the garden; stages for her childhood to imprint on.

Feels big.

Feel this urge to put everything I want for her on our doorstep: friends, fresh air, school, community, trees, parks, sweet shops. Create this mini world where she can grow and smile and breathe and shout and laugh and learn and love until she's big.

Is it that big? Will the home she grows up be responsible for how her childhood is or isn't fulfilling? My short answer is no. Love is key and we will love her with our whole hearts where ever we are.

Oh. But I want her to see trees, everyday. I want her to feel space. I don't want to break up hysterical Daddy-Daughter tickling play-fights because of the neighbours. Could be Mummyography is going rural?

Lesson

We're early on in this journey. Much procrastination is afoot. New stories. No lessons as yet.

This weekend... Euna hand-holds...

 Euna smooches...

Do our expectations write our stories?

My active January saw a successful day 2 yesterday. A neighbour and friend of mine and I took our babies and buggies to the road decided to swap nap time housework for a nap time walk. A long one.

Cue Mummy chat where we reminisced back to newborn days. 

I have had this conversation with a lot of people and I find all of their accounts fascinating. Essentially it's the same story over and over again. New baby, all consuming transition, no sleep and with overwhelming love comes overwhelming responsibility.

The variable is the story teller. Their perspective. Are they telling you the story of how the new baby and sleepless nights were wondrous and beautiful? Or are they telling you the story of how the new baby and sleepless nights were frightening and despairing?

Now of course there are other variables. But I wonder if any other variable in a new mothers tale is as pivotal as her expectations on the approach? 

Me, I am all about "worst case scenarios". I can't help but plan for worst case scenarios in every avenue of my life. I do it when budgeting. I do it when driving. I even do it when selecting sun protection factors! Essentially what it means is in the run up to everything I am some kind of pessimist. So my new mother story reads as a long list of small mercies and pleasant surprises I found in the early days: 

"...and after only an hour and a half of bum-numbing breastfeeding, she blessed us with 10 blissful napping minutes in her bouncer!"

Note: Do not read that as smug. Do not read that as "wow! I found it all AMAZING!" Read that as "for the love crunchie that woman punished her poor husband with 9 months of relentless 'OMG STEVE THIS IS GOING TO BE AWWWFFUULLLL!!!!'"

What's the alternative? The opposite of pessimist is romanticist. The alternative is we absorb 18 (give or take) years of smiling dollies, Supernanny re-runs, serene Disney princess motifs and softly faded Johnsons baby adverts. Put those themes on to simmer for 9 months and VOILA! Unrealistic expectations = disappointment + despair.

This is not the parenting advice blog. (Oh Lordy! How we would all be in trouble if I started doing that.) But maybe there is a message in my "research" about expectations. Measuring them. Being realistic. Though not to the point of living with a sense of impending doom. 

For me it wasn't ALL great, some bits were awful and some bits were incredible. All the best things have awful bits. 

Writing this I'm reminded of a good read I found in pregnancy... It talks about how it's unrealistic to expect to enjoy every minute of every day but finding one minute a day to really appreciate what is wondrous about being a Mum will tick your "making the most of it" box. 

Lesson

Be wary of your expectations. They may have already written your story somehow.

Sometimes the easiest thing to do is change...

I have felt really uneasy the last 48 hours.

I shouldn't. Everything is fine.

Euna's back to good health. I'm fine. We're fine. Everything IS fine.

The only problem is that I am a habitual problem solver. I embrace change. Infact I LOVE change. Thrive on it. I always used to love the first day of the school year. I would spend the last two weeks of summer fantasising that my new hair, coat, pencil case, lip gloss, attitude... whatever, was going to change everything that year. I would come back to a new timetable, new classmates, new teachers and with my new hair, coat, pencil case, lip gloss or attitude and magically be this or that girl and EVERYTHING would be transformed.

Perhaps it was the absence of a theme tune following me down the corridor that meant I never made my  Tai from Clueless' transformation into cool? Regardless I still love change. I love moving house. I love moving location. I love new social circles. I love new jobs. I love new projects.

Maybe this is why I LOVED becoming a Mum, because everything changed!
Now am I addicted to change? Maybe. Is change a crutch? Definitely sometimes. I have certainly been guilty of changing an entire situation when what I really needed to do was tackle a detail in a way that intimidated me.

My point is there is nothing I need to change right now. I have rehashed and re-rehearsed the work vs SAHM debate so many times it's bordering obsessive. Fact is, for me, for us and for now, the best decision is for me to stay at home. Yet at times I have needed to have the debate daily, simply to reassert the decision for myself. Probably because people all around me are making alternative decisions.

Right now I need to stay the same. I need to do much the same as yesterday.

I have often wondered if much of the hard work in parenthood lies in the lack of novelty. Seeing your baby crawl for the first time is WONDROUS. Stopping her making a beeline for the toilet brush for a eighth time whilst I wee is not.

Perseverence through the mundane is the struggle. Continuation through the same. Changing your perspective and finding enthusiasm for what you could see as drudgery. THAT is key.
I need to inspire myself through small changes rather than big ones.

You could spout the same as marriage advice I suppose.

Lesson:

Persevere through the mundane and learn to NOT rely on change.

Our first Christmas decoration is up... Let the festive season commence!

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Busy does not equal mothering success...

I just wrote a different post about Mummy to Mummy socialising, I talked about support feeling like critique between Mums and how support can turn into interfering. But I lost my line of thought and it became uninteresting because today my thoughts are far too linear to discuss anything as intricate as women's social interactions when vulnerable.

Today marks the end of an ENTIRE week at home. With the exception of a trip to the supermarket, an hour at the local community centre and a couple of strolls we have dwelled between these fours walls.

The biggest surprise is that it feels really nice.

Since baby girl was born I always saw some kind of imaginary prize going for the most active Mum. A full calendar has been a badge of mothering success. The self asserted pressure to stimulate, stimulate, STIMULATE  has weighed really heavily. In her early days I saw baby girl changing so rapidly it fuelled some kind of extreme crazed urgency to "MAKE THE MOST OF IT" and for the love of Crunchies "ENJOY EVERY MINUTE!"

By comparison this week we were held hostage at home by a nasty cough and cold. This week has been about routine, comfy clothes, long naps, cuddles, cooking, socks, fabric softener smells...

I feel slower. Everything is streamlined. I do breakfast, then she naps, then I drink tea, then I get dressed... etc As opposed to; I'm going to give her breakfast whilst I prep dinner, order online shopping and text my Dad, then I HAVE to keep her awake to she'll nap in the car on the way to Becky's so she'll be ok to play with Lola whilst I...

I've got my stuff together. My house is in order, the washing is done. I don't have five unanswered texts  and I have sorted my car insurance.

Best part? I am looking forward to the weekend more than ever. I am energised to spend time with the husband rather than "thank God you're home I thought I'd NEVER get back up, quick hold the baby whilst I try and do everything that's been bugging me all week at light speed". And I would normally start 8 jobs at once, make a mess, get overwhelmed and blame him for the whole ordeal. (Poor Steve, but don't tell him, it'll RUIN my reputation and I'll probably want to revert to my old ways without having my own blog quoted at me.)

Lessons:

1. Being busy is not a mark of mothering success. 
2. I need to spend more time at home and the coming cold weather makes for a great excuse for that. 
3. Streamline your actives and thoughts. 
4. Living for the weekend means reserving enough energy to enjoy the weekend.

Playing Mumma Nurse...

Baby girl has a cold. This means a lot of indoor time. A lot of cuddles. A lot of "rod-for-my-own-back-making" naps on my lap. Blocked up and off her food has meant a glimpse back to her newborn days of endless breastfeeding sessions.

In short, this week, I've got down time.

Notes (lessons) on her first proper "illness":

i. It must be AWFUL to have a cold and not be able to blow your nose. AWFUL!

ii. Euna resembles a ferret having it's teeth brushed when you try and wipe her nose. She HATES it.

iii. I now get why my Dad used to always say "I wish I could have it for you". At the time I thought "IDIOT! He MUST be lying, no sane person would inflict this upon themselves voluntarily!!" Turns out you would for your kids. Ten fold.

iv. Nothing works. Not really. Not significantly. The only thing capsules, drops, rubs, oils, nasal sprays and syrups achieve is making you feel like you've done something.

v. Calpol is STILL yummy at 28. Is there a Mum out there who can HONESTLY say they don't lick the spoon after administering a dose?

So in attempt to escape total cabin fever we've tried (in vain) to blow these germs away with cool, crisp Novemeber air... Winter is coming...

OH! But BLUE skies...

Leaves falling...

Leaves fallen...

Walking...

Twigs...

 Self-portraits... Of course this was the ONLY one I took... Didn't take about 60 pictures of the floor in the process... Honest...

Silly...

My snot-bot...

Winter sun is my FAVOURITE...

 NEEEEOOOOOWWWWWNNNN...

Back in the warm... 

"You'll make a rod for your own back!"

I am willing to put a lot of money on the majority of people not hearing the phrase "rod for your own back" much, if at all, before they have a baby.

It's not really thrown around when you start drinking coffee every morning. I don't think I heard it when I started having a glass of wine on a Friday night. Looking back to my days as a smoker, I don't think I heard it then. The lady at the Yves Saint Laurent make-up counter didn't use it when I went to treat myself to some high-end war paint for my wedding. Not a soul said it to me when I started seeing Steve. 

Yet in all of the above cases I DID make a rod for my own back. I did or do depend on these things. I needed to do these things regularly after I started them. 

Then I had a baby.

You know you can get all that "Welcome to the World" paraphernalia for newborns? Someone should start a line of gear for new mums that's "Welcome to the World Where EVERYONE Will Tell You EVERYTHING Will Make a Rod for Your Own Back". Because apparently it does.

Fairly recently a friend of mine had a baby. I remember my first visit to meet the baby, she sat there with a 48 hour old newborn and essentially apologised for herself as she explained that she had cuddled him all night the night before. Not to enter into a co-sleeping debate. But in a "oh I KNOW I'm making a rod for my own back, I've been so stupid" way. 

Why is a new mother of 48 hours, after nine months of growing her baby, apologising for holding her baby close to where all it has ever known? She's not alone. I think I remember almost all of the women I was pregnant with saying very similar things when their babies were very young. I even know of someone who refused to rock their baby AT ALL because she didn't want to make a rod for her own back! 

Two things are at play in that. First is the age old problem of women placing unrealistic or unattainable expectations on themselves to become the vision of mother earth perfection HOURS after birth. Because creating beautiful, wondrous life isn't quite enough for one day.

The other is something probably beyond my literacy skills to express. It's the months of enforced advice through pregnancy, sometimes not entirely well meaning and often with the threat of "just you wait" about it. It's the social, cultural and economic pressure that being a mother is not enough at this time. You should want to or will have to work too. Build a career. Be "YOU". Socialise. Live a life where you are the perfect mother without looking like, sounding like or somehow seeming at all like a mother. What I mean is there is a lot more pressure to leave your children today and somewhere we have interpreted "one day they must be able to be without us" as "they must always be able to be without us". 

I am NOT entering in to the working mum vs SAHM debate. It's too personal, with too many factors and I respect mothers from both camps too much to form a summative opinion. 

The debate I am entering into is this guilt related to comforting your baby. It was triggered this morning when I read a parenting forum post from a woman celebrating not being a "human dummy" as she had weaned her baby off breastfeeding. Babies DO need to self-settle. Mums and babies/children DO have to give up breastfeeding at some stage. What I object to is this feeling that sometimes there can be too much pressure on mothers to foster too much of their babies independence. My baby is 7 months old. She has literally YEARS before she needs to not need her Mum. If I do something once, she will not need me to do it 8 times a day, everyday until she is 30. She rejected the dummy herself after 4 weeks. She stopped sucking her fingers after 2 months of having them permanently in her mouth. Not everything becomes an immoveable habit.

In some instances she will tell me when enough's enough. We do not need to make so much of our measure of successful parenting about how little our babies need us or how often they comfort themselves.

I'm not saying these things don't need to happen. Just arguing the flip side for a little change up in thinking. Essentially just allowing a little less guilt if your tiny one needs a little more of you today. Mine has a cold. Today self-settling does not exist. Today she is a baby and I am a Mummy and I am going to do EVERYTHING I can for her.

Lesson:

1. Next time I'll know there's no such thing as making a rod for your own back with a brand new newborn.

2. I'm going to tell every single brand new Mummy I ever meet to cuddle their baby without apology or guilt for as long as they want!

The Point is Family, Part 2...

A while back I wrote about The Point is Family... When I wrote the post I nearly didn't post as I was worried it was more intense than my typical post. Well I did and I got some lovely feedback (thank you!) but the sentiment has come back to me this week.

At the moment we're playing host to my Dad's knee operation recovery. He'll be here for a few weeks... It's great! Don't get me wrong I'll probably want to beat him with his crutches in a week or two but for now, in the honeymoon period, it's lovely. Euna is loving the extra coo-ing, Grandad is loving really getting to know his grand-daughter and how her day goes, how our family goes, I am loving the chance to do a bit of parental pay-back (at a time in my life when I am more aware than ever of what parents sacrifice) and Steve is loving the extra "man vote" on the tv. Win all round. Though I reserve the right to write a "OMG I Beat My Dad With His Crutches" post later in a fortnight.

So here is a little photo dump from the last few lazy, domestic days I've spent as Nurse Alexander...

 My favourite part about her crawling, the fact she WANTS to be with her Mummy, she crawls up and tries to climb up my legs like a little koala bear, sweetness...

Some Frugi wear...

Her first yoghurt, her first food from a "pot", I had a minor meltdown and had to be told to get a grip (thank you Char) she LOVED it...

Eating with Grandad...

Nom!

Daddy home early enough for dins...

"Mummy had yoghurt earlier... YOGHURT! You expect me to slum it with shepherds pie after the dizzying height of YOGHURT!?!"

Lesson:

The point IS family. Not just in a "I'm feeling all sentimental after a bad day" kind of way but in a practical, logistical, making tea 8 times a day, showing sympathy when your own patience is low and paying it all back kind of way. If it's not family then what is the point...?

Germs...

Even from before pregnancy I knew I would firmly be in the pro-germ camp. Germs build immune systems. Our immune system is our ultimate defence. I grew up elbow deep in horse poo and I wouldn't change a moment of it. 

My friend Charlie sums it up with "you gotta lick a bit of dirt before you die". 

So today we went to a "Baby Sensory" class. I imagined lights and music and touchy, feely texture things. I imagined lots of indoor scarf wearing. I imagined some songs with actions… No such luck. 

Long story short it was a bit naff, a bit dirty and pretty unimaginative.

Amongst the other attendees and myself there seemed to be varying levels of concern regarding the cleanliness. The germs. I personally felt really relaxed about the cleanliness of the toys and props whilst I was there but now I'm thinking… How relaxed is negligent? When does laid back become idiotic? I think "what's the worst that can happen?" Well she could catch something and get VERY sick!!! So there is a real risk.

Then my mind goes into having an argument with itself mode…

"But there's a risk in walking down the road!"

"There are necessary and unnecessary risks though! You NEED to walk down the street, she doesn't NEED to eat germy play dough!"

"Listen to yourself Charlie! Didn't hurt you!"

"Not hurting me is hardly an argument to do it!"

Blah blah blah. Back and forward.

Point? It's a hot topic. I sense I am a little ignorant on the subject and could do with some reading. 

Lesson:

1. There's a chance I am far too relaxed on dirt. If she poos electric turquoise play dough tomorrow then I know I need to reassess my approach… 

2. When I was pregnant I read a comedy article about how manic it is being a mum and the writer said something about going to the loo with their baby on their lap... I remember thinking "Oh my..." Today I was reminded of this and humbled. Mother nature called mid milk tantrum and I was peekabooing down the hall from the bog... Classy.