I never imagined myself to be a working mum and yet here I sit, counting down to my new job starting in just 3 short weeks. My goodness, it's all a bit scary. As soon as I said yes reality starting crashing in on me, how the heck am I going to manage this!?
For starters I need to somehow find clothes that don't have baby food smashed into them not just once but twice a week( I mean finding the clothes, not the frequency of the smashing). This poses a problem, I'm not sure if I have just completely lost the ability to realise when my clothes really need a wash or if the food has literally become one with the fabric. I just can't ever seem to locate a pair of trousers that don't look like they have been attacked by marmite toast and pureed spinach.
Secondly there is the issue of my greatly reduced brain capacity. I think my gray matter basically decided to skip town the moment I conceived and it hasn't had the decency to return. 'I'm really not needed' it must say to itself, 'I'll just stay on vacation, how hard can it be to feed and change a baby and do housework ad infinitum'. As if to prove the point of how stupid I really am at the moment, whilst speaking to my future boss, instead of joking and saying 'I'll have to dust off my brain' which would have made perfect sense, I decided to come up with my own ridiculous version of the saying. I'm still laughing at myself for announcing to her 'I'll have to get my brain out of the dusty cupboard'. I mean what the!?
Thirdly of course, is the tiredness. Not only do I have only a remnant of a brain left, it operates only when regularly injected with caffiene and is still then prone to massive errors of judgement. I wonder if make up will ever manage to cover the dark shadows under my eyes so I don't scare my new workmates?
Oh dear, the list goes on..I better put a stop to this. The last one, is that I have somehow decided that I have time to fit in 15 hours of work a week. Now, now, I know you are all gasping at the mention of a measly 15 hours a week. At this juncture however I must point out to you that I am no super woman. I have several friends who are- one even who manages to work 4 days a week, run a charity in a 5th (which included a recent trip to Uganda), care for her 9 month old baby...all while being pregnant. Another old friend from school (who I just occasionally facebook stalk to see what she's up to) has 4 children, which in my opinion is enough said, but is also a lawyer who has recently published a book that went straight to the top of bestseller list. I am not this sort of woman. If I manage to wash my hair twice a week and shave my legs every 3 weeks I am doing AN AMAZING JOB of being me. So fitting in 15 hours a week is going to be interesting. Perhaps I'll have to cut back on the leg shaving. Ha ha.
I know I said I would stop but I do also just have to mention quickly about the whole house that needs not only unpacking but renovating from top to bottom inside and out. Since moving in I have managed to unpack exactly zero articles that belong to me. Thank goodness I found time to clean the bath yesterday, I think I got athletes foot just from looking at it.
All that said I am feeling incredibly blessed to have been offered a job that I didn't even have to look for, doing something I'm passionate about, that is totally flexible and has a boss who is as bleary eyed as me as she too knows what it's like to be up night after night tending to a sick baby. Don't think that all made sense but hey, like I said my brain is elsewhere. If you see it please send it back to me, I start on the 23rd of May!
Thursday 28 April 2011
Wednesday 20 April 2011
Snakes and ladders
I have been cut off from civilization for the last few days with my internet and phone going off line while being tranferred to the new house. Makes you realise how isolated you feel without either portal to the outside world working!
All is going well at the 'new' house and hopefully by the end of Easter weekend the 'old' house will be spik and span ready for the dragon rental lady to sign us out. It's interesting how when real estate agents see you as potential 'buyers' they treat you so well and when they see you as 'tenants' they treat you like something they need to scrape off thier shoe.
Anyway enough about that, I've been thinking quite a bit about how parenting can feel a bit like being in a self scoring game of snakes and ladders, do something good and you feel great- as if you've just been sent up sort of happy ladder. Do something bad on the other hand and you instantly feel as if you are sliding down a snake into the useless parent category. On a daily basis I seem to swing between thinking I'm doing a pretty good job to feeling like I should be nominated for the Bad Mommy awards.
By way of example let me talk you through a typical day (this will give you a chance to judge me and feel smug about the way you do things so much better than me, ha ha!) Let me sort of put it in table format so it's easier to follow:
ACTIVITY INTERNAL SCORE AWARDED
-Crawl out of bed when baby wakes up 0 points - it just has to be done
-Get annoyed as baby incapable of staying on his back - 10 points - I should be more patient
while nappy changed
-Cook baby omega rich egg yolk for breakfast + 150 points
- Remain calm when baby refuses to eat healthy omega + 100 points
rich breakfast
- Take time to read baby stories before nap time +50 points
- Forget to go to library so have to read books baby is -50 points
bored of
- While baby is napping try and get packing done to move
house, drop dish on floor, wake baby and make him cry -200 points
- Feed baby homemade organic vegetables and iron rich
meat for lunch +500 points
(if they were homeGROWN as well this would be more like 5 million points)
- Feel smug and self righteous about making own organic -200 points
baby food
(what kind of horrible judgemental cow am I!?)
- Put baby in cot for second nap. Leave bonjela in reach - 2000 points
so father goes in one minute later to find baby chewing
bonjela tube
- Feed baby formula out of BPA lined formula tin 0 points (can't do anything about this one, his other option was to starve as my boobs didnt seem interested in feeding a baby after the first 3 months and went on strike)
- Put baby to bed for the night reciting his favorite story for +300 points
millionth time as it makes him laugh every time
(this will go up exponentially the longer I have to read the same flippin story!)
So anyway you get the idea- if the format didnt drive you insane after the first one. Really I know in my heart it's all a bunch of rubbish and that overall I'm doing a great job but there is always that small part of you that is keen to pipe up and tell you how crap you are. I'm learning not to listen to it! All I need to do is look at how happy and loved my little guy is and I know that all my scoring system is redundant. One smile from him and I feel like I have earnt a million points, just for being his mum.
On a side note to intensify this whole process I was randomly offered a job yesterday so am now going through the rather worrying process of deciding if I want to work part time or not. This is a much harder decision to make than I ever thought possible and it's all a bit of brain bender. I'll keep you posted on that front, in the mean time I would love anyone's comments or advice on it.
Well I better sign off, any moment now I am going to hear a whimper from the next room as nap time finishes and if I don't go in straight away I'll have to deduct 50 points from today's total :)
All is going well at the 'new' house and hopefully by the end of Easter weekend the 'old' house will be spik and span ready for the dragon rental lady to sign us out. It's interesting how when real estate agents see you as potential 'buyers' they treat you so well and when they see you as 'tenants' they treat you like something they need to scrape off thier shoe.
Anyway enough about that, I've been thinking quite a bit about how parenting can feel a bit like being in a self scoring game of snakes and ladders, do something good and you feel great- as if you've just been sent up sort of happy ladder. Do something bad on the other hand and you instantly feel as if you are sliding down a snake into the useless parent category. On a daily basis I seem to swing between thinking I'm doing a pretty good job to feeling like I should be nominated for the Bad Mommy awards.
By way of example let me talk you through a typical day (this will give you a chance to judge me and feel smug about the way you do things so much better than me, ha ha!) Let me sort of put it in table format so it's easier to follow:
ACTIVITY INTERNAL SCORE AWARDED
-Crawl out of bed when baby wakes up 0 points - it just has to be done
-Get annoyed as baby incapable of staying on his back - 10 points - I should be more patient
while nappy changed
-Cook baby omega rich egg yolk for breakfast + 150 points
- Remain calm when baby refuses to eat healthy omega + 100 points
rich breakfast
- Take time to read baby stories before nap time +50 points
- Forget to go to library so have to read books baby is -50 points
bored of
- While baby is napping try and get packing done to move
house, drop dish on floor, wake baby and make him cry -200 points
- Feed baby homemade organic vegetables and iron rich
meat for lunch +500 points
(if they were homeGROWN as well this would be more like 5 million points)
- Feel smug and self righteous about making own organic -200 points
baby food
(what kind of horrible judgemental cow am I!?)
- Put baby in cot for second nap. Leave bonjela in reach - 2000 points
so father goes in one minute later to find baby chewing
bonjela tube
- Feed baby formula out of BPA lined formula tin 0 points (can't do anything about this one, his other option was to starve as my boobs didnt seem interested in feeding a baby after the first 3 months and went on strike)
- Put baby to bed for the night reciting his favorite story for +300 points
millionth time as it makes him laugh every time
(this will go up exponentially the longer I have to read the same flippin story!)
So anyway you get the idea- if the format didnt drive you insane after the first one. Really I know in my heart it's all a bunch of rubbish and that overall I'm doing a great job but there is always that small part of you that is keen to pipe up and tell you how crap you are. I'm learning not to listen to it! All I need to do is look at how happy and loved my little guy is and I know that all my scoring system is redundant. One smile from him and I feel like I have earnt a million points, just for being his mum.
On a side note to intensify this whole process I was randomly offered a job yesterday so am now going through the rather worrying process of deciding if I want to work part time or not. This is a much harder decision to make than I ever thought possible and it's all a bit of brain bender. I'll keep you posted on that front, in the mean time I would love anyone's comments or advice on it.
Well I better sign off, any moment now I am going to hear a whimper from the next room as nap time finishes and if I don't go in straight away I'll have to deduct 50 points from today's total :)
Thursday 14 April 2011
Renovations have begun!!!
Well it is with great excitement that I can report we are proud owners of our new house and we have survived our first day of renovations. (I am so tired it just took me 4 attempts to figure out how to spell excitement :) ).
We made pretty good progress thanks to hours of hard labour completed by the in laws and my dad. Walls have been sanded, cleaned and holes filled. Ceilings have been scrubbed and as I write my other half is working away on his own sanding the floors late into the night.
On arrival at the house it was clear what my first mission should be, I started to feel like I might need to go to the loo but one look at the throne in our new house convinced me that some serious work needed to be done before using it could be even remotely considered. The previous occupants were not what we would call aware of the words 'clean' or 'cleaning' and how one might either want or obtain a 'clean house'. They had been there 7 years and had certainly not laid a finger on a bottle of spray and wipe in that time.
So, wishing I had a hazmat suit in my cleaning arsenal I entered the dreaded throne room. And I kid you not- I cleaned that bloody toilet for 3 hours. The toilet and I are now old friends, I was practically hugging it for half an hour for goodness sake. I feel as if I should be awarded some sort of bravery award for my efforts, perhaps there is a Purple Duck I should receive, or Martyr of the Year ceremony I should be attending.
Ironically, I found peas behind the toilet, not pee (although there was plenty of that in all sorts of places you wouldn't believe) but round green ones. Very odd. I won't let on any more details of my heroic efforts as I feel that you may not be able to cope with the gory details of my war tale. What I will tell you is that the saddest part was that at the end of my 3 hours (again I really am not kidding about this I started at 10.30 and finished just before 1.30) the stupid place still smelt like old man wee. YUK!
So who wants to come and visit!? Ha ha! No doubt if you do you will pee just before leaving your house and politely decline any beverages whilst at my lovely new home, but I'll know why! I can assure you though it's very usable now, maybe just hold your nose a bit.
That's all I've got on the renovations front for now- I will happily keep you posted on how it's all going.
By the way, is anyone else as impressed as I am that I have managed to write 3 blogs that don't focus entirely on the fact that I have a baby?? kudos to me I say! I'm brewing another one though so I'll be back here soon if I get a break from cleaning fly poop of walls and ceilings in the next few days. See you soon..
We made pretty good progress thanks to hours of hard labour completed by the in laws and my dad. Walls have been sanded, cleaned and holes filled. Ceilings have been scrubbed and as I write my other half is working away on his own sanding the floors late into the night.
On arrival at the house it was clear what my first mission should be, I started to feel like I might need to go to the loo but one look at the throne in our new house convinced me that some serious work needed to be done before using it could be even remotely considered. The previous occupants were not what we would call aware of the words 'clean' or 'cleaning' and how one might either want or obtain a 'clean house'. They had been there 7 years and had certainly not laid a finger on a bottle of spray and wipe in that time.
So, wishing I had a hazmat suit in my cleaning arsenal I entered the dreaded throne room. And I kid you not- I cleaned that bloody toilet for 3 hours. The toilet and I are now old friends, I was practically hugging it for half an hour for goodness sake. I feel as if I should be awarded some sort of bravery award for my efforts, perhaps there is a Purple Duck I should receive, or Martyr of the Year ceremony I should be attending.
Ironically, I found peas behind the toilet, not pee (although there was plenty of that in all sorts of places you wouldn't believe) but round green ones. Very odd. I won't let on any more details of my heroic efforts as I feel that you may not be able to cope with the gory details of my war tale. What I will tell you is that the saddest part was that at the end of my 3 hours (again I really am not kidding about this I started at 10.30 and finished just before 1.30) the stupid place still smelt like old man wee. YUK!
So who wants to come and visit!? Ha ha! No doubt if you do you will pee just before leaving your house and politely decline any beverages whilst at my lovely new home, but I'll know why! I can assure you though it's very usable now, maybe just hold your nose a bit.
That's all I've got on the renovations front for now- I will happily keep you posted on how it's all going.
By the way, is anyone else as impressed as I am that I have managed to write 3 blogs that don't focus entirely on the fact that I have a baby?? kudos to me I say! I'm brewing another one though so I'll be back here soon if I get a break from cleaning fly poop of walls and ceilings in the next few days. See you soon..
Sunday 10 April 2011
Hair dressing heart attack
I usually have a good memory for things but when it comes to going to the hairdresser I seem to have a complete blind spot.
I book my appointments weeks in advance and look forward to them with great anticipation. A wonderful morning of pampering I say to myself, what could be better? Sitting there with nothing to do but flick through trashy magazines whilst I sip a fresh coffee, not a care in the world. And of course I look forward to how I will leave the salon feeling gorgeous and glamorous, casually strolling down the road with my new hair do pretending I look this good every day.
And no matter how many times I go to the hair dresser, after all these years, this is still what I expect.
In reality, it couldn't be more different. To start the whole thing off I always seem to rush in late and flustered. Then once I've been in the chair for about 5 minutes the awful truth comes crashing in on me. I, in fact, hate being at the hair dresser. Panic starts to rise as soon as she gets to work. 'Oh no..what if it is a total disaster' I suddenly think, ' It's going to look terrible', 'I'm never going to look like the picture I showed her'. I then have to sit trying to keep my bum glued the chair while the painstaking process unfolds, when all I want to do is run out the salon rather than risk the humiliation of a possible disaster hair do.
I have been developing my coping strategies for these situations. I try and flick through the magazines as a distraction, but the nerves keep me from being able to focus on any page longer than .5 of a second. Then there's the coffee, probably not the best beverage when your already a bundle of nerves. But I always order one thinking it will relax me as I sip it genteelly trying my best to keep a calm exterior. What a waste of time! I never get to drink the bloody thing as my head is always on some peculiar angle with hair draped over it. I'm not quite sure why the always insist on giving people drinks whilst getting their hair done. The amount of tea and coffee wasted by the hair dressing industry must be phenomenal.
So I have to opt for downing it as a quick cold shot when I get the chance, she's turned her back, quick gulp it down before it's too late! On Thursday when I was at one such appointment I knocked it back hoping it may have something stronger in it to calm my nerves. Perhaps I should start taking a hip flask in.
Of course the head massage is always something I can look forward to. I forget that by the time this part of the process comes around, my head as been laying on the basin for so long I have genuine concerns of lifelong paralysis developing or of convulsing in a major stroke of some description. Logic still evades me however as my concern over how my hair is going to look is of far greater concern than any form of major disability.
I've had some terrible outcomes at the hairdresser which is why I am so panicky each time I go there. Last Thursday was no exception. I went in blonde, expected to walk out blonde, but without the roots. I came out a horrible mousy brown. Not what I was after.
Fortunately these experiences have taught me the value of honesty. I managed to somehow pluck up the courage to tell the hairdresser exactly what I thought (actually it wasn't courage, it's just that being completely sleep deprived means I'm just that wee bit grumpy all the time which makes it a lot easier to speak my mind). So it was back to the salon on Saturday to relive the whole awful experience to get it fixed.
I'm not planning on making that mistake again, but no doubt my memory will fade and I will book my next appointment in a couple of months and start looking forward to my nice coffee and trashy magazines. When will I ever learn!?
I book my appointments weeks in advance and look forward to them with great anticipation. A wonderful morning of pampering I say to myself, what could be better? Sitting there with nothing to do but flick through trashy magazines whilst I sip a fresh coffee, not a care in the world. And of course I look forward to how I will leave the salon feeling gorgeous and glamorous, casually strolling down the road with my new hair do pretending I look this good every day.
And no matter how many times I go to the hair dresser, after all these years, this is still what I expect.
In reality, it couldn't be more different. To start the whole thing off I always seem to rush in late and flustered. Then once I've been in the chair for about 5 minutes the awful truth comes crashing in on me. I, in fact, hate being at the hair dresser. Panic starts to rise as soon as she gets to work. 'Oh no..what if it is a total disaster' I suddenly think, ' It's going to look terrible', 'I'm never going to look like the picture I showed her'. I then have to sit trying to keep my bum glued the chair while the painstaking process unfolds, when all I want to do is run out the salon rather than risk the humiliation of a possible disaster hair do.
I have been developing my coping strategies for these situations. I try and flick through the magazines as a distraction, but the nerves keep me from being able to focus on any page longer than .5 of a second. Then there's the coffee, probably not the best beverage when your already a bundle of nerves. But I always order one thinking it will relax me as I sip it genteelly trying my best to keep a calm exterior. What a waste of time! I never get to drink the bloody thing as my head is always on some peculiar angle with hair draped over it. I'm not quite sure why the always insist on giving people drinks whilst getting their hair done. The amount of tea and coffee wasted by the hair dressing industry must be phenomenal.
So I have to opt for downing it as a quick cold shot when I get the chance, she's turned her back, quick gulp it down before it's too late! On Thursday when I was at one such appointment I knocked it back hoping it may have something stronger in it to calm my nerves. Perhaps I should start taking a hip flask in.
Of course the head massage is always something I can look forward to. I forget that by the time this part of the process comes around, my head as been laying on the basin for so long I have genuine concerns of lifelong paralysis developing or of convulsing in a major stroke of some description. Logic still evades me however as my concern over how my hair is going to look is of far greater concern than any form of major disability.
I've had some terrible outcomes at the hairdresser which is why I am so panicky each time I go there. Last Thursday was no exception. I went in blonde, expected to walk out blonde, but without the roots. I came out a horrible mousy brown. Not what I was after.
Fortunately these experiences have taught me the value of honesty. I managed to somehow pluck up the courage to tell the hairdresser exactly what I thought (actually it wasn't courage, it's just that being completely sleep deprived means I'm just that wee bit grumpy all the time which makes it a lot easier to speak my mind). So it was back to the salon on Saturday to relive the whole awful experience to get it fixed.
I'm not planning on making that mistake again, but no doubt my memory will fade and I will book my next appointment in a couple of months and start looking forward to my nice coffee and trashy magazines. When will I ever learn!?
Tuesday 5 April 2011
Been too exhausted to blog lately. My little cherub has been battling colds for the last 2 months so I have a huge backlog of sleepless nights that are taking thier toll. I am finding out what being a parent is all about, and also that I am not made of very tough stuff!
It's amazing the things you learn about yourself as a 'parent' as time progresses. I had no idea, and gave no thought to the idea of what kind of parent I would be before I became one. I had vague ideas like the fact that co-sleeping was something that hippies with flowers in thier hair did and that surely it must be dangerous, and that sometimes baby just should be left to cry. I agreed with the author when I read it in a book that babies must learn to be independent. I also clearly remember the first time I heard of someone who would only feed thier kids organic food. That's RIDICULOUS I guffawed as I pictured thier pale neurotic upper middle class faces creased with worry lines every time thier child was exposed to any kind of unnatural substance. Yes- I was well and truly judgemental and clueless.
Now, 8 months later I have a few confessions to make.
1. co-sleeping is great. It saves getting up out of bed, is a great bonding experience and nothing beats your child waking up with a big smile because the first thing they see is mummy's face. Well..ok it's great in moderation but I'm glad I didn't steer clear of it altogether, I would have missed some very precious moments.
2. I cannot think of anything worse than leaving my baby to cry. I'm not saying I judge people who do this, I just knew as soon as he started skawking for the very first time I had to do anything and everything in my power to stop his little heart from breaking. This has probably cost me countless hours of precious sleep and a fair bit of judgement from others. At first I thought I was weak for not being able to put my hard hat on and let him get on with it. Now that I look back I am so glad that I stuck to this through thick and thin as I know it was the right decision for us, regardless of what popular opinion might exist in today's culture. Part of me still thinks I am quite pathetic for thinking this way, and the other part things that maybe I am actually a wee bit tough and quite selfless, which I like.
3. OK...this one is hardest for me to admit. I am terrified of feeding my baby non-organic food. (I am physically cringing as I write this.) This is quite a dilemma for me. It makes me feel like a total outsider and I'll tell you why. Basically I am ashamed of this fact, I want to be a cool casual mother that throws any kind of food in the direction of thier child. Instead, I am sad to discover, I am an uptight neurotic mum who overthinks every meal time decision. In admitting this I feel like I am alienating parents who are in the non-organic camp, as I know they will think I am ridiculous. At the same time I feel I alienate the 'organic' camp residents as I am really too embaressed to accept them as my kind. I wish somehow I could find some happy casual middle ground where everyone could still like me, but I don't see that happening!
I can't help but feel that every decision I make of what goes in the little ones mouth could dictate his future. What if I can delay or speed up the onset of cancer? what if he develops asthma and I could have prevented it by choosing his foods more carefully. It is a terrible weight on my shoulders. The more I research the more confused I get and the list is endless. Avoid starch, avoid BPA, avoid pasteurised milk, feed them raw liver one lady even crows on her website (don't worry- that's just flat out disgusting and I wouldn't even consider it)- oops there I go with the judging again).
I guess at every point in a parents journey you have to realise that you can't save your child from everything so at some stage I will stop trying. For now, however, I am clinging onto the false hope that I can prevent anything bad ever happening to him, if I just feed him right, don't let him watch TV and cuddle him when he cries. I know of course deep down this is silly but be gentle on me, I'm only new at this.
It's amazing the things you learn about yourself as a 'parent' as time progresses. I had no idea, and gave no thought to the idea of what kind of parent I would be before I became one. I had vague ideas like the fact that co-sleeping was something that hippies with flowers in thier hair did and that surely it must be dangerous, and that sometimes baby just should be left to cry. I agreed with the author when I read it in a book that babies must learn to be independent. I also clearly remember the first time I heard of someone who would only feed thier kids organic food. That's RIDICULOUS I guffawed as I pictured thier pale neurotic upper middle class faces creased with worry lines every time thier child was exposed to any kind of unnatural substance. Yes- I was well and truly judgemental and clueless.
Now, 8 months later I have a few confessions to make.
1. co-sleeping is great. It saves getting up out of bed, is a great bonding experience and nothing beats your child waking up with a big smile because the first thing they see is mummy's face. Well..ok it's great in moderation but I'm glad I didn't steer clear of it altogether, I would have missed some very precious moments.
2. I cannot think of anything worse than leaving my baby to cry. I'm not saying I judge people who do this, I just knew as soon as he started skawking for the very first time I had to do anything and everything in my power to stop his little heart from breaking. This has probably cost me countless hours of precious sleep and a fair bit of judgement from others. At first I thought I was weak for not being able to put my hard hat on and let him get on with it. Now that I look back I am so glad that I stuck to this through thick and thin as I know it was the right decision for us, regardless of what popular opinion might exist in today's culture. Part of me still thinks I am quite pathetic for thinking this way, and the other part things that maybe I am actually a wee bit tough and quite selfless, which I like.
3. OK...this one is hardest for me to admit. I am terrified of feeding my baby non-organic food. (I am physically cringing as I write this.) This is quite a dilemma for me. It makes me feel like a total outsider and I'll tell you why. Basically I am ashamed of this fact, I want to be a cool casual mother that throws any kind of food in the direction of thier child. Instead, I am sad to discover, I am an uptight neurotic mum who overthinks every meal time decision. In admitting this I feel like I am alienating parents who are in the non-organic camp, as I know they will think I am ridiculous. At the same time I feel I alienate the 'organic' camp residents as I am really too embaressed to accept them as my kind. I wish somehow I could find some happy casual middle ground where everyone could still like me, but I don't see that happening!
I can't help but feel that every decision I make of what goes in the little ones mouth could dictate his future. What if I can delay or speed up the onset of cancer? what if he develops asthma and I could have prevented it by choosing his foods more carefully. It is a terrible weight on my shoulders. The more I research the more confused I get and the list is endless. Avoid starch, avoid BPA, avoid pasteurised milk, feed them raw liver one lady even crows on her website (don't worry- that's just flat out disgusting and I wouldn't even consider it)- oops there I go with the judging again).
I guess at every point in a parents journey you have to realise that you can't save your child from everything so at some stage I will stop trying. For now, however, I am clinging onto the false hope that I can prevent anything bad ever happening to him, if I just feed him right, don't let him watch TV and cuddle him when he cries. I know of course deep down this is silly but be gentle on me, I'm only new at this.
Saturday 2 April 2011
It's a wierd and wonderful world
Has anyone else noticed how wierd the world of kids is sometimes? I've only been in it for 7 months now so I'm quite new to all this but already I'm starting to notice some strange things. Let me tell you what I mean.
So first up is advertising, I've been a bit more aware of this now that I know the little guy will be bombarded by it at some stage in his life (I'm not so naive as to think I can get him through his entire childhood without him watching TV- I do realise my sanity is more important than that). However the messages he will recieve through advertising are slightly disturbing.
Let's take the Ribena ad campaign as a prime example- featuring happy innocent blackcurrants it depicts the joyous homecoming of a prodigal currant, and why did he return the ad asks? To drink squashed fellow country men is the reply. Of course they don't say it like this, they just talk in an upbeat tone about him drinking Ribena. But isn't that what Ribena is!? Is there a darker side to Ribena land where naughty Ribena's are sent for juicing only to be eaten by the good ones who made it onto TV I ask? And I worry that my son will wonder the same thing one day. I don't really want to have to explain the concept of cannabilism to a small child so the longer he doesn't see that ad the better in my opinion.
Then there's the toys they play with. One of the favorites at the moment is Old McDonalds tractor which has Old McDonald (as you would expect) and a few of his farmyard animals. Normal so far. What is strange however is that if you put an animal in the drivers seat it says 'Uh Oh I can't drive'. Of course it can't drive, it's an animal for goodness sake. No one seems to find it amazing and miraculous that the animal can TALK however. So perhaps it's not limited intellegence the animals suffer from, just a lack of opposable thumbs. 'If it weren't for these damn hoofs' they probably mutter to themselves when we are out of earshot.
Lastly is the music we are subjected to for the sake of the little ones happiness. One CD in particular is very sweet, a choir of happy children chirping away about nice concepts like God's love and baby Jesus. Until you get to the track about David and Goliath. Correct me if I'm wrong but doesn't it seem a little at odds with the concept of God's love and the peace that baby Jesus brings to have small children merrily singing about murder?? 'and the giant came tumbling doooowwn' they all gayly repeat over and over. I usually just skip that track, also wanting to avoid ever having to discuss what it really is all about until my innocent angel is old enough (is 30 too young?). Then of course there is the old lady who swallowed a fly, I keep trying to think of a line to replace 'Perhaps she'll die' but nothing comes to mind. And I really hope he never asks what Ring a ring a Rosie is about, singing about the plague is just flat out morbid if you ask me.
Well that's all I have to say about that for now. On a side note as of 8am this morning we have a crawler in the house so I am a very proud mamma, his little wobbly crawl is just so cute!
So first up is advertising, I've been a bit more aware of this now that I know the little guy will be bombarded by it at some stage in his life (I'm not so naive as to think I can get him through his entire childhood without him watching TV- I do realise my sanity is more important than that). However the messages he will recieve through advertising are slightly disturbing.
Let's take the Ribena ad campaign as a prime example- featuring happy innocent blackcurrants it depicts the joyous homecoming of a prodigal currant, and why did he return the ad asks? To drink squashed fellow country men is the reply. Of course they don't say it like this, they just talk in an upbeat tone about him drinking Ribena. But isn't that what Ribena is!? Is there a darker side to Ribena land where naughty Ribena's are sent for juicing only to be eaten by the good ones who made it onto TV I ask? And I worry that my son will wonder the same thing one day. I don't really want to have to explain the concept of cannabilism to a small child so the longer he doesn't see that ad the better in my opinion.
Then there's the toys they play with. One of the favorites at the moment is Old McDonalds tractor which has Old McDonald (as you would expect) and a few of his farmyard animals. Normal so far. What is strange however is that if you put an animal in the drivers seat it says 'Uh Oh I can't drive'. Of course it can't drive, it's an animal for goodness sake. No one seems to find it amazing and miraculous that the animal can TALK however. So perhaps it's not limited intellegence the animals suffer from, just a lack of opposable thumbs. 'If it weren't for these damn hoofs' they probably mutter to themselves when we are out of earshot.
Lastly is the music we are subjected to for the sake of the little ones happiness. One CD in particular is very sweet, a choir of happy children chirping away about nice concepts like God's love and baby Jesus. Until you get to the track about David and Goliath. Correct me if I'm wrong but doesn't it seem a little at odds with the concept of God's love and the peace that baby Jesus brings to have small children merrily singing about murder?? 'and the giant came tumbling doooowwn' they all gayly repeat over and over. I usually just skip that track, also wanting to avoid ever having to discuss what it really is all about until my innocent angel is old enough (is 30 too young?). Then of course there is the old lady who swallowed a fly, I keep trying to think of a line to replace 'Perhaps she'll die' but nothing comes to mind. And I really hope he never asks what Ring a ring a Rosie is about, singing about the plague is just flat out morbid if you ask me.
Well that's all I have to say about that for now. On a side note as of 8am this morning we have a crawler in the house so I am a very proud mamma, his little wobbly crawl is just so cute!
Friday 1 April 2011
I've opted to stay in my PJ's today due to my lack of good track pants so here I sit recovering from a cold that has taken up the last few days of my life, seeing as baby had it too, as much as anything else. And what better way to put off packing up our house than writing a blog.
As having a baby really is all consuming I thought some attention needed to be paid to the topic. When I got married I knew two things: 1. I very much wanted to have kids and 2. I wanted to put it off for as long as possible. I'm quite good at procrastinating and reproduction was no exception. After 8 years of marriage we got the guts up to give it a go and our little boy arrived on the scene (in multicellular form of course). 9 months later he was in my arms.
The last year has given me opportunity to realise that today's western society is set up incredibly poorly. I mean isn't survival of the human race all important and yet when it comes to raising the next generation basically none of us have the first clue? Maybe it's just me but I don't think so. Before having my own baby the closest experience I'd had of looking after one was being one, 31 long years ago. Not much help thanks very much. Our society means we often have no experience of 'practicing' the whole parenting thing on unsuspecting younger siblings or other extended family members.
Now before I sound too much like a victim I do take some responsibility. In the late stages of pregnancy my sister, an experienced and wonderful mother, would kindly offer her help to reduce my phenomenal ignorance. 'Shall I show you how to change a nappy' she would ask. No thank you was always my reply. I couldn't quite articulate to her that I was so terrified that I would soon have responsibility of an actual living baby that to have any kind of 'dress rehearsal' would mean that it would become harder and harder to pretend my enourmous bump was just some kind of unfortunate swelling on my abdomen. The fact I should have taken her up on her offers became abundantly clear when I had to change a nappy for the first time. I didn't even know which was the front and the back so just had to hazard a guess and hope for the best. (why can't the just put the picture of winnie the pooh on the front of the nappy I ask?)
Nothing can prepare you for having a new born. I had so many ridiculous notions it's laughable (I can laugh now that I have recovered emotionally). Like 'babies sleep when they need to' and 'mummies get to nap during the day, whilst the baby does', 'it can't be that hard to fix a baby's crying can it?'. HA HA! The things they don't tell you in antenatal class. I'm not sure why though, seeing as you're at the point where you can't exactly back out of the situation, they might as well tell you how it is. Maybe they fear what would happen in a room full of overtired, hormonal pregnant women and stressed, soon to be fathers if they painted a true picture. At this juncture I feel I should point out my baby had reflux so I had an extra dose of screaming, sleep deprivation and stress for the first 4 months so my view is slightly screwed (oops I meant skewed).
Parenthood is frauhgt with decision making of the most complex and difficult nature. The fate of a tiny baby's future is in your hands. Right, nothing to freak out over then. One of the easier decisions was to go disposable or cloth with nappies. Easy, I decided, cloth it is. But shall I tell you why? The reason I love cloth nappies is that I get to feel SELF RIGHTEOUS. Up to 12 times a day. This is a good thing, I like feeling self righteous. And somehow while I am at home and can go for 10 hour stretches without seeing another living being besides my little one I feel connected to the universe, I am caring for God's awesome creation. I am using reusable nappies. Each time I open the smelly bucket I feel as if I am truly sacrificing for the greater good. Maybe greenpeace will show up at my door one day showering me with thanks and praise, maybe Oprah will run a feature on me and my great act of kindness towards this planet next Earth Day. Perhaps I shouldn't let on that it is my husband who does the worst part of putting the nappies in the wash. 'The bucket's too heavy' I whine, and every time he kindly aquiesces.
Of course there are many other decisions but I won't bore you with them now, I'll keep that for my next blog. All I can say is, I am eternally greatful for programmes like Supernanny and Nanny 911. I think they are designed for parents like me so that we don't feel so bad about the decidedly average job we are doing of raising our kids. 'Look at them', we say to ourselves smugly as we watch, 'I would never do that with my kids'. And once again I get to feel self righteous. Very good for my ego. Perhaps it's even helped me off the slippery slope that leads to post natal depression. I know I'm not doing the best job of raising my precious boy but I also know I'm not doing the worst. And for that I am greatful.
As having a baby really is all consuming I thought some attention needed to be paid to the topic. When I got married I knew two things: 1. I very much wanted to have kids and 2. I wanted to put it off for as long as possible. I'm quite good at procrastinating and reproduction was no exception. After 8 years of marriage we got the guts up to give it a go and our little boy arrived on the scene (in multicellular form of course). 9 months later he was in my arms.
The last year has given me opportunity to realise that today's western society is set up incredibly poorly. I mean isn't survival of the human race all important and yet when it comes to raising the next generation basically none of us have the first clue? Maybe it's just me but I don't think so. Before having my own baby the closest experience I'd had of looking after one was being one, 31 long years ago. Not much help thanks very much. Our society means we often have no experience of 'practicing' the whole parenting thing on unsuspecting younger siblings or other extended family members.
Now before I sound too much like a victim I do take some responsibility. In the late stages of pregnancy my sister, an experienced and wonderful mother, would kindly offer her help to reduce my phenomenal ignorance. 'Shall I show you how to change a nappy' she would ask. No thank you was always my reply. I couldn't quite articulate to her that I was so terrified that I would soon have responsibility of an actual living baby that to have any kind of 'dress rehearsal' would mean that it would become harder and harder to pretend my enourmous bump was just some kind of unfortunate swelling on my abdomen. The fact I should have taken her up on her offers became abundantly clear when I had to change a nappy for the first time. I didn't even know which was the front and the back so just had to hazard a guess and hope for the best. (why can't the just put the picture of winnie the pooh on the front of the nappy I ask?)
Nothing can prepare you for having a new born. I had so many ridiculous notions it's laughable (I can laugh now that I have recovered emotionally). Like 'babies sleep when they need to' and 'mummies get to nap during the day, whilst the baby does', 'it can't be that hard to fix a baby's crying can it?'. HA HA! The things they don't tell you in antenatal class. I'm not sure why though, seeing as you're at the point where you can't exactly back out of the situation, they might as well tell you how it is. Maybe they fear what would happen in a room full of overtired, hormonal pregnant women and stressed, soon to be fathers if they painted a true picture. At this juncture I feel I should point out my baby had reflux so I had an extra dose of screaming, sleep deprivation and stress for the first 4 months so my view is slightly screwed (oops I meant skewed).
Parenthood is frauhgt with decision making of the most complex and difficult nature. The fate of a tiny baby's future is in your hands. Right, nothing to freak out over then. One of the easier decisions was to go disposable or cloth with nappies. Easy, I decided, cloth it is. But shall I tell you why? The reason I love cloth nappies is that I get to feel SELF RIGHTEOUS. Up to 12 times a day. This is a good thing, I like feeling self righteous. And somehow while I am at home and can go for 10 hour stretches without seeing another living being besides my little one I feel connected to the universe, I am caring for God's awesome creation. I am using reusable nappies. Each time I open the smelly bucket I feel as if I am truly sacrificing for the greater good. Maybe greenpeace will show up at my door one day showering me with thanks and praise, maybe Oprah will run a feature on me and my great act of kindness towards this planet next Earth Day. Perhaps I shouldn't let on that it is my husband who does the worst part of putting the nappies in the wash. 'The bucket's too heavy' I whine, and every time he kindly aquiesces.
Of course there are many other decisions but I won't bore you with them now, I'll keep that for my next blog. All I can say is, I am eternally greatful for programmes like Supernanny and Nanny 911. I think they are designed for parents like me so that we don't feel so bad about the decidedly average job we are doing of raising our kids. 'Look at them', we say to ourselves smugly as we watch, 'I would never do that with my kids'. And once again I get to feel self righteous. Very good for my ego. Perhaps it's even helped me off the slippery slope that leads to post natal depression. I know I'm not doing the best job of raising my precious boy but I also know I'm not doing the worst. And for that I am greatful.
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