Flat head Syndrome

I have been working for a few families recently where I have noticed the baby’s head is slightly asymmetrical. In some cases, this is a tiny and natural deviation, but in at least one case, the baby’s head is dramatically flattened, his face bulges on one side and is quite noticeably uneven. It is a subject his mother and I have discussed endlessly.  It turns out that flat head syndrome is considered a cosmetic disorder because it does not restrict brain growth or cause brain damage but nonetheless it can be quite disturbing.  I know the mother in question will do everything she can to try to correct it in her son.

It seems that health visitors will carefully inform new mothers about the ‘Back to Sleep’ campaign but rarely mention the possible side effect, flat head syndrome.  Insisting that a baby is always put to bed on its back has been very successful in reducing cot deaths, but flattened head has become an unexpected consequence now that babies are spending much of their early lives on their backs on hard flat surfaces, such as cots, car seats, carry cots and baby bouncers. The latest research was based on American infants and found that up to 48 per cent of babies under the age of one developed the deformity.  Shocking!  Positional plagiocephaly or brachycephaly (flat head syndrome), results in the back or side of the head appearing flattened. The most critical time to be aware of this is during the baby’s first three months when a baby’s skull is at its softest and malleable and a flat spot can quickly develop. It is generally believed that this is purely an aesthetic issue; it does not affect brain development or function and should have no lasting medical effects.  But as a mother, is that OK?  Your baby is fine, just funny looking… Maybe he will grow hair over that flat bit – or he could wear a lot of hats… wouldn’t you rather he had a regular shaped head?  Is this another way for us mothers to feel guilty over yet another thing we have control over?

So what can you do? The 'Back To Sleep' campaign, which rightly promotes laying babies on their backs to sleep, has dramatically reduced cot deaths and should always be followed. However, even before you notice (due to sleep deprivation, hormones or just because you are overwhelmed at being a new mother) your baby’s head may be slightly flat already.  So try to ensure that bed and car seat time are balanced by giving your baby lots of tummy time when awake; being carried in a wilkinet or other sling relieves any pressure on a wonky skull. In fact any method to try to encourage your baby to put less pressure on the flattest part of his head would be worth trying once there is a flat part of the head – or better get in there before it even becomes a noticeable issue– perhaps a rolled up towel under the side of the mattress to encourage him to sleep partially on his side which you can alternate.

Babies' skulls are made of several bones that aren't rigidly joined and are initially soft enough to be molded. As they get older, these bones stick together and become more rigid.  There is a window, then, when a skull can become deformed and also a window where this can be corrected.  Another thing to consider is that breast fed babies feed equally on either side, but a bottle fed baby may only ever be fed on one side – so try to alternate to avoid any uneven recurrent pressure.

Helmets, which aim to correct flat head syndrome, are available, but whether they are beneficial is controversial.  They are also shockingly expensive.  You may wish to consider a pillow designed to release pressure from the baby’s skull.  These are Swedish in design and cost about £13 and are specially designed to avoid this issue by supporting the babies head and shoulders without allowing pressure points to occur.  One of my mothers got a pillow for her son and swears he sleeps much better now and even seems more comfortable – in addition his head seems to be becoming more symmetrical again. She said to me: "I just wish we had been told about this right from day one. If we had, we wouldn't be trying to correct it now."  I have made a point since then of telling my clients about this possibility as early as I can.

Who’s the dummy?

So… you’ve got your new baby home and you think you are doing pretty well.  Hormonally you are a bit all over the place and you could do with some more sleep – but isn’t he gorgeous!? And aren’t you clever!?

A few weeks in to motherhood, you may be becoming an old hand at reading your baby: understanding when he is hungry and when he needs changing, but there are times when he just cries… 

It is inevitable that at this juncture you will at least consider attempting to introduce a dummy.  Most babies will take one – but every now and again I come across one who won’t.  So, do you persevere?  Or give up?  I have tried both and can honestly say every baby is different (there’s a news flash!).  Some babies find their thumbs or fingers and that will pacify them, some will have a muslin or a special blanket that does the trick and some will take the dummy after some cajoling. And all these things are just fine… until… until… until…

I had a client whose daughter was very attached to her muslin, which she sucked.  The little girl was starting to get a rash on her face where the moist muzzy rubbed and her mother thought perhaps now was the time to try to get rid of it.

What should she do? 

First consider the timing.  Is your child just starting school or have you just had a new baby or moved?  Any disruption is not a great time to try to instil new behaviour.  Give at least three weeks before suggesting a change to habits.

Try to limit the times of the day or places where the habit is acceptable.  (This is where a thumb or finger sucker comes unstuck – you can’t confiscate the offending digit nor can you try to limit time alone with it…  try bribery in these cases if you can’t appeal to your child’s natural honesty and sense of fair play!)  Perhaps in the car, in the house and in bed is OK.

Once you have limited the habit significantly for a week or two, constantly praise the child in terms of how grown up he is (and do it in front of teachers and other significant adults “Oh Mrs Barley!  You will never guess how good Josh has been!  He hasn’t sucked his thumb outside of our house for a whole week!”) and then renegotiate the terms, limiting it further – only in bed, only in the car, etc.

If necessary, determine an event that you can connect the surrender of the object (if there is an object - thumb suckers beware!) and negotiate.  Perhaps Father Christmas will only exchange a stocking full of presents for all the dummies?  Maybe it is the Easter bunny who has a yen for muslins?  This can be a huge event:  collecting up the items and placing them all in a box in readiness for the overnight exchange (unless daddy likes dressing up as the Easter bunny…), writing a note and then lots and lots of praise/phone calls to granny etc. once the goal is reached.  You could even plan a trip to the dummy tree in Frederiksburg Gardens where the Danish have institutionalised the surrender of dummies.

I promise you that all children will at some stage or another be able to manage this.  I do have a friend whose daughter had a blanket.  It was a special blanket and she had never seen the reason to wean her daughter totally off it.  It stayed in her bed and her daughter only needed it at night.  Her (teenage) daughter was going to Glastonbury one year and siddled up to her mother and asked her advice about blanky coming with her…  My friend was possibly a little readier for a warning discussion about drugs and alcohol and boys… but between them they came up with a plan.  My friend duly sewed a small piece of blankey into her daughter’s sleeping bag in a secret corner…  greater love hath no mother.

The Mummy Bank

I’ve been working for a lovely family recently who have just introduced their new son to their 3 year old daughter.  She has reacted as you would expect, mostly positive with the occasional outburst; hugging, kissing and every now and again squeezing just a little too tight to see how mummy and daddy react.

My lovely client was desperate the other evening and phoned me, I could hear her daughter screaming blue murder in the background.  It transpired that ultimatums had been issued and as a consequence someone was now shut in her bedroom for refusing to take a bath and was waiting until daddy got home.

My

 “What do I do?” asked my client near to tears herself.  We went through all the events that had lead up to the stand off and my client said “But I spent an HOUR today playing with playdough with her…”

 and I thought to myself, we really do, most of us, have a mental tally that we add checks and minuses to.  In her head, my client imagined that her 3 year old would behave herself in exchange for time spent with mummy earlier that day.  My client had invested a whole hour (a tedious hour, perhaps, or a frustrating hour when she knew she had a pile of other things to do) playing with her daughter, focussed entirely on her and this is how she is repaid!  The bank of mummy is suddenly found to be overdrawn when mummy believed it was bulging with credit!

I talked through the entire situation with my client and immediately gave her encouragement to give her daughter an option to get herself out of her pickle.  “Put the baby somewhere safe and leave him until this is sorted out.  It doesn’t matter if he howls, you know he is clean and dry and fed and safe.  Go and knock on your daughter’s door and very quietly say that you would like to give her a hug because she is sad and that you will wait outside until she is ready to speak to you.”  I then suggested that she explain to her daughter that daddy would be home soon and he would be very sad if the bath hadn’t happened yet.  Would she like to run the bath, or would she like Mummy to run a quick bath now? 

The next day, I heard how it had all worked out, that by the time my client had put the baby down, her daughter had appeared on the landing, still sniffing and squirting tears, but no longer hysterical.  Together they negotiated the bath and when daddy came home, the daughter told him that she had made mummy very sad.  Apologies and hugs abounded.

We also discussed this idea of “paying” in credits in the hopes that we can withdraw them later.  We decided that it was much better to do things with the children because we enjoyed doing them and not with any expectations or anticipated payback attached to them.  A lesson worth learning, but perhaps difficult six weeks post-natal without a friendly neighbourhood doula who has the ease of distance.

Doula of the Year...

It transpires that Pregnancy and Birth Magazine has been sponsoring a “DOULA OF THE YEAR AWARD” and received around 100 letters from Mums nominating both birth and postnatal doulas.  After a lot of reading, discussing, reflecting and debating, they have made a shortlist, from which they will select three finalists. 

The winning Mum will win a holiday for 2 adults & up to 2 children in Malta. 

 and it turns out that I was on the short list...

I asked my clients who was responsible for this and received the following copy of her entry in to the competition and thought you might want to see what she said about her experience of having a birth doula:

"I would like to nominate the duo Lucy Symons who was by my side in Labour and her partner Maggie Vaughn who have changed my perception of pain and the World. These two wonderful ladies made the birth of our son extra special, less daunting and magical. I had originally wanted a Doula because I find visiting hospitals tricky because I had a spinal injury (fractured my neck in childhood) This has caused me great anxiety and triggered memories ..... so we met Lucy and Maggie and they were the perfect fit. 

Pre-Labour

Our Doulas supported both my partner and me through pregnancy and gave us top tips to remain calm, settle baby in my womb & for sciatic nerve pains towards the end of pregnancy. They reassured me at every stage and actually enabled me to enjoy pregnancy. My mum did not enjoy pregnancy yet our Doula's enabled me to not follow in these footsteps but to be positive, have baths, bond with baby via massage and relaxation. (this worked like a DREAM) 

I even had a car crash at 5 months in pregnancy - Oooops! Both Lucy and Maggie were there for us and again I focussed on being positive and praying how lucky we are to have such a resilient baby. Maggie visited promptly after this. 

Our 'Charlie's Angels' (Doulas) visited us on numerous occasions, providing books, DVDs and helped with ideas for the Birth Plan. They enabled me to be mentally prepared and were honest too and enabled me to manage pregnancy and the stress / pressures of work. (combining the two) 

Our Charlie's Angels were in contact with my boyfriend and supported him through the pregnancy too. 

Lucy and Maggie talked me through the stages of labour which initially shocked me. However, when I attended my ante-natal classes I was psychologically more prepared. 

Maggie and Lucy suggested ways to help us get baby in the correct position using gym ball, swimming etc. I felt I was being pro-active and in control of the pregnancy and doing my 100% best I could - thanks to our Charlie's Angels.

Labour 

My Contractions began.......Lucy protected me by not telling me that the maternity ward at our hospital may have to close as they were so busy & understaffed.  She did not tell me that if we turned up we would have to go home or to an alternative hospital. Had I known this information I would have gone into distress mode and started to hyperventilate. 

Our Charlie's Angel created distractions throughout labour, even washed my hair and consoled me.  She kept the family calm and requested they sleep, she timed my contractions for me and noted them. 

Lucy continuously rang the hospital back to try to get a room for me - thank the lord for our angel because we did eventually get a room and knew this on the car journey there (what a gem).

She helped me manage pain until I was 7cm dilated in my own home using water, massage and tens machine. UNBELIEVABLE - I could not have done this without Lucy. 

She supported my decisions 100% especially when I asked for an epidural.

When my baby was born I was in shock.  Lucy was able to cuddle him whilst I gained some awareness through all the medication/drugs

Post Natal 

I had no memory triggers from my childhood trauma when I got to the labour ward and even enjoyed my stay at the hospital. (thanks to our Doulas) 

We received an entertaining letter for our son outlining all the various conversations and stages of labour.

Aftercare

We received a meal & home made chocolate cake delivered to our home which was divine.  I received help with breastfeeding and general aftercare. Maggie advised me on what to eat and the natural approach to breastfeeding really worked better for us. 

Lucy explained all the details of labour afterwards. How the hospital was going to close and things she had protected me from hearing. My jaw was on the floor. I'm so glad she shielded me from this and for taking the time to explain what happened in labour in more detail. (Our baby had been in a tricky position, with both his hands on his head)

I could not have asked for more!!!!!!! Both Doulas who worked in partnership are already winners in my eyes and our family. They made labour a positive experience and they have a special place in our hearts."

What more could a doula ask for?  I Love my job.

The Magic of Oxytocin

I was at a birth recently where the baby was in a rotten position (it turned out he had both hands clasped under his chin, the little tinker) and so my lady couldn’t progress beyond the fabulous 7cm she had reached at home in the bath with my support. Inevitably syntometrin was required to help her along and so she had an epidural and the midwife started a drip.

What had been a perfectly natural, really lovely labour at home was suddenly transformed into a strange medical procedure in the hospital where we all waited for things to happen, feeling disconnected and slightly like observers rather than participants. My role as a doula was suddenly transformed into that of companion, her boyfriend was quietly sleeping in a corner and the midwife would come in, smile at us both and go straight to the monitor or the drip – no longer really paying attention to the person in labour.

Eventually my lovely lady managed to get to 10cm and started to push. She was instructed what to do because she had no natural urge to push. She did brilliantly and after a long hard second stage, her son was born. I remember quite clearly through a sleep deprived haze bursting into tears as he was born and her boyfriend doing the same as their son took his first breath. The midwife was efficiently kind and also obviously moved. But my lady lay on the bed watching us with what appeared to be detached confusion. My tears and those of her boyfriend seemed totally alien to her and even a little annoying. We passed her the baby but she didn’t seem to be terribly interested. She asked that I take him and so I took him for a little walk around the room as her boyfriend held her hand whilst she was being stitched. Finally, I brought him back to her side and she gestured for me to give him to her boyfriend. I left that birth wondering how she would manage.

A few days later I went to their home and met with them. We discussed the birth of their son at length and I was thrilled to see she had bonded brilliantly with her son as she breast fed him. I asked her about the moment he was born and she admitted (after a little nudging) that she had felt absolutely nothing, but was only aware of the brutality of the experience. My emotion and her boyfriend’s at the time was exactly the opposite of her feelings… she said she felt like she was observing everything and not experiencing it. I gently explained to her that oxytocin (the body’s natural expulsive hormone necessary for giving birth) is also known as the “love” hormone. She had received a synthetic form of that hormone in the drip which does everything that oxytocin does physiologically but none of the emotional things that you would expect. As a consequence, she was going through the motions of giving birth but had none of the natural endorphins nor did she experience the woosh of maternal love that she would have done had she been able to have a natural labour and birth. In breast feeding her son, she was producing the oxytocin that she had missed at birth and as such was rapidly falling in love with him.

Oxytocin plays such a vital part to bonding with your baby it is little wonder there has been a recent spate of men writing about how removed they felt from their children when they are first born. Several journalists have reported recently that they feel it is the unspoken taboo, fathers who don’t feel anything towards their newborn children. Of course (most) men learn how to love their children but sometimes it takes a little time. They don’t have that natural leg up that we women do. And nor do some women who have surgical or chemical births. It is something to consider if you feel that your birth experience was less magical than you were expecting. It is very helpful to know that with the absence of oxytocin, you can experience a more disconnected birth than if you have a totally natural experience. Don’t beat yourself up about it, but be aware that it is perfectly normal for it to take a few days of breast feeding for you to feel that deep connection with your baby, and for your partner to grow into loving his child.

Post Natal Depression - what is normal?

It seems that more of us are being diagnosed with Post Natal Depression these days, which begs the question: does motherhood make women miserable or are we turning a normal, if difficult, psychological transition into an illness?

In working as a post natal doula, I am in women’s homes after they have had a baby and it is perfectly normal for me to see new mothers sad or miserable or even crying.  It turns out this is one of the questions in the Edinburgh Post Natal Depression Scale, a self reporting tool developed in 1987 to help identify women with post-natal depression; something your health visitor may have asked you to complete.  Another question is “have you felt scared or panicky for no good reason?” which equally most of the women I work with in the early days of motherhood (if they were honest) would say yes to.  

Motherhood can be very very hard to adjust to for most of us, and in the struggle to get a handle on it (and possibly to realize that you will never truly get a handle on it) it is only normal to expect to be teary or feel fear.  Immediately postpartum a new mother is probably physically exhausted, sleep deprived, hormonally frankly quite mad and deeply in love with a tiny new person they feel biologically programmed to protect and care for.  She may also find herself at home alone with her baby if her partner has to go back to work and her family is not near.

Couple this with the fact that motherhood is without a doubt the hardest-easiest job in the world and you may very well find a woman who weeps and feels scared.  Intellectually, we know that a baby’s needs are so simple: food, warmth and love.  And yet… and yet… it can seem like a relentless cycle of food, warmth and love and regardless of the food, warmth and love it also seems that they cry.  A lot.  And every cry goes through you in a way that you would never have believed before it happens to you, and every fibre of your body reacts to that cry.  Sometimes a baby’s cry is hunger, sometimes it is discomfort and sometimes it just is. 

I have a client who recently told me that the minute she realized that her son just needed to be held, she was a much better mother.  She had spent the first six weeks of his life feeding him and changing him and winding him and then believing that she should put him down, in a basket or a crib or in a bouncing chair and he would be satisfied.  He wasn’t and so he cried.  When she realized that by carrying him, he was happier, she was much better able to be a good enough mother.  But it took her six weeks to figure out what she imagined she would know instinctively.  The solution she found for her baby worked for her and for her son was not something she read in a book or someone else told her to do, or even something that will work for you (although it might be worth trying!) but eventually through trial and error, she came to the conclusion that her baby would only stop crying if she carried him with her.  Pregnant with her second child, she is now preparing for her next baby to be the same.  Perhaps he will be, or maybe she will have to do all that learning again with a different child, either way she understands the fundamentals of being a good enough mother.  You try your best to find the best solution to any given situation and forgive yourself if you don’t manage it quickly.  Every mother should march to the beat of the tiny drum her baby beats for her.

There are no simple answers to motherhood, it is not an exact science.  The best you can realistically hope is be a good enough mother.  To figure out what your baby needs and provide it as swiftly as possible and understand that sometimes babies just cry.  You may find that carrying them helps, or singing to them, or walking around the park in their pram, or sometimes it could be that nothing helps and your baby is just exercising his right to shout.  A lot.  A friend says her son frequently sounds like he is being attacked by cats.  A second time mother, she spent his first week rushing to save him from the imaginary marauding felines and then slowly realized that is just how he is.   It is normal for him to cry like that - it doesn’t mean anything is wrong particularly, it is just the way he is, different from his sister before him

It is also important to remember that babies are very receptive and so,  if you feel anxious or panicked or scared, they will pick up on that.  If in the face of motherhood you feel fear (and really, I don’t know anyone who is honest who can say it doesn’t ever fill her with some sort of fear) your baby will react in a way which may make you feel even more fear and so a vicious cycle begins.  I have a client at the moment who said to me “Why is my baby always so calm when you are here?” and it isn’t because I am a magic baby whisperer (more’s the pity), it is because my being in her home means she can focus only on her baby and not worry about the washing or the cooking or the ironing or the shopping or answering the door to the post man or cleaning out the fridge or putting the flowers in water or any of those other things that distract us from our babies and so SHE can make her baby more calm by being more calm herself. 

I am not sure that women are more inclined to post natal depression these days myself.  I do think the adjustment we make as we transition from individual to mother is a very difficult one, emotionally and physically, possibly harder to do when older but if that manifests itself in tears or random moments of panic, then we should embrace them and ask for help.  Being alone and sad and panicked is far more overwhelming than sharing it with someone who cares for you and so much the better if that person can normalize those feelings for you.  It is right you should feel sad sometimes as a mother and being responsible for a tiny new person is also pretty scary, but grab that fear with both hands harness it and be the best mother you can be.  It is also right that you should feel overwhelming joy and discover meaning in your life that you had no idea existed.  And enjoy being a mother. For most of us it’s the best job you will ever have.

Happiness at any cost…

There has been a lot in the press recently about children these days expecting to be happy at all times.  Parents, trying their best to do what is right, are challenging teachers in a way previously unknown when their little darling is “unhappy”. 

A maths teacher was quoted in The Observer last Sunday saying that he corrected a child’s homework, pointing out that a nought was in the wrong place.  The child watched as the teacher changed the answer (corrected the answer) and smiling, changed it back saying “Thank you, but I prefer it where it was.”  Mad mathematical renegade or spoilt brat?

As a parent we all want happy children… but ultimately what is really going to make your child experience long term happiness?  When do we need to step in and teach our children that they can’t always be right and that life isn’t always happy?  When do they learn that they don’t always get to be first, selected for the football team or the lead part in the class assembly?  It is a vital lesson without doubt, and one that needs to be assimilated before entry in to the Big Bad World where there isn’t always going to be a mummy to take the naughty person to task for not recognising (perhaps well hidden – or truly absent) genius.

I do understand that having a happy child is vital, but I wonder if ultimately little Johnny is going to thank you for this effort?  Research shows that children who are never corrected or thwarted actually have lower self esteem than their more robust challenged counterparts.  Life is as much about managing disappointment as learning to manage success.  Realistically, in a class of 30 children, your little darling is unlikely to come first and 29 times more likely to come second or lower.  And someone has to come last!  Surely childhood is where you learn that, safe in the knowledge that you have parents who love you no matter what and will comfort you and teach you that not being The Angel Gabriel in the Christmas production is actually not The End of The World.

If, as a mother, you beg the teacher to remark homework or add your child to the team roster or change the casting for the school nativity play making your child happy again, if only for a little bit, what lesson are you teaching your child?  Complain and you get what you want, perhaps. Is that true of life?  Perhaps a little bit, but generally speaking life is pretty much a meritocracy and if you aren’t best suited to the role, you won’t get it.  And how hollow a victory would you experience if you were in the starting line up of a big match only because your mummy made the coach put you in?  I cannot tell you how many painfully shy children I have watched squirming with embarrassment, unable to speak when called upon to do so, after their mother has negotiated them in to a role in the school play they aren’t happy with.  Surely that is a far worse fate for the child than being cast as part of a nice crowd scene where you can lurk at the back and don’t have to speak?

As a parent, you have to moderate your expectations to fit your child.  If you have a terribly uncoordinated chatter box who loves to show off… perhaps they would be selected for a part in the play but left off the netball squad.  Should you perhaps trust the teacher to make that decision for you, rather than barrel in and take them to task?  We had a situation at my children’s school recently where a mother insisted her daughter take part in the “gifted and talented programme” arguing that it would only be fair if everyone had a “go” at being Gifted and Talented.  This child was also told that she couldn’t take the exam for the grammar school (the 11+) because she was “out of catchment” although a patent lie.  The poor child repeated this to anyone who would listen and watched as people nodded their heads in pity more than agreement, understanding that an untruth had been told to her to save her feelings.  What does this teach her daughter?  Will she thank her mother when she is older? 

We surely should be thinking of our children’s happiness in a much broader sense rather than immediate disappointment and upset.  To teach a child to accept the rough with the smooth and understand their own limitations is vital.  “Life is short and  brutal and then you die” was my father’s response if I ever complained about any perceived injustice – perhaps rather old school, but I got the message.  We need to celebrate our children’s achievements and I fear that when they really do work hard and achieve, the subsequent joy may be diminished by the previous devaluation.  Encourage them by all means, but be realistic and understand that you may be (should be!) slightly biased when it comes to your own little darling.  That your adoring, uncritical, maternal view of your child may be best kept in the home, though.  You can be a one person cheering squad for your own children behind closed doors, but you also need to be able to be a shoulder for them to cry on when they are unhappy.  Without sickness we wouldn’t appreciate health and without sadness we wouldn’t appreciate joy.  Everything in moderation makes for a happier more confident child in the end, I think.

Patience and selflessness…

Pregnancy is a time in our lives when we are forced to face up to things.  Perhaps it is the first time in your life you have been larger than a size 10; when you are going to bed at 9pm because you are so dog tired you couldn’t possibly stay up another minute; a time in your life when the very thought of coffee is enough to make you projectile vomit.  There are things at work in a pregnancy that are so much larger than we are.  You are no longer in charge, but rather slightly subservient to a tiny tyrant kicking you from within that you haven’t even met yet.

I remember giving up smoking when pregnant with my first daughter – not out of some smug desire to be a good mother – but because I could no longer inhale the smoke without hurling.  What a shock to have my behaviour dictated by something I had created deliberately.  

I meet women every day who are in a state of shock that they are no longer in charge.  Not drinking; not smoking; not staying up late; parading about in trackie bottoms or maternity jeans; suffering from a cold and unable to take anything strong and go to bed; not dying their hair; taking vitamins; avoiding the fridge because of that terrible smell…  I wonder how many of these women realise what a great preparation this is for what lies ahead?

Becoming and being pregnant is just the start.  Once you have managed to survive your nine months (40 weeks – which is actually closer to ten months, surely?) you are only just beginning to learn about being patient and selfless.  Your baby will come when they are ready – not when you are ready… and although there is a huge psychological element to that moment when you go into labour, it is your baby that starts the whole process off, not you.  You are just hanging about, like the Worlds largest departure lounge just waiting for an arrival.  And babies can be late.  Very very late.  They don’t care when the maternity nurse is contracted to start, or when your mother is coming to stay or your husband’s parents can get down to visit.  You have to follow their lead – and get used to it!  It starts now and goes on for the next – oh, I don’t know, twenty years or so.

So waiting for labour to start is a good place to learn some patience.  Don’t be tempted by the hospitals administrative desire to get you delivered “in time”.  Unless there is a grave health issue, your baby is much better off if they are born when they are ready – not when you or an overstretched maternity unit want them to put in an appearance.  Dates are illusive things and although you may have been given a specific due date – knowing when a baby is due is based on a guesstimate and not an exact science.  Your menstrual periods sometimes have a bearing on this – if you have a long menstrual period (29-31 days) you are much more likely to gestate for longer.  Likewise if you have a shorter period, you are likely to have a shorter gestation.  But there are no rules!  Most first babies are born on average 8 days later than their due date and that statistic includes the induced ones who may have stayed put for much longer if they had been left.

Once your baby is here, most mothers choose to be led by them.  If you decide to demand feed, you can expect to be feeding about 12 times a day.  Or more.  Again there is no exact science here and you will find that you will pick up cues to follow from your baby very quickly.  I have to say most of the women I work with who are happiest are the ones who can totally surrender to being a new mother.  Who forget all about themselves and are quite happy to just gaze lovingly at their baby for hours at a time, who learn to trust their own instincts and observe their baby and their new role as mother with a sense of wonderment.  Some mothers don’t need to forge a routine or wrestle any semblance of control over their new charge.  They can enjoy just being - with their new baby; in their new role; enjoying their new family.  There is nothing more important for you to do at this moment and if you can let everything else fade away for a few weeks then please do.  Let go and relish this new phase in your life when you learn to be totally selfless, enjoying that amazing love you feel for your new baby. It is a lesson for life – as most truly happy mothers I meet put their families first.  Nothing else is ever as important as this.  Until you do it all again…

The Big Picture

Those first few years with babies and small children can be a total blur.  They should be the amazing, unselfish years when, as a mother, you find yourself completely absorbed in the lives and needs and of your gorgeous little creations.  It is worth trying to keep some perspective at this time, if you can, as you are setting down behaviours and patterns for the rest of your and their lives.

It is very tempting I think, as an over-tired, stressed out mother, to take the line of least resistance with kids when it comes to food and discipline.  And no one can blame you.  But I think we all have our limits and a sensible mother will have an eye on the Big Picture as she gets from day to day in the tricky early years.

The way you raise your own family has a great deal to do with your own expectations and should you choose a totally child centred family, no one should criticise you.  BUT if you have a child centred family and struggle with the reality of that (letting children fall asleep when they feel like it, eat, wear and do what they feel like and generally dictate the terms of the family’s life) don’t expect a lot of sympathy when you complain that you have had yet another sleepless night or you find being with your children out or just with other people a struggle.

If you understand how your child and your family will (inevitably) have to fit into the larger society when you enter the scary world of school and the social necessity that brings with it, you can begin to understand the problems you may encounter.  If you have ways of dealing with your children at home which embarrass you or would seem “odd” to other people, do appreciate that sooner or later you are going to be part of a larger community and you may find that his sweet little quirks may cause him (or you) embarrassment.

I know many mothers who left dealing with peculiar loo habits until school.  I can remember a mother being loathed to accept a teatime invitation for her children and thought she just didn’t like me and was trying to give me the hint by constantly refusing.  Eventually it all came tumbling out that her child would only poo in a nappy in spite of his advanced years and four pm was the appointed hour.  Once this was out in the open, she did come for tea, armed with the nappy and all was well.  I do think for her that school was when she realised that she would have to force the issue with her five year old and sure enough a few weeks later he was pooing in a loo just like everyone else.  I think she found converting him to a normal pooer a lot easier than she had expected as well, when she finally grasped that particular nettle.  Sometimes avoiding a situation gives it a lot more power over you or your child than it should… “feel the fear and do it anyway” seems to be an appropriate battle cry for all mothers.

Food is another tricky place.  You know what you will expect your child to eat at home and with your own family and if a steady diet of strawberry yoghurt and crisps is acceptable to you, then don’t let anyone else put pressure on you to change that.  If you are aware of basic nutrition and also would like to be able to send your child to other people’s houses for meals, it is probably an issue you should deal with sooner rather than later.  Most children have a few food fads, but you – as their mother- should lead by example, and try to find a way to deal with the most extreme of them to make your little honey less socially different.  (Having said that, we have a very lovely friend who is married to a top consultant who works at a teaching hospital in London and comes to dinner parties requesting a fish finger sandwich… white bread and marge as well, none of that home made organic bread crap.  He has survived in to his forties so far and seems to be at the top of his game in spite of his lack of a well rounded diet.  His wife may tell you he is hard to take out, but he seems very happy.)

Most children are remarkably flexible when you get right down to it, but if they sense a weakness in you, don’t expect them not to capitalise on it.  If you let them peel the wallpaper off their bedroom walls or refuse to have their hair washed, they probably will keep it up for as long as you let them.  Any socially unacceptable behaviour must have consequences… if not in your home, then how is your child going to learn that we have a certain expectation of behaviour in the extended world?

Motherhood is about balance and trying to find a way to see the Big Picture without causing yourself undue anguish.  Having a child who sleeps through the night may be a necessity for most of us.  Encouraging that through incentives is a very healthy way forward.  Trying to raise a child who has a varied diet and can eat pretty much anything that is put in front of them is always convenient for travel and visiting friends and family and a lot less embarrassing in a restaurant or when visiting Great Auntie Maud.  I would rather raise balanced and socially capable children rather then cripple them with phobias and fears and psychological quirks which may have just started as bad habits.  Or worse, maternal short cuts.  I know that when I was at a low ebb and couldn’t be bothered to labour a point my kids got away with murder and could have kept it up if I hadn’t realised I was the adult and reigned them in.  My children were ghastly in grocery shops and so I tried to go when I was alone.  What I had failed to appreciate was that sooner or later I would have to do take them with me and because they weren’t used to it, they behaved worse than ever.  If I had just gently introduced the idea that we behave with patience in a super market trolley I would  have been much better off.  Instead I was stressing about their behaviour which, of course, they picked up on and played to their own advantage.  I was never going to be the mother with the child in the trolley eating crisps…  

A child who can sleep anywhere is a lot more portable than the one who needs to have an adult gently singing the Skye Boat Song whilst lying next to them stroking their head until they fall asleep. And you may find (as I did) that most children tend to prefer parameters; they actually like knowing the rules and are reassured that you are in charge and that there are consequences for aberrative behaviour.  So, try to be aware of limits you are may be placing on your children and, if you can, get rid of them.  You want to try your best to raise confident, happy, children who become confident, happy, adults… not strange people who can’t pee in public toilets, eat anything that is yellow or sleep anywhere but in their own beds.

What if it isn’t always fabulous?

So, you’ve fallen pregnant and maybe it wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be.   You’ve navigated the rocky waters of pregnancy and given birth.   You’ve survived the first few weeks of hormonal madness and total sleep deprivation and have settled in to being a family.   You are managing your partner and the house and your in-laws and your family and what if it isn’t always what you imagined it would be?   What if it isn’t always fabulous?

I was part of a discussion last night about motherhood which made me think it was worth writing about those bad days we all experience.   In the group of mothers who were bearing their souls, there was a good cross section of those who fell pregnant at the drop of a hat, those who battled with miscarriages, those who relied on IVF or IUI and those who adopted.   We were variously mothers of singletons and up to a mother of four, generally straight talking articulate and opinionated women (with a few bottles of wine in us – I have to admit, it was “book club” after all).   We all admitted that at various stages of our lives as mothers we had had very dark moments when we felt we weren’t as happy as we had hoped we would be.

Most of us had found sympathetic other mothers to speak to in those dark hours (and generally it is a   fleeting feeling of “Oh my God, What have I done!” rather than anything resembling full blown post-natal depression) but what stood out to me was that those of us who had really struggled to fall pregnant and ultimately to have a baby (and had had assisted conceptions using IVF or IUI or even adopting) felt less able to voice their negative feelings.   Some admitted to actively hiding these negative moments from those around them fearing they were “not allowed” to be questioning their decision to become a   mother because it had been so much harder (and in some cases, more expensive)   for them.   “I felt I didn’t have the right to complain,” said one, a mother of an adopted daughter “and worse, I had the social worker constantly breathing down my neck asking if I was coping.   I couldn’t say I was ever having a bad day.”

I know some mothers whose husbands snap at them “This is what you wanted!” or “You chose this!” when they ask for some sympathy.   That would quickly teach you not to voice your concerns again to that particular audience.   So what do you do?   I think my best advice has to be to find some like minded and non-competitive mothers with whom to speak.   Some kind ladies who will admit their feelings.   I also think it is vital that you know, as a mother, that you aren’t going to love every day and you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t occasionally wonder what your life would be like if you hadn’t had a child.   That doesn't mean you don't love your children.   These dark days are fortunately few and far between for most of us, but it is absolutely vital that mothers feel they are allowed to have them.   Please be generous with each other and be honest about your real experience of motherhood. Being faced with someone who smugly tells you that their baby sleeps through the night, their husband never needs to have sex with them and that they would much rather scrub the kitchen floor than go to bed early is too depressing for words, but also not really true in my experience.   I am always wary if someone is coping TOO well.   Especially if they have twins, or an IVF baby or an adopted child.   Much wanted children can also be a burden some days.   By and large motherhood is a wonderful experience, but as in everything you have to experience the dark to appreciate the light.

Mortality

I am not sure if it is a function of my age or a by product of having children but I have noticed recently, how painfully aware I am of my own mortality.   I noticed it first when flying with a tiny child (on an aeroplane I hasten to add).   I sat rigid with fear as we took off, suddenly aware of all the things that could go wrong.   I have flown my whole life (I commuted by plane for six years from the States to my boarding school and home again six times a   year, for heaven’s sake) and always rather enjoyed it.   I even derived a small amount of pleasure in the overcooked food they serve in little tins to be eaten with a spork…   suddenly there I was with a small person in my arms imagining all the things that could go wrong.   The lurching as we took off, the speed, the clanging noises all filled me with fear.   The smell… could it be something gaseous and poisonous?   The people around me… were they shoes bombers masquerading as business men?   The pilot… did he know what he was doing.   No, REALLY?   I even went through in my head if it was better that we two would die together rather than me dying leaving her behind…   

At about the same time, I noticed that I could no longer handle roundabouts or amusement park rides with the same cavalier abandon I used to enjoy.   I can even imagine the worst when driving my car now, what if a lorry veers off the road?   A wheel comes off my car at high speed?   At home I am even suddenly aware of fires and floods and what if the wind blows the chimney through the roof?

This all came to a head this summer when my gorgeous (if slightly hyperactive) younger daughter shimmied up our front wall posts (either side of the path in the front garden) the night before we left on our family holiday; creating a human bridge, and demanded that I walk beneath her legs. ‘Get down.’ I said in a long suffering way. She refused, I was to go through or not get back in to the house. Much hilarity. ‘Get down.’ I said a little more crossly. She refused and finally I decided (as most mothers do) that it was easier to humour than to fight her. I started to walk under her legs when her wellies slipped on the wet bricks (it was raining, this is London after all and we have just had the worst August on record) and she swung down, her firm little skull smacking against my nose in a sideways slightly crushing action.

I heard a loud crunch. My knees buckled. The blood started to squirt. I saw funny colours, possibly stars. I sat on the wet pathway, my head spinning.

My husband took me to various emergency clinics until we ended up at St George’s which has a specialist ENT unit. Not, I am sad to say, open on a Saturday night. I telephoned the girls from the hospital to reassure my poor daughter that I was alive and not angry with her; telling her I loved her and understood it was an accident. She said ‘yeah, but I have to go and change clothes because we have a show with singing and dancing to show the babysitter, so bye’.   Heartless little hussy.

We waited and waited and eventually a nice lady explained that the thing with nose injuries was that you could ‘just’ push them back in the first half an hour (long past) or ‘manipulate them’ within the first week (but after the swelling reduces). After that, the injury sets and you are faced with rhinoplasty or a nose that is ‘not THAT disfigured’ (in her professional opinion). It was the night before the family left for a three week holiday in Hungary.   My husband said, rather sweetly “It’s not that bad…” but we both knew that I was going to have to stay behind and get my nose manipulated before I could join the family.

I have never been without my whole family for a week before.   It was a very strange thing, sort of like being without a limb, I imagine.   I wandered about the house looking for things to do.   I can’t remember the last time I saw the bottom of the laundry basket and the airing cupboard has never been empty before.   I ironed everything…   I even scrubbed the kitchen floor.  

Finally it was the day for me to have my MUA (Manipulation Under Anaesthetic).   I was sitting being a big brave girl in the day surgery unit – on my own…   my family were all away and it was the middle of August so even my (selfish) bezzie mate was off on holiday.   Now, I have to say that I am usually pretty matter of fact about these things (and had turned down kind friends and neighbours offers to take time off work and accompany me).   I am not one to lose my head or become hysterical…   but I was totally (and quite calmly) convinced I was going to die.   I admit I have never had a general anaesthetic before and perhaps this is all part of that, but I sat until my operation in a waiting room, listening to the nurses phoning for victims who had already been operated on to transfer them to ICUs because “things didn’t go quite as well as we’d hoped” thinking I was going to be sick.   I wrote a letter to my daughters telling them I loved them to be read on my almost certain demise.   I even emailed my oldest friend in Cyprus to instruct her about my memorial service (lots of laughing and dancing and champagne and singing – preferably culminating in a rendition of “slipping through my fingers” from Mamma Mia) and what to do with my body (donate to science once all the useable bits could be salvaged and reused) and who was to have my car.   I even convinced myself that during the op itself I may be knocked out, and unable to move, but still aware of everything they were doing to me (which I decided may even be worse than death and could result in my dying from the shock anyway…).

I contemplated making a run for it more than once, trying to figure out how far I would get in a gappy hospital gown on a London street, happily abandoning my clothes, before someone brought me back.   If this had been a case of pure vanity, I am sure I would have gotten used to looking slightly more Owen Wilson than Meryl Streep, but I was warned that a floppy septum may heal either way blocking a whole nostril which would cause problems in the long term. It also explained the strange and painful vibrating feeling when I sneezed and the vaguely irritating whistle I experienced when I breathed. I really had to go through with it.   In spite of the fact that I was GOING to die.  Leaving my children.  And my husband.  And the dog.

I didn’t die, you will be surprised to hear, but I wonder how common that conviction is?   Is it because we are now responsible for children and feel their need for us so acutely?   Is it because most of our grandparents have shuffled off this mortal coil and our parents are getting older and we suddenly see the in controversial inevitability of aging and death?   Are we one generation closer to the oldest and with our own kids beneath us see how the cycle of life continues regardless of our fear?

I am not sure, but I can tell you that I long for those carefree invincible days when I could face anything without a second thought.   And hope that I manage to give my children that same confidence in their immortality… to a point.   Perhaps with a little less climbing thrown in…

A friend in need…

When you find yourself pregnant and then with a new baby, you will also find that you have an enormous amount in common with other women in the same stage of their life as you.  As your baby gets older, you may find that the choices you make as parents either bring you closer to those women or cause you to drift further apart.  As your babies grow to toddlers, these differences become even more pronounced until you may find that you have little in common at all.

As your child starts playgroup or nursery or reception, again, you are thrown in with potentially another whole group of people at the same stage of their life as you, but not necessarily with that much in common except a child of the same age.  Add to this your maternal instinct to protect your own flesh and blood (and there is really nothing quite like it) and you can sometimes create a heady brew which can be quite volatile.

My best advice to you in relation to these friendships is to proceed with caution.  Of course you may find a PBF in the school yard, but equally you may find yourself in a situation where your child has not been invited to a party everyone else seems to be going to, or (worse) you are tempted to confront the mother of the bully who has made your child’s life a misery.  There is nothing like listening to your defenceless little darling weeping into his spaghetti bolognaise after a hard day at school when his life is being made miserable by another child to fire up even the most calm and rational mother.  

The best way to avoid the playground confrontation (and really, I do mean this) is to follow the following steps:  Take a big deep breath.  The end of the world is probably not heralded by your child being excluded from a party invitation.  How vital is this? No, really.  You are the adult, try to find a part of you which can behave that way.

Next, I would advise that you volunteer to help in the school if you can.  Sometimes what your child tells you about school (“No one plays with me!”  “I am always left out of things!”) is not entirely accurate.  They may be alone for brief moments, but basically join in to everything on offer, in which case you can set your mind at ease.  If you are helping in the classroom (and I mean literally sitting at the back sharpening pencils if that is of assistance to the school) you also get a really good sense of how the teacher works with the kids and how aware she is of what is going on (and most good teachers know exactly which kids to keep an eye on).  You also see where your child fits in with their peers.  Are they brighter or less able?  Sociable or shy? In a group or a loner?  And frequently you will reassure yourself that what your child brings home is a very selective view of the actual school experience…

However, if you are worried that something is not right, let’s say you have done the deep breathing, checking that you can behave like an adult and spent the day in the classroom, or several days in the classroom and there really is a problem with another child, do not speak to the child or the child’s parents, speak to the teacher.  You are entrusting your child in to the hands of the professionals and as such you must allow them to do their job.  Make an appointment to see the teacher and sit down with them calmly and explain your concerns.  See what the teacher has to say about it and give the teacher a chance to try to put things right. Explain to your child that the teacher is there to help and encourage your child to have faith in the school system and to speak to the teacher if they need to.  Try to keep things in perspective at home, not stressing the incident too much with your child – allow them to bring it up with you if they want to, be led by them.

If the teacher is unable to make a change in the situation, then I would suggest you find the head of year, or the head teacher and have a chat with them.  Under no circumstances should you ever speak to the other child, or the other parent about anything you are concerned about in the playground.  Even if you know them well and they are friends.  I cannot tell you how many fights I have seen in the playground between well meaning mothers misguidedly “protecting” their children.  I cannot tell you how unpleasant the resulting fall-out is… remember these are people you have to potentially stand in the playground with for the next 8 years, longer if you have other children as well.  

I made the mistake once of stepping in when another mother cornered my daughter in the playground and accused her of bullying, lying about and stealing from her daughter and have lived to regret it, even after her daughter admitted she made the whole thing up.  It took weeks for the teachers to resolve and our friendship, tentative and based on convenience though it was, never recovered.  She still refuses to speak to me in the playground when I offer her a cheery “hello” and it was three years ago.  If I had my time to live over again, I would have taken my daughter out of her firing line, smiled politely and walked away from her.  If she had confronted me, I would have changed the subject and made polite cocktail chat about the weather, suggesting that if she has an issue with my child to take it up with the teacher.  I would have instructed my daughter to walk away from her if she approached her, and then spoken to the teacher myself before it reached the point of no return.  These days, I am not the only person who enters the playground checking to see where it is safe to stand… some others I know have been confronted at their own front door by angry parents, telephoned and emailed, threatened and abused.  There was even a case when the police were called to a christening because of an argument over a game of football.  It is not worth it!  And these are nice, suburban, God fearing middle class parents.

Remember that not everyone is going to like you, or your child for that matter.  You are also not going to like everyone and nor is your child.  That is the way of the world.  Also remember that sometimes people are very odd – perhaps sometimes we are very odd – and that is also the way of the world.  Do not place too much importance on the parties, the relationships between the children (they frequently can survive spats in a way that their mothers can’t).  Perhaps do not ever place too much importance on any relationships you forge in the playground.  They are born out of necessity and function and as such they serve a valuable purpose, but really don’t place too much pressure on them.  Be very cautious extending any of these relationships beyond casual as it can be hard to find a way back again.  Play-dates for the kids are wonderful, the occasional dinner party with the other parents may be fine, but perhaps taking holidays together may be a recipe for disaster…

Praying for an education

It’s that time of year again.  School places are being allocated and, in our area at least, there is a desperate shortage for primary school children (over 200 children more than reception places at last count).  Now it could be that you are reading this in your gorgeous farmhouse kitchen, with the cows gently lowing outside and chickens pecking in the yard and you have no choice of school but the lovely little village one at the end of the road, in which case, well done you!  Thank your lucky stars, because the rest of us are embarking on a hideous competition for places which makes most mothers seriously consider what lengths they would go to for the best interest of their child to be served.

Speaking as someone raised in a family with no religion, but having experienced church through school, I had no problems with a religious education for my children.  It has given me a good grounding in our society’s mores and values, it has taught me all the bible stories upon which a lot of fiction and theatre is based and it made me really consider my own beliefs (and decide that as far as organised religion goes, I have none).  My husband, who was raised as a strict catholic, rediscovered his faith once we got to this portion of parenthood, and felt quite strongly that the girls should go to a church school.  I didn’t mind one way or the other and so his will won out.  

Where we live in greater London, there are about eight really good primary schools within a few miles of our house and two really really bad ones.  I did a quick straw poll amongst the neighbours and got a good feel for which schools were better than others.  The only problem was that the church schools (the better schools) required a degree of commitment from the parents…  no one made any bones about it, and before too long it was explained to me that in order to be considered part of the religious community you had to go to church “more often than not”.  There was no requirement for your child to be christened, and no one expected you to believe in God… but if you could help out with Sunday school that got you onto a “list” which (rumour had it) assured you a place at the school.

I am not one to wrestle with my conscience too much and as I didn’t have to pretend to be anything I wasn’t, I happily embarked on church going.  I was respectful but I didn’t kneel, I didn’t say any of the prayers, I smiled and nodded as I got to know people and before too long the vicar realised that if he was stuck, I was quite reliable to read a lesson or two at short notice.  I loved the singing, I loved the sense of community, I wasn’t so sure about the pews of little old ladies in their hats who tutted at my baby, but as far as a box ticking exercise went it wasn’t too arduous.  It wasn’t long before the vicar’s wife asked me if I would mind teaching Sunday School.  “Ahhh…,” I said “I don’t actually believe in God.”  A momentary pause and then she patted my thigh and said “That’s all right dear!” and so I started hosting a small “Sunday school” where we sang a lot about baa baa black sheep and did some non denominational colouring in.  I understand that some mothers were outraged that a non-believer was looking after their children while they listened to the word of the Lord, but none of them stepped forward to do the job themselves so I kept doing it… for the sake of a school place.

Then we moved…  disaster.  We were now just out of catchment for that particular C of E school.  My husband did a quick bit of research and discovered that a Catholic school on the other side of town had no distance requirement or catchment area, but instead required that the children be baptised.  Fine.  Out came the frocks and off they went to be dunked.  Always up for a good party, we had a cake and drank lots of champagne and again, on the day itself, I said “Cod” instead of “God” and “Cheeses” instead of “Jesus” and never misrepresented myself (and tried to keep a straight face when asked to turn my face from the devil…).  Now husband was happy to take the girls to church every week and deal with the evil gaze of the little old ladies making their peace with the Almighty.  They both got in to the school (which just got “outstanding” across the board for their Ofsted inspection) and still go to church every Sunday with their daddy while I religiously cycle around Richmond Park listening to The Archers on Radio 4 (does that count, I wonder?).

So… my advice is to think about what you want for your little darling.  If it is a decent State school, you really can’t start too early.  If the best local State school is a church school, find out what is required to get in.  Some have an attendance policy (and they are savvy to the families who pitch up at the church in February, a month before the applications are due… you need to be going at least a year before nursery applications are in.  There is a church role taken in the summer which is good to get on), some require baptismal or christening certificates, some need a letter from the vicar saying they actually know who you are (it’s worth offering to do the flowers, or take Sunday school, or at least to wear bright colours and be friendly!) some base their catchment purely on distance from the school (and it is the safest walking distance rather than a straight route, so being across the road, but without a zebra crossing means you have to walk up to the safest official crossing point and back down again).  Some schools have a very strict sibling or special needs policy.  Most schools have a combination of some or all of these things.  Do your homework and that should give your honey the best possible chance to get in to the school of your choice.

But how do you go about choosing a good school if you don’t know anything about them? I would always recommend you attend the school open day when the school is on show and they know they are being judged, but also make a separate appointment with the head teacher if you can, take your other half and ask any pertinent questions you can then.  Remember they are looking at you as well, so don’t let yourself down.  I would also highly recommend standing outside the school at drop off or chucking out time and get a sense of the type of family who goes there. Are the parents and children all chatting nicely with each other?  Do they look happy?  Does the head teacher stand by the gate and greet the kids by name? Are you allowed to go into the playground or do you have to post the children through a gate?  Or do the mothers all arrive late with fags hanging out of their mouths with dogs on strings, swearing?  The final test is the school fete.  Find out when it is and go.  You get a really good sense of what sort of a school it is from the fete, and don’t be shy.  Ask other parents what they think of the school while you are there.  

A lot of primary schools have a different number of children for nursery (perhaps two form entry for nursery) than reception (which may be just single form entry).  In which case you need to consider your chances.  If your child is settled and loves the school but fails to get a place for reception at the end of their first year will they be gutted… will you?  Will you have bought a uniform which is no longer any use to you?  It may be better to find a school which has the same number (or fewer) of nursery places as reception places to give your child a better chance of staying there.  Bear in mind that most schools weigh reception places in favour of the children who have already established themselves in the school during nursery, so don’t make the mistake of believing the hype that reception admission is completely separate from nursery admission.  These choices are made centrally, but the schools have a good say in who is offered a place.  

So:  Don’t give up.  If you don’t get the school of your first choice you will probably still get in.  In my experience it is very unusual for a child not to eventually be offered a place at their first choice school.  It may take a few years, but you will probably get in there in the end.  I have a few friends who were in this situation and the lesson learned is this:  immediately write a letter quoting form the school prospectus as to why that particular school is perfect for your child, let them know it is the only school you are interested in and you will wait for a place to come up and then phone or drop by once a week and be cheery as you ask where you are on the waiting list.  Cakes don’t hurt.  Remember, the school secretary has influence here.  I know of one child whose mother popped in one day with biscuits and said another in a long line of cheery “hello’s and the secretary said to her “Look, we haven’t heard back from the child we just offered the available place to, can your daughter start on Monday?” and that was it.  She was in.  Of course, the LEA doesn’t want you to think that it is all up to the schools, but trust me, they have a great deal more influence than we are lead to believe.

And my final piece of advice is: Don’t Panic.  You will sort it out even if it looks like the worst situation ever.  Trust that you will find a way through it.  Everyone is different and you will know what you are prepared to do for your child.  I know what I have done is something other mothers may find appalling, but to me, it was a simple choice:  to prove I was serious about the school of my choice, I had to go to church.  I could do that…  but only you know what you can live with.

I’m not eating that!

I was at a picnic for the Babysitting Circle this week and one of the other mothers, S, was asking about food and children and when they start to eat everything.  It reminded me of a lesson I learnt when mine were small which I thought would be an interesting journal entry.

I have always used the logic that my children need to be able to eat everything that we as a family eat.  I am not desperately interested in having to cook “adult” food and “kids” food.  However, I was unclear as to exactly at what age that occurred, though, and like my friend S, slipped in to the habit of making a meal for the kids and one for the adults. Easy to do because in the beginning they are eating very different things from us.  I cannot imagine husband happily chowing down on a meal consisting of parsnip and pear puree for example.  

So somewhere between breast feeding (when I ate everything I would normally eat, and all those tastes and smells became normal to my children) and weaning when I was carefully crafting special combinations they could manage, via finger foods and then on to proper meals, I lost my way.  I found myself one evening watching my three year old throw her supper on the floor in disgust and with tears in my eyes I started to make her a second supper I thought she would eat.  My husband questioned me.  What was I doing?  I wasn’t sure, to be honest.  I think I was just so exhausted physically as well as emotionally I was taking the easier path of least resistance and hoping for a quiet life.  As soon as my husband asked me though, I saw the mistake I was making.  Who is in charge of our family meals?  The mummy who understands about basic nutrition or the stroppy three year old who is desperately trying to forge some independence and wrestle control?

So how do you find a balance between making sure they eat something and getting them to eat what you as a family eat, so you can enjoy family meals together?  I know the mother of a small orphaned Russian girl who was so desperate for her to eat anything that a steady diet of biscuits was preferable to another visit to the tutting health visitor who would ask why she wasn’t gaining weight.  S said her child, aged five, who had a repertoire of about ten meals she knew he could reliably eat was down to five now and the list seemed to be diminishing daily.  “You know that food I said was my favourite?  I don’t like it now…” he had told her.  

If you try to understand what is going on from the child’s point of view it is sometimes easier to overcome this seemingly insurmountable problem.  You want them to eat (you’re their mother and you know they need food) but they want to be in control and get a reaction (even a negative reaction) from you if at all possible.  Meal times make fabulous battle grounds, they learn quickly, because food can be such an emotive issue.  Your child soon realises that they have you over a barrel.  S acknowledged that even though she tries her hardest not to react when faced with a food issue that she must have let her face fall when her son dropped this latest bombshell.  “It’s just so hard!” she said to me.

Understanding that a child must try something at least twenty times before they get used to the taste and also allowing for infant tastes being less sophisticated than their adult counterparts, how do you approach meals and retain your sanity?  Consistency is vital.  It is necessary for you and your partner and any one else who feeds your child to have the same rules in place.  My rules are very simple and seem to be effective.  At my house you have to try everything. This way you allow the child to taste things twenty times and say “Yuck” and still keep them open to the moment when they say “actually this isn’t so bad”. You must sit at the table until you have finished and if you get down without permission, I assume you have ended your meal and your food is removed after a warning. Using the logic that no child will starve itself to death, I also have a rule that if you eat everything on our plate, you are obviously still sufficiently hungry for pudding.  If you leave things on the plate, you don’t get pudding (pudding may be a yoghurt or fresh fruit).  If you don’t like anything on your plate having tried it, and refuse to eat it, you are served brown bread and butter.  With a smile.  This is not a fight, remember, this is just the way it is.

Children who start school and eat school dinners tend to eat more, different things  because of the peer pressure than the same child at your table.  The dinner ladies don’t give them such a good reaction if they refuse something either.  S said her son became noticibly more picky when he started reception at a new school and was at the childminders.  It could be that he wanted to feel in charge and the only place he could do that now was at home with mummy where he could have a good scream about something relatively unimportant to him, but vitally important to her.  I suggested that she sits down with him and his brother once a week and lists fifteen foods she knows he has eaten in the past and allows them to choose from her list something for supper every night.  Understanding that he cannot have the same meal more than once in a week.  Allowing him to set the menus with his brother (even in a controlled context like that) will get him to buy in to meals and given that vested interest, hopefully he will regain that sense of control which he is now missing.  In conjunction with the house rules, this tends to improve eating enormously.  I would also suggest that you introduce a new food every week on a day that you negotiate control over understanding that if the child really doesn’t like it, they can have brown bread and butter.

I also have strict rules about snacks in my house.  You can help yourself to the fruit bowl at any time of the day or night without permission (and top tip from the wonderful Sally, wash all the fruit when you buy it and first put it in the bowl).  If you have eaten all your meals for the day and are still hungry, you may ask for cereal or toast with butter.  This still gives you space for negotiation and treats can be meted out, but you don’t want to get into the habit of having kids who fill up on crisps and biscuits between meals and don’t have the hunger to try to eat what you cook them.  I try not to outlaw any foods, either, everything is fine in moderation, I believe, and although I would never feed my children processed food, if they are at a friend’s house or a party and served it, they will eat these things with relish.  

If you are the mother of an only child, you will have more of a struggle as it is harder to be consistent with on some of these rules, as the meals are completely in your singleton’s hands.  You don’t learn not to get down until everyone is finished unless someone else is at the table with you, and the negotiation of not having pudding is harder if there is no one else sitting there with a bowl of ice cream lording it over you, making luxurious yummy noises.  We have three only children locally who are routinely brought round for tea when they are going through a sticky patch, and it is amazing how much difference there is in their behaviour when they are at a shared table than when they are at home alone.

These rules have given me a sense of control as well.  I know what I am doing as a parent and am less emotional about meals now that it is clear in my own head what the structure is.  I still have moments of anguish when someone announces that they aren’t eating something, but the consequences are obvious and don’t need to be reiterated after a while, so I can afford to be more pragmatic.  My little one didn’t  have pudding for nearly three years during a particularly protracted awkward period, but she didn’t die of starvation and now she eats most things presented to her.  I can also take them pretty much anywhere confident that they won’t totally embarrass me, at least at the table.

I offer these suggestions as something that has worked for me. Try it.  You might like it.

You’re pregnant! Now What? Vital information and misinformation explained.

I was at a meeting at my local hospital last week and a topic was discussed that interests me greatly.  It seems from a recent national survey of recent “end users” (that’s you and me) that most pregnant women feel they don’t have enough information when they first find out they are pregnant and through their pregnancy.  The hospital experts in the room (I was the only lay person among the twenty or so professional women there, from obstetricians to midwives to health visitors to hospital and local PCT administrators) were baffled by the fact that most women questioned felt there had not been enough information given to them at the start of their pregnancy or available during their pregnancy and that they didn’t understand their healthcare “pathway” or choices.  One very sweet health visitor said she believed that the information was all given out, but pregnant women “just can’t take it in”.  Bless, you poor dumb things, too awash with hormones to think any more.

Another very learned obstetrician, who  I admire clinically, suggested that perhaps things be written down for us.  Implying that we poor ninnies are too stupid to listen properly.  The patronising tone was too much for me to bear and so at the end of the meeting when they asked if the lay person had anything to add, I couldn’t resist but let them know of one of my most recent client’s experience.

I explained that far from being incapable of absorbing vital information, my lady who is well educated and highly motivated on discovering she was pregnant, but had been thoroughly put off by her GP.         ^{photograph by Annie Armitage} 

The first question she was asked by the GP was whether or not she was happy about the pregnancy, implying that an abortion was up for discussion. The GP seemed slightly shocked that a pregnancy test had been taken 'so early' at just 4 weeks pregnant.  My lady was basically informed of nothing except the fact that Boots sold pregnancy tests (if she wanted her pregnancy confirmed) and that there was a photocopied piece of paper which she might benefit in seeing which was wafted in front of her briefly (but not passed to her as it was the "only copy").  She was given no information about her choices for having her baby:  home birth, birth centre, independent midwife, local hospital with midwifery led unit or local obstetric led unit.  She was just processed to go the local hospital. She was told nothing of growth scans, health scans or being assigned a consultant.  In fact the GP informed her that there was no point in giving her any more time, as she may, of course, miscarry as a third of all women do at this stage.  She should come back if and when she had made it to her second trimester to avoid wasting any more of the valuable GP’s time.

Hardly the lovely, dedicated, comforting, congratulatory experience you might hope for.

The maternity supervisor was nearly in tears by the end and said "But the first point of contact is SO important!" she said and then she added, "That poor lady!"

I pointed out that at least my client is clever enough to find all relevant information elsewhere and has the resources to hire a birth doula but what of the less able who are, well, less able!?  

The Maternity Services Liaison Committee genuinely had no idea that this poor practice was going on.  In my experience sadly, this is not unusual.  But I suppose to be fair to them, they have no way of knowing how rubbish the GPs are being if we don’t tell them!  Please, ladies, if you get less than perfect service, let someone know:  your GP, your local hospital, your local PCT or even me.  I will happily forward your comments to the powers that be.  We can’t expect this ridiculous disjointed practice to improve if we don’t make a loud noise, as we are being dismissed (by other women – we were all women in the meeting I was at) as being silly girls who are too stupid to take information in.

You should expect a level of information from the very first time you go to the GP when you are pregnant.  You should expect the following:

To have your pregnancy confirmed.  (It may be too much to expect congratulations, but it would be nice!)

To be given health advice:  about nutrition and supplements and what to avoid in the early days of pregnancy and throughout the next nine months.

To be given choices about where you receive your health care for your pregnancy and where you give birth.

To be told that you will be scheduled for two scans during your pregnancy, both of which are optional.  The first scan at 12 weeks is to date your baby’s age accurately, to see if you are carrying multiple babies or just one, and to check the fluid in the nuchal fold to give you an idea of the chance of the baby developing Down’s Syndrome.  You will need to make a decision at this scan, if you have a high chance of carrying a baby with Down’s Syndrome, as to whether or not you continue with the pregnancy, so have this discussion with your partner before you go.  It could be that you will carry your baby to term no matter what, so you may choose not to find out about any genetic abnormalities at this stage and so may prefer not to have the scan at all.  The second scan is to check for spina bifida and other possible abnormalities, look in detail at your baby's major organs and skeleton, check the health of your placenta and monitor your baby's growth.  You may also find out the sex of he baby at this stage, but it cannot be 100% determined without Amniocentesis or a CVS. Again, if you would carry your baby to term no matter what, you may wish to avoid this scan as well.

If you don’t have this basic information from your GP or if you find them off-hand or dismissive of what should be an amazing time in your life, please do something to complain.  We should be treated with respect and given all information that we require when we first contact our GPs about being pregnant and really, can’t expect anything to change unless we make a fuss.  It may be too late for me or even my lady for her pregnancy this time, but perhaps we can make it easier for the women who follow us on what should be a wonderful path to motherhood.

A Home Birth!!?? Are you kidding?

All right, calm down.  Just hear me out on this one.  If you are pregnant and there is nothing wrong, there is no reason why you shouldn’t consider a home birth.  Even with your first baby.  Even if you live in a tiny flat.  You should certainly be offered one when you book in with your 12 week check, and I would always say “Take it” and this is why:

With a home birth you get one to one care with a named team of midwives who you meet and develop a relationship with.  You get all your ante-natal care in your own home so you don’t have to schlep yourself to the hospital and wait there for hours; they come to you in your own home.  When your labour starts, you and all your stuff don’t have to go anywhere, you get to stay at home, where you are comfy and happy, they come to you.  You can use gas and air at home, and ask for pethedine to be prescribed by your gp and keep it in the fridge in case you change your mind and need something stronger.  You can eat and drink and move about as you choose.  You can rent or buy a birth pool and be confident that you will be allowed to get into it when the time comes as you are the only one there in labour. At home your husband can sleep whilst you do your thing.  You are already immune to all the bugs in your own home and you know the bathroom is clean because you jolly well cleaned it.  Your other children can stay in their beds or go out with granny/auntie/the nice neighbour next door or be there with you as their sibling is born and you don’t need to worry about them being disrupted.  You can burn candles, aromatherapy oils and listen to the music you want to. You do not have to labour under hospital protocols and you cannot have continual monitoring because the machine is not portable (hurrah!), instead you would always have monitoring via a sonic aid which is (by the way) just as accurate but they don’t like to offer it in hospital because it takes a midwife away from her other patients.  At home there are no other patients, it is just you and your partner and your lovely midwife. You can get into the bath or shower after your baby is born and know it is clean (see above).  You can have tea and toast after your baby is born and get in to your own bed with your partner and not be separated from him on that first vulnerable night.

If you have never laboured before and you are not sure who you are going to cope, why not go for a home birth and if you change your mind at the 11th hour, even before you go into labour, you can always just go to the hospital… you certainly can’t change your mind as easily the other way round.   And if at anytime during your labour you do change your mind and want to go into hospital they transfer you in and stay with you…  your own midwife who you have developed a lovely relationship with you.  Homebirth (community) midwives tend to be self selecting – they only want to do the job if they believe in women giving birth naturally with support and love from a midwife.   You don’t get a jobbing, bank midwife who is more interested in getting home for her tea than looking after you.

85% of women can give birth with no intervention.  Occasionally something may happen or become apparent during labour which makes a home birth inappropriate, but your midwife will know this way in advance of it being a serious consideration and would always transfer you with speed and alacrity to hospital as soon as it becomes evident.  But 85% of you will have no reason to go anywhere…  you can stay exactly where you are most comfy…  and give birth in the most wonderful way.  

Just have a think about it, would you?

Have a look at the homebirth website:  www.homebirth.org.uk 

Routines

Routines

There has been a lot of chat amongst local doulas recently about routines.  The general consensus is that there are as many routines as there are babies and mothers.  Some of these routines are written in books (like Gina Ford’s Contended Little Babies, or Tracy Hogg’s The Baby Whisperer) and for some of us, the fact that there seems to be a paperback clearly illustrating the path to take, a prescribed route we can study, motherhood seems less frightening.  You have never done this before, when expecting your first baby, and it must seem like a good idea to find the Ultimate Map to Motherhood.  If only such a thing existed.  And if it were to exist, that your baby had read it too.

I am always happy, as a post natal doula, to support a woman in whatever choices she makes.  My job, after all, is to help her gain confidence and feel happy and content herself as a new mother.  Having someone judge you in those tender early days is recipe for disaster and possibly worse than having no help at all.    A new mother may show me a book, explain a theory and tell me that is what she is doing; I will naturally help to support her achieve whatever the desired end result she hopes for without a word.  I have to say though, from my years of experience, if I have only learnt one thing it is that babies are babies and they tend to find their own way no matter what routine you try to follow.

One very senior and well experienced doula, Stacia Smales-Hill, wrote in our latest newsletter that she had recently met up with three women who had all had babies within a few days of each other and now that the babies were a month old, they had all met up for coffee.  “The subject of routines inevitably came up,” she writes, “The first a devotee of Gina Ford, extolled the virtues of her chosen path.  She had used it with her first baby with excellent results and now was using it for this baby.  The second woman was not sure which approach to take and was reading everything, trying to pick out the good bits from each and was attempting to learn in a reasoned way.  The third hadn’t read anything, didn’t have a clue and was doing what her baby wanted.  All three babies were on the exact same schedule of sleeping and eating.”  Stacia says by way of a ps, “it couldn’t be more perfect if I made it up…”

I have a client at the moment, a very sensible GP, who has just had number two.  This week, I arrived to find her, in her pjs looking quite stunned, the six week old baby in her arms.  “I’m so excited!” She said to me, “She slept through the night!”  She held the baby aloft as if offering her up to the Gods as a thank you for the first good nights sleep she had had in nearly two months.  “Well done you!” I said to her, laughing and clapping.  “Yes,” she said, “well done me…”  We both looked at the baby smiling, a thoughtful silence filled the air.  She cleared her throat.  “It was nothing to do with me, was it?”  “Nothing at all.”  I said, shaking my head.  

Babies do what they do.  You can try to mould them into a routine if it makes you feel better and perhaps they have the personality which will fit that routine and perhaps occasionally quite by mistake it will suit them, and they will fall into the schedule you are trying to overlay on to their natural behaviour, but generally speaking, the baby would have done what it is doing naturally, anyway.  Worse case scenario, the baby will do exactly what it would have done which didn’t fit in with your routine and you, the parents, would feel like total failures.  You should be bonding with your baby in those early days, surviving from day to day on very little sleep and trusting your own instincts as a new parent and not beating yourself up because your baby has not settled into an identifiable routine.  But that thesis doesn’t make a good book.  Perhaps it makes good doula and parent, though.

Watch Your Language!

It strikes me as odd sometimes that the language our medical professionals use when talking to pregnant women and women in labour and new parents can be so easily misinterpreted. I suppose to them, the medical fraternity, they are doing their job and communicating using a language which does what they need it to do, but sometimes I wish they would think twice before using some of their words with us.

I had a conversation with a client last week where she described how reading through the notes from her baby’s birth she came across the phrase “unproductive labour”. “How,” she asked me, “can my labour have been unproductive when I ended up with a baby?” How indeed. I know that this phrase refers to the fact that her contractions weren’t of “sufficient” strength (according to whom, exactly?) to produce her baby in the time limit specified by the hospital, but how rude! This sort of judgemental language does no one any favours.

What about being told you have an “incontinent cervix” or a “retrograde uterus”? How about an “incompetent cervix”, then? That you are an “aging primate”? That your baby has an “immature oesophageal valve”? That during labour you are “failing to progress”? Or even that you are “big for dates”? That your waters have “gone”? (“gone where and why am I still leaking, if they are no longer present?” you may well ask yourself.)

How about being told you are not “in labour yet” when you are quite clearly experiencing contractions and a great deal of pain because you are (officially) "not considered in labour until changes happen to the cervix"? Language gives clear messages about power relationships. 
Language gives messages about attitudes and ideologies. Language affects how women feel about themselves and their birth experience and, in my experience, much of the language around childbirth is very disempowering.

What about the very term “delivery”? Does that actually do justice to the mother’s experience of giving birth or does it take away the woman's own work in the process? The phrase: “the doctor delivered the baby” does not even recognize the mother as being present. Instead, some midwives prefer to say they caught a baby; a more descriptive and, it seems to me, more accurate term, because that is what a midwife literally does. How about “the mother birthed the baby”? That phrase reclaims the woman's agency in the process, recognizing her crucial role as more than just a vessel through which a baby is born. Think how powerful a message such changes in language would send to our sisters and to our daughters as they grow up. Think how differently they might come to view birth, how much more confidence they might have in their ability to do exactly what their bodies were designed to do?

As a woman going through pregnancy, labour and birth, you want to be the active centre of your own experience, not incidental or a selection of body parts which may or may not be performing as expected or as “normal”. Language that suggests that you need help or that you have somehow failed is not helpful. Midwives and doctors frequently use the phrases: manage, conduct, allow, permit – which have very distinct meanings in our own vocabulary, and none of them are particularly conducive to having a positive, respected birth experience. Negative language can make a woman feel inadequate and could be laying the foundation for intervention. Women need to be encouraged and to feel they are doing well, not undermined by being negatively compared to NICE guidelines or hospital protocols… All these phrases, like Normal (What is normal?)
; low risk/high risk; 
favorable outcome/poor outcome; 
false labour; 
estimated date of confinement/due date; 
incompetent cervix; failure to progress; 
placental inadequacy/insufficiency; 
dysfunctional labour; 
faulty placement of the placenta; 
untried pelvis/trial of labour or trial of scar; sizeable pelvis… do nothing to inspire confidence in yourself or your own body, do they?

What about being referred to as “Mummy” instead of someone using your name? and even your baby being referred to as a foetus? Surely you are pregnant with a baby, even if you suffer a miscarriage, it was still a baby, surely!

There are many others: 
intrauterine growth retardation, blighted ovum, abnormal hemoglobin, hormonal insufficiency, management of breastfeeding, inadequate milk supply/insufficient milk, average, normal etc and what about those little red books with the growth chart? (I was once told the growth chart was based on American bottle fed babies anyway… and who is to say that your baby will develop the way a chart dictates? And what does that say about you or your baby if it “fails” to meet those expectations?)

Midwives in a hurry may pose a question to you in a way that anticipates compliance: “I need to give you a vaginal exam…” they might say, when they are actually asking your permission to examine you and you may say no if you prefer not to have one. You need to be aware of all these things and arm yourself against them before you embark on your labour and birth.

I have heard midwives and obstetricians saying to mothers: 'well, it’s your choice, but I’ve seen babies die from this...' and other versions of the same shroud waving when trying to pressurize a woman into taking a decision they believe will suit their ends. Of course you don’t want to take a chance with your health or the health of your baby, but given all the information, you could probably make a pretty good decision for your self and your baby if you are given a chance and not patronized or bullied by ill chosen words.

Be aware of the power of language. Guard against anyone trying to undermine you or your abilities during pregnancy and birth. The birth of your baby is your experience and you can be in charge if you choose. Wrangle the power back from those “in charge” and remember as you embark on motherhood how important it is to speak to your little one with care…

Don't Back Down

A mother at school, J, was telling me a terrible tale last week about how her daughter, E aged 5, had refused to eat her supper. J had just delivered a series of lectures on healthy eating (all supported by the school) and told me that her two other older children had taken them on board and were now toeing the line, but the youngest was absolutely taking a stand. “It’s not like I feed them crap, either.” Said J. I know the feeling. You carefully craft a chicken pie out of all organic ingredients and home made pastry and they would rather chow down on hula hoops and bread and butter, refusing your nutritious and delicious offering, the miserable ingrates.

J decided enough was enough, and at a low emotional ebb, took a stand. (Just writing that has made me break out in a cold sweat). “E was warned quite clearly that if she didn't try and eat a bit of the small portion of food I measured out into a ramekin dish for her supper, it would be served up for breakfast. So she did know what was coming.” J told me. And then as an after thought, J added: “It was only two teaspoons worth.” So, after E refused her supper and J took to her moral high horse, the story goes that E woke the next morning and was served again her delicious salmon en croute and maintained her stance. The other two children, no doubt fascinated with the whole scenario, were lured away to school by a neighbour called in for the sole purpose of enabling J to follow through with her threat.

E and her nostril flared mother, J, settled down for the long haul. This involved much gentle coercion from J, followed by some shouting and then a few comedy phone calls (her husband phoned and J, ever the fast thinker, pretended to E it was the head master from school phoning to enquire where E, now very late for school, was…). At some point during the standoff, E spooned the fish in to her mouth but spat it out and J dutifully scooped it back in to the ramekin. As time passed, E said she needed to go to the loo, it had been several hours after all. J wouldn’t back down again and said that if E was really desperate she should just go… which she did… all over the kitchen floor… and with her pants still moist, E was back in her seat facing the offending fish.

Finally, J resorted to the old chestnut used by most mothers I know at some stage or another: “It is against the law for you to be at home when you should be at school and I will go to prison if the school enforcement officer finds out.” Said J rather sadly. E challenged J to name the school enforcement officer (J did – I believe, for those of you who ever need him, his name is “Lou”) and that, or perhaps the prospect of sitting in wet pants facing a ramekin of regurgitated fish was enough to change E’s mind. E finally ate the pre-masticated salmon she had previously refused and was allowed to go to school. After changing her pants.

How many times have we, as mothers, made rash statements? “If you don’t get in the car now, I will leave without you…” “If you don’t tidy your toys away I will throw them in the bin…” “If you don’t eat that delicious salmon, I will serve it to you for breakfast…” and I think the moral of this story has to be, if you make the threat you really REALLY have to follow through for you ever to have credibility again. J won this round, her daughter E is now happily eating everything set before her, but it was a close run thing. If J had shown even the slightest sign of weakening it would all have gone horribly wrong. So, mothers, keep a cool head and any time you feel an ultimatum coming on, for God’s sake imagine what it will be like when you enforce it. And remember, Lou is there if you need him.

The Holiday Myth

Once you have had a baby your expectations for a holiday change.  Or perhaps I should say that they NEED to change and it takes a little while to process and accept this as a new parent.  Once you have had a baby, your requirements as a family change so completely that your old concept of what made a holiday great needs to be radically reconsidered.  Our mistakes as mothers comes, I think, from still expecting that a holiday should be a break for us from our every day lives.  Frankly, (and I hate to be the one who may be breaking this to you) it just isn’t.

A really great annual summer holiday to me, in my twenties, was a week or two at a beach with friends; that was pretty much all I needed, and it refreshed me sufficiently to enable me to face the coming year with a smile on my face.  As a married couple before kids, my husband and I did pretty much the same thing.  Camping, skiing, travelling, you name it, taking in a museum or art gallery or just lying on a beach, we were very good at holidays.  Once we had kids, we foolishly believed that mantra that nothing needed to change and tried to do the same things and quickly learnt that what used to be a really restful or exciting holiday was no longer going to fit the bill.  

As a mother, especially, you learn that when the kids are happy, you are happy.  You learn that flying any great distance with kids is pretty hideous, from the packing (they always need far more than you ever did even when you packed a case covering every eventuality including being invited to an impromptu ball) to the airport (try entertaining two active toddlers in a crowded airport for the hour before you board, or stopping them from running through the queues at the security check) to the actual plane itself (just watch as the harried mother, smeared with vomit and chocolate chases her small renegades down the aisles begging them to go to sleep in the middle of the night whilst everyone else tuts and sighs).  And once you get to your destination, you learn that all you really need is a kitchen and a washing machine and a bath and possibly a nanny… and frequently you find none of these things.  Having self-catered (and let’s face it, only a very few of us can afford the Mark Warner style hols where you really get a break) many times and washed socks in the sinks for a week or two, there is no anger like that provoked in a mother when she sees her children running outside in white socks she has to scrub by hand in a sink…

A holiday suddenly becomes more of the same stuff you do every day but in a different, possibly worse equipped, home, with fewer toys and none of your friends.  Kids still get up at 6am on holiday, but chances are you stayed up late with your husband and had a few drinks instead of also collapsing in to bed at 7pm.  Husbands also have a horrible ability of enjoying a holiday without realising that you are still going to the supermarket (trying to find nutella and the only brand of brioche your son eats for breakfast whilst figuring out that you have to weigh all the fruit and veg before proceeding to the check out, that you need a specific coin to get a trolley and that you should have brought your own bags), cooking the meals, cleaning and tidying and washing the laundry and entertaining the children not to mention removing the nits which can still be caught (to my horror) on holiday.  You still have to do all these things only you don’t have all the things you had at home to make that job just a little easier.  The illusion of a holiday is quickly dispelled and I hope that you, like me, quickly reassess the merits of places like Centre Parcs (oh the horror) because your kids will have a lovely time there.  I am also now deeply in favour of Kids Clubs and would book a camping holiday in a place that offers them, because although your children will always make friends at the pool, you still have to watch them to make sure they don’t drown and that is not possible whilst reading the book you optimistically packed.    Kids Clubs are a way of palming your kids off with other kids for an hour or two (so you do get a rest – or in my case get to go to the supermarket without the kids) and frequently run by nubile teenagers who will babysit for extra dosh, so you can go out with your husband and have a conversation.  I also generally recommend camping as a cheap holiday you can drive to (thereby avoiding the airport and the stress of travelling on a plane with small people, and enable you to pack everything you need – I once packed the microwave in the car for a two month break in France so I could sterilise bottles and defrost frozen baby puree, where we stayed in a house with no bathroom, but that is another story), as it is much more acceptable to go out to the local restaurant with filthy socks, stained beyond recognition, from a campsite than from a nice villa somewhere.  Kids love camping, frequently turn quite feral there and it is a pretty easy and cheap holiday once you get the hang of it, but I’m afraid for mother, it’s not exactly restful.  You can sometimes find a gaggle of like-minded people with similar aged children and take it in turns to cook meals and watch the little darlings commune stylie, but that is the pinnacle of a break for mother in my experience.  We had got living in a tent down to a fine art, putting the kids to bed and sitting outside the tent with a bottle of wine and a pack of cards, huddled over the table and the lantern until midnight, sniggering like teenagers trying not to wake the little monsters…

But let this be a salutary lesson to you all:  kids grow up.  This summer for the first time ever, we took with us kids who no longer nap and who don’t go to bed early either (I tried to face them out a couple of times, but they have greater stamina than me and would stay up until midnight every night if we let them)…  of course they go to bed at 7:30 when they are told to in term time, but on holiday you feel cruel sending a 7 and 9 year old off when they are not tired and don’t want to read (and the pay off of them sleeping in until 8 am is irresistible) but consequently you get no time to yourselves.  We were never without our kids, and much that I love them, I would love just a little time alone with my husband more.  By the end of three weeks, I was getting desperate for just an evening to spend with him talking without someone small telling a funny story which lasts an hour.  I suppose I should be grateful that my children still want to spend time with us and that we have yet to graduate to being really embarrassing and not cool enough to be seen with.  But I wasn’t sad to come home at the end of our holiday.  Back to my home with the fully equipped kitchen and the washing machine and the lovely neighbours who can watch your kids for half an hour if you need to pop out, and school in the morning which means they have to go to bed and I can spend some time cuddled up on the sofa with my other half.  But My Friend Sally says that pretty soon, they don’t go to bed early in term time, either, and you never get to spend time alone with your husband…  make the most of it, ladies!!!