I saw this as a good opportunity to have a Meaningful Conversation and impart some of my extensive knowledge.

“Yes, and do you know what happens at Easter?” I replied.

The answer was a predictable one, mainly revolving around chocolate and holidays. Determined to press on, I mentioned Jesus and the idea of celebrating new life. We’re not a religious family, but I thought it important my almost four year old had some idea of the story behind Easter. 

“But Jesus is a baby Mummy”. Clearly the Nativity play at Christmas is still fresh in her mind. No matter. I still pressed on.

“Jesus grew up into a man. And Easter is all about a time in his life when he was a grown up man.”

Frog looked thoughtful for a moment, before blind-siding me with a totally new topic of conversation.

“Is there still a baby in your tummy?”

We chatted about the baby for a bit. No it hadn’t been born yet. Yes it was still in my tummy. Yes I was getting fat. No it wasn’t a rabbit. Yes we would still get a rabbit. No the baby wouldn’t be able to join in dancing straight away. etc etc.

“So Easter is new life then?” A new light of understanding dawned on Frog’s face.

“Oh right! So you’ve got Baby Jesus in your tummy then?!”

Further explanation is needed. Clearly.

The post More baby confusion appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

You need to learn one thing when you become a parent, and learn it fast: you will never win.

There is no topic that is quite as emotive, opinionated or talked about as the subject of parenting. From best-selling books to primetime TV programmes, websites to NHS leaflets, hundreds of millions of books have been written about the “best” and “right” way to raise children. And you know what? They all say different things.

Whichever parenting expert you choose to follow, there will be another one just waiting to tell you to do the opposite. And I use “expert” in the broadest sense. Whether it is your mum or your best friend, your health visitor or a celebrity nanny, there are many people who believe they know you and your baby better than you do yourself. 

A conversation with a friend recently transported me back to the me of three years ago. As I was chatting on the phone to my friend – a mum herself – I suddenly felt like I had been picked up and put back in 2010, when my baby was four months old and I was still a vulnerable and impressionable new mum. I was that mum who would sit for hours reading threads on parenting forums, trying to work out the answer to my latest mother dilemma. I lapped up every word the health visitor told me, then went home and read about it, becoming more and more confused.

The thing is, I was absolutely convinced, back then, that there was a “One Size Fits All” method to parenting. Being new to the motherhood game, I was yet to learn of the different (and often conflicting) parenting “approaches”. The terms “attachment parent”, “controlled crying”, “natural parenting”, “Gina Ford style” etc were all alien to me. I just assumed that the people I spoke to about my baby knew better than I did, every time. I had no reason to question their wisdom.

It wasn’t until my daughter turned six months old that I started to understand there were different ways of doing things. That I didn’t have to follow the advice, word for word, of other mothers or health visitors or TV experts. By then I had got to know my own instincts pretty well and I had started to suss out that this idea of a “One Size Fits All” approach was utter rubbish. It didn’t exist, much to my dismay. I would have to work out my own way of doing things.

Something my dad said to me around that time still often comes back to me. “Molly,” he said. “Whatever you decide to do as a mum, just make sure you follow your own instincts. If you take on an approach to weaning or sleep – or whatever – that goes against your own views of the world or common sense or gut feelings, then it won’t work. It’s that simple.”

He then went on to tell me how he and my mother attempted to deal with their own problematic baby, back in 1984. Their baby was eight months old and not sleeping through the night. She would wake constantly and cry and cry. Exhausted, they took their baby to the doctor. The doctor told them to put her to bed and let her cry. Dutifully, they put their baby to bed and closed the door. Ten minutes later, unable to continue listening to their baby’s wails of distress, my mother and father opened the door to find vomit all over the bedclothes. Their baby had made herself so upset she was sick everywhere. It was then that they decided to ignore the doctor’s advice and just muddle on through with their own idea of how to live with their sleepless baby.

I’m not telling you this story to have a pop at the controlled crying method. I’m telling it to you to show that, for my mum and dad, that method did not work. It didn’t work because it went against what they felt was right. And, at the time, they were offered no other option. It was presented as the ONLY option open to them.

Incidentally, when my mum and dad had another baby (my little sister, born four years after me) they were different parents. They did leave their other baby to cry and didn’t feel upset when doing it. This baby was a different baby though; she was “easier” in the sense that she slept for longer periods and was far more placid than her older sister. That personality trait continues to today, by the way. I would imagine my little sister has, generally, caused my parents fewer headaches than their (sometimes troublesome) older daughter.

I suppose what I’m trying to say is that ALL BABIES ARE DIFFERENT. Not just that, but ALL PARENTS ARE DIFFERENT. If you found that a certain way of dealing with a problem you faced with your child worked, then that is fantastic – good for you. But it doesn’t necessarily mean that YOUR method would automatically work on MY child. Because, you know, your child is not my child and, importantly, I am not you.

I am all for the offering and sharing of advice about parenting dilemmas. Goodness knows, I’ve asked for it enough times. I am constantly seeking reassurance and asking for tips on all manner of parenting related subjects. The only difference is that, now, I can understand that some tips may not work for me. Rather than accept that a piece of advice is the ONLY advice out there, I am able to add it to a list of ideas and pick the one that best suits me, my child and my family.

It’s taken a long time, but I now fully realise that when it comes to being a parent, there is no “right way”. The only “right way” is the way that feels right for you. It really is that simple.

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Tootling off far from me, she chooses her own path, splashing in puddles of sea water gathering in the sand. On the wind, I catch her humming a vague tune all her own.

And then it catches me. That twinge of guilt. Is she lonely? 

Frog has no brother or sister to keep her company these summer holiday days. Not that she knows any different I suppose, but she positively lit up like a beacon when some other kids were at the park the other day.

When we planned to have a baby, we had always talked about “children”. We didn’t envisage having one “child”. I had a whole brood in my mind. A noisy tangle of limbs and laughter, chasing each other through the house, bundled into the back of the car for holidays.

Equally though, I didn’t imagine a toddler and a newborn. And then Frog wasn’t a toddler any more (she’s only three, mind you), but I didn’t imagine being pregnant and moving house. And I still don’t, actually.

We are in the middle of house-hunting, searching for a home to buy and finally settle in. It’s been two years of hard graft to save the money needed for a deposit, build my status as self-employed to the point where I’m making a good income and people want to lend me money.

I worked so hard over the last couple of years that now I’m no longer pulling 75 hour weeks I’m rather enjoying spending time with my little girl without feeling the kind of tired that makes you slur your words.

Although I look forward to our family one day expanding, I like our little brigade of three as it is, for now; when she appears at my side in the morning and clambers into bed, snuggling in to me with her blanket, while her dad snores on the other side of the bed. When we sit around the table at mealtimes and Frog is centre-stage with her stories of the day.

“She’ll be spoilt if you don’t have another soon,” someone said to me the other day. I argued that she’d be a diva with or without a sibling – I am living proof of that myself (when my sister arrived I simply saw her as a ready-made audience for my plays and dancing shows, especially as she was too little to turn her chair to face the other way).

“But there’s never a right time to have a baby,” someone else pointed out recently. True, but I really don’t fancy facing that bone-crunching exhaustion of early pregnancy while lugging round boxes and going through the stress of buying a house.

“But if you wait too long, they’ll have nothing in common,” another argument in favour of getting back on the baby wagon. My answer to this one is always the same: you can’t guarantee your kids will get along, just because they’re close in age. There’s four years between my sister and I and she is my best friend.

“But you’re not getting any younger,” a joke from a friend as we discussed the baby thing. I will be 30 in October. I don’t think that makes me old.

A baby is something I hope for again one day. But that day is not today. Or tomorrow, as it happens.

In the meantime, I hope Frog is happy being a lone ranger, splashing in puddles in the sand on her own. After all, she’s not really alone is she?

She’s got her mum and dad to splash with her, until the day when someone else may come along to share her puddles.

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And then I had my baby and that stream turned into a tidal wave.

From sleep positions to breastfeeding positions, the merits of the bottle to the best babygrows, my head was left spinning from the barrage of well-meant opinions sent my way. Whether it was an old lady in the street or the person taking my cash at the supermarket, everyone seemed to have something to offer me. It was like I was walking round with a huge placard above my head saying, “I AM A NEW MUM AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING, PLEASE HELP ME”.

Except I wasn’t carrying a placard. And I didn’t have no idea – not at first anyway. Before I even welcomed my baby into the world, I had one clear plan for how I was going to do things: I was going to trust my instincts and do what felt right at the time. And if I had no instinct then I was going to be open-minded and, again, do what felt right at the time.

But then I started listening to the advice. Maybe I SHOULDN’T pick her up straight away if she’s crying? Maybe I should have picked her up sooner just then? Should I leave her for a bit longer? I should have gone to her more quickly!

I started reading a couple of baby books that I’d stoically avoided during pregnancy. I tried to implement a routine and spent about three days panicking that I’d missed a secret baby signal and got the whole procedure wrong.

I bought a woven sling, determined to carry my baby around all day and not put her down, afraid she wouldn’t bond with me if she was left in her moses basket for a few minutes. And then someone told me that could lead to “bad habits” so I started wheeling her around in a pram. For about three weeks, I swung from one approach to another, listening with attention to every slice of advice that was slung at me. I read forums online, I lapped up the nuggets of wisdom Facebook had to offer me, I even started to soak up the words of strangers in the street.

And then I spoke to my dad. He’s wise, my dad. “The thing is with being a parent,” he told me, “Is that you can only do what feels natural to you. And what feels natural is bound to be what is right, for you. There’s no ‘right’ way you know, only the way that is right for you.”

It all slotted into place then. Finally, with a daughter aged 3 months old I felt ready to turn a deaf ear to the advice I didn’t ask for. Of course there are always moments when it’s good to thrash out a problem with someone who’s been there and done that, but if you’re perfectly happy with what you’re doing and you see no problem in the first place then that “advice” just becomes a confidence breaker.

Sometimes you have to make your own mistakes and work out your own path. Sometimes, you have to accept that what works for one baby won’t work for another. Sometimes you have to step back and see that what makes one mum happy will make another miserable.

I spent the day with a new mum today. She is amazing and doing an incredible job. How do I know that? Because I can see with my own two eyes that she loves her baby and also has a whole lot of common sense. And when it comes to being a parent, love and common sense go a very long way.

The post New mum: you ARE doing it “right” appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

I became a mum at 26. We didn’t own our own home and we weren’t married. But that was all OK, because that was part of The Plan. We moved from our town centre flat to a little cottage in a village, with the intention of saving and enjoying life as new parents. We had always discussed having two or three children, about four years apart.

The Plan involved buying a house before another child came along, getting married at some point and continuing with my career as a journalist. That evolved along the way, as we realised that childcare is blooming expensive and my meagre salary would barely cover the cost of a morning at nursery. So we made some adjustments and Ta Da! The Refined Plan was born.

Except that didn’t really work out either, because my work situation changed. And then we decided that we might not want to live in this area until we bought a house. And, actually, we weren’t quite ready for another baby yet. It dawned on us that perhaps The Refined Plan was not so much a helpful guide as a heavy weight hanging around our shoulders, taunting us with what we were yet to achieve.

And so, here we are.

We have made the bold decision to ditch the plan (see? I’ve even removed the capital letters). Instead we are running with a new way of doing things. It’s called the See What Will Happen And Enjoy Life In The Now route. Not so catchy, but far more fun.

The thing is, this lack of clarity over a big life plan seems to irk some people. Apparently, if you are a good, responsible parent, you need to map out each five years of your life and get from A to B seamlessly.

As my two year old hurtles toward her third birthday, I’m constantly reminded – often by complete strangers – that she doesn’t have a little brother or sister. Sometimes they look at my belly, as if searching for a bump, before seeking my empty arms for any sign of a newborn. They always appear disappointed when nothing is there.

I didn’t know this would be the case.

As if being a parent isn’t hard enough, with the minefield of decisions and constant “Am I doing enough? Am I doing it right?” questions, there is yet more thrown at us. Not only do we have to put up with divisions and judgments about whether we leave the house to go to work or stay home to look after the children, breast or bottlefeed, puree or baby-led wean, use a buggy or a sling – but now, it seems, our very choices about HAVING children are thrown into the spotlight.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been told to, “Hurry up and have another” before my child gets too old to “get along” with any potential sibling. When I joke that we’re not quite “ready yet” for another baby, I’m met with a raised eyebrow and a shrug, as if I’m irrationally peculiar for not immediately planning our second baby once we became pregnant with the first.

Life doesn’t work like that though. Life has a habit of throwing curve-balls and putting new opportunities and hurdles in our way. Life doesn’t always allow us to plan each year perfectly, map out each century, define each day.

Our new Not Plan doesn’t mean we aren’t motivated. It doesn’t mean we are existing from day to day without making provisions for the future. We still have wishes and wants and things to achieve together. We still have a journey to make as a family and an adventure to carve out.

But it won’t fit into some tidy, neat little grid. It won’t, because life isn’t a spreadsheet. Sometimes you’ve just got to ride the wave and accept you don’t know what’s on the other side.

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“There’s nothing attractive about pregnant women is there?” he chuckled.

My scowl made him quickly back-track, as he was actually looking at a picture of my own bump, taken just over two years ago now. But, equally, I completely disagreed with him.

“But some bumps are lovely,” I protested. “They’re the start of life, babies, something amazing,” I gushed. He stared back at me blankly. He obviously wasn’t buying it.

And the more I look back at photographs of myself from 2010, the more I think that – actually – I WAS attractive. I didn’t feel like it at the time. I felt huge, ungainly, swollen and grumpy. I felt tired and a little bit aprehensive.

But I also felt excited, happy and…. content. I felt completely and utterly content.

That’s something I haven’t felt for a year or so now. It’s a mixture of broodiness for another baby (one day!), ambition to do well in my career and the constant calculations of money and our savings account. The stuff of real life, basically.

It’s not that I’m not content as a mum. I adore my daughter. She’s made me. But I know that we’re not quite there yet. I know that we want our family to grow when we’re in a more settled place. I know that it won’t happen unless I work extremely hard and keep putting the hours and commitment in.

And then I take a step back and wonder if the feeling of contentment that I had while I lumbered around like a huge pregnant hippo, will ever properly come back at all. Even if we get to the place we want to be with our family and our house and our life, will I ever have that delicious feeling of calm in the way that I did when I was pregnant for the first time in my life?

Those moments of quiet, as I looked down at my rounded tummy and watched it flutter as a little foot kicked out. Those moments of satisfaction as I used my bump as a folding table to fold tiny babygrows and vests. Those minutes of dedicated concentration as I watched One Born Every Minute and vowed that I wouldn’t be *that* woman – the one to scream and shout swear words while pushing.

I was so completely wrapped up in my baby and my growing body two years ago, that there was no room for the outside world with all its troubles. Just me and my baby.

And there’s a beauty in that.

Photo taken by my friend, Caroline Gue.

***

This post was written for this week’s Gallery. Head over to Sticky Fingers to see the rest.

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The tears flowed freely when I heard my mum’s voice on the end of the phone.

“Nothing’s happening,” I sniffed. “I thought it was all kicking off yesterday, but everything’s stopped. I don’t feel like it’s safe in there anymore!”

I heaved my whale-like body into the passenger seat of a hot car and patiently allowed myself to be driven around the countryside by the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine, in the vague hope that the movement of the car might encourage this baby to make an appearance.

At eleven days past my due date, this was one stubborn child. Even the speed bumps at our local supermarket couldn’t get things started.

Returning home, laden with goodies for a barbecue (my husband knows the route to my heart), I was greeted with a surprise visit from my sister and mother. They bathed my newly fat feet in cold water and massaged my sore back.

And then it started.

That was two years ago today. The next morning I greeted my stubborn, beautiful little baby into the world.

She’ll be told this story tomorrow. And every other birthday I share with her.

(For the record, she’s still stubborn. And still beautiful.)

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***

It’s a dark, chilly October morning. I’m cold and feeling very low. My baby is crying because she’s tired and has the sniffles. I’m crying because I’m tired and have the sniffles. We both want to sleep.

The newborn bubble has well and truly burst. My beautiful daughter has reached four months and, while I love her so fiercely it makes my heart physically ache, I am exhausted. I feel spent and alone. My husband is at work all day and my friends haven’t yet got children. The hours until bedtime stretch ahead like a dark, sleepless void. I cry again.

I feel like I’ve failed my daughter somehow, because I’m not feeling bubbly and happy today. I feel like I’ve failed at motherhood somehow, because I’m not enjoying it this morning.

And then, a knock at the door.

It’s my next door neighbour. When I greet her, red-eyed and dribbly-nosed, she takes one look at me and puts her arms out. Without allowing for one word of protest, my neighbour takes my baby and sends me to bed. I sleep for two hours. Two long hours. I wake, refreshed, ready to feed my child, play with my child and be the mum I want to be.

You can read the rest of this post on the Netmums blog.

If you enjoy it, perhaps you might consider nominating me for a MAD Blog Award or voting for me in The Brilliance in Blogging Awards, for which I’m shortlisted in the Lit category.  Just a thought.

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