best reads


Frenemy

March 11th, 2010

Let’s take a break from children and talk about friends …the adult variety. I got all flaky on myself this weekend and threw a copy of Psychologies into my shopping trolley. I read it cover to cover and found it quite disturbing that I have reached the age that I can devour a self-discovery magazine with as much relish as I once poured over Hello. The article that got my attention though, was not the one on saving my relationship but the one on breaking up friendships.

When you have a child, the dynamics of friendship change completely … as does your relationship with your partner and yourself … But that’s not really what I want to talk about here, mainly because I inadvertently brought a child into the article.

I want to talk about a great friend of mine. Well, she used to be a great friend of mine until she discarded me and made me question myself and the reasons she felt I wasn’t ‘good enough’ to be her friend anymore. What I discovered was that it had nothing to do with who I am and everything to do with what I did. I changed the dynamics of our relationship.

Our friendship I thought was based on a strong bond that revolved around common goals, interests and the fact that we had similar aged children (there I go again). We were somehow always there for each other and discussed problems over tea, coffee, sushi, anything going, almost every week. What I only realised once the friendship was over and she claimed she needed to create some space in her life was that all the problems we had discussed were hers.

And the reason the friendship ended? Well, it was my fault entirely. I asked her advice one day about a big problem in my life. I changed the dynamics of the friendship and broke our contract. I made it about me and that wasn’t the deal.

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Rekindling the nappy debate

February 27th, 2010

There are some great innovations going on in the nappy arena:
Nature Babycare, designed by a Swedish mum who can’t even sell them in Sweden; Nature Boy and Girl, based on same; Seventh Generation and gDiaper, to name a few.

These new innovations are all fabulous, trendy and partly nature friendly … Most claim to be compostable although there is a claim by some that the tabs and elastic edges take as long as a regular disposable to biodegrade (500 years!)

But, until you actually try the straight terrycloth variety, you just can’t knock it in terms of cost, fit, comfort, ease of washing and the most important part: recycling. The most green disposable nappy is Nature Babycare and even that is only 60% biodegradable – the best there is but still not perfect and when our landfills are filling up at an alarming rate, we need way closer to perfection than that. And then there is still the issue of wood pulp – all disposables, eco or not, use wood pulp and here lies the obvious issue of sustainability.

The shaped cloth nappies are great for parents who believe folding a terry square is beyond them … but what do you use them for when baby is all grown up? The simple terry squares win the day when baby grows up – they become kitchen rags, DIY clean-up cloths and even gym towels. Now that’s eco savvy, totally waste free and sustainable.

Links for your info:
http://www.naty.com/uk/Products/tabid/55/Main/Nature-Babycare/Sub/Nappies/MainId/3/SubId/21/Default.aspx
http://www.gdiapers.com/gdiapers101/flush-compost-or-toss

http://www.seventhgeneration.com/Diapers

See my link to a previous article for ready-folded terrycloth nappies:

http://www.bhalababy.com/2007/10/14/dispose-or-reuse/

And if you have any questions about how to go about starting down the route of sustainable eco-friendly terrycloth, I am always available to help – the environment means the world to me and my boy.

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Some toys should be locked away

February 15th, 2010

A very long time ago I was embarrassed by a child I once looked after. She was four at the time and I was nineteen and we were playing hairdressers in her room … as one does … when she told me that her daddy was in love with me but he couldn’t marry me because he was married to her mum. Guess who was standing behind me? There was a lot of awkward eye shifting and foot shuffling and mutterings before her dad walked away and the incident was never mentioned again.

My child never embarrassed me … until recently. It was my husband’s birthday party and the house was full of people – mostly the short variety. Adults and children were playing in every room of the house. It was a good day.

There are items in the house that have been forgotten about since having a child … items that I often wish weren’t forgotten but circumstances prevail and … well, these things just get forgotten. But not by the child. He had seen something that, when it came to playing cops and robbers, he knew would be a great asset to the game. He walked proudly into the room swinging the pink fur-coated handcuffs. It could have been worse … but not much, I doubt. I might have even blushed and, for once, I couldn’t blame it on champagne.

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Trusting the Prosperity Tart

January 29th, 2010

While working in London, indulging in the fruits from the capitalist tree, there was always a deep feeling that there was more; that I was meant to be doing something more meaningful. I vowed to juice my capitalist fruit, chop down the tree and plant a new kind of seed one day.

That day never came. What did come was a seed that I didn’t want planted – a child that threw my life upside down and several years of believing my dreams were over because my life was no longer in my control.

A friend of mine – and great tart maker – has adapted the term coined by SARK, the author of Prosperity Pie
http://www.planetsark.com/eshop_products_books_feat_01.htm

She makes a list of what she wants at the beginning of each new year and tucks it away somewhere, only revisiting it at what she terms her personal AGM mid year and year end. And she rarely sees a year through without achieving at least 90% of her listed items.

Like trusting the process, this method is meant to free your mind to recognising the immediate opportunities without always focussing on whether they will achieve your ultimate goals.

It’s never been my strong point.

But, having said that, while fighting the process and trying to open all the doors to what I have wanted, I inadvertently left a window wide open and my child climbed in. And with him came everything I ultimately ever wanted. The child I never wanted saved me from the person I wanted to be and made me into the person I am meant to be.

Trust the process and you can have your prosperity pie and eat it too.

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In Limbo

October 30th, 2009

I crossed over into the life of my parallel dweller. It was temporary – 10 days – and it was fabulous. I booked to travel to Paris and London to run a race, visit friends and stroll the High Streets of my heyday. I counted down the weeks, days, hours and minutes to my departure, planning everything in minute detail so as to not miss out on anything I had been hankering for.

I have a friend who won’t leave her child for a night and I have friends who will leave happily for three weeks and I have friends who have varying levels of tolerance for staying away from their kids … somewhere between those two extremes. I don’t yet know where I fit.

Leaving my husband and child was filled with mixed feelings of ‘get me out of here’ and ‘I’m a terrible mother for wanting to leave so badly’. It was made worse by the call I got while going through passport control – my child was in a state because he was under the impression that I was leaving forever (perhaps he just knows me well enough to realise what a fine line I was traversing trying to connect with ‘the other side’).

I had pangs of wanting to take my child with me on my mini-adventure and a small amount of separation anxiety – a direct result of his having formed so much a part of my identity for so long now. But, once on that plane, I had shunned my mothering comfort zone and assumed my old identity – I was a free agent, meeting people as a confident, independent woman; a person I thought I had lost. The next ten days, as you can well imagine, were a whirlwind of plugging back into the grid of soul connections and lifestyle adjustments. I rode the rollercoaster of hating every minute and never wanting it to end. I was high on adrenalin and I almost valued my fix enough to call home and say I was staying. Instead … well, I’m back after tearful farewells and aching hellos … and it’s as though I haven’t quite left the fairground, but everyone’s packed up and gone home.

I feel now like I have an overloaded system of unprocessed information and things undone. I have launched myself into a state of limbo between lives; between choices; and I find myself pining again for what might have been. I have one foot in my parallel dweller’s life and it feels like she wants to keep it there – perhaps out of spite for what she sees I have … so much of what she will never have.

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My parallel dweller

October 29th, 2009

In my latest therapy session we discussed all the many ways my life has changed. Could I say I regret having had a child or would it be more accurate to say that he has got me to where I am today and contributed to the person I am right now?

I have always been aware of that sassy chick in my parallel universe who has a great job earning a great salary that allows her to buy the things she wants and enables her to travel to Japan and Brazil on a whim. She is confident because her clothes aren’t always in a state, she can still wear heels and her stomach muscles are still as taut as when she was thirteen.

There’s no doubt I am still aware of her but I now look at her with admiration, not envy. She possesses a lifestyle of different choices and though some may seem so much better from where I’m standing, I am certain my choices show a lifestyle just as enviable to someone on her side.

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Speaking of choices …

October 22nd, 2009

Something that keeps coming up amongst my peers is the decision to work full time or not. I know what it feels like on the inside – believe me I have been there, desperate to have more of everything good, terrified of giving up anything in case I need it later and paranoid about not being able to provide for the future. But, looking in now from the outside, I have so much faith in the process of a holistic lifestyle. I can’t consume what I don’t have and can’t waste what I don’t have. My choices are more limited but my enjoyment of life totally unrestricted. There is a calmness as though life is slower, more meaningful and less inhibited than before. It seems the more one has, the higher and nearer we place the boundaries … and when you have less, there is no end to the potential you can achieve.

I was chatting to a friend (you know, the ones we non-working mums meet up with for play dates) about ambition and success. Her father-in-law had a simple life and a regular 9-5 job, put all his children through tertiary education and was a respected and loved man. Compared to a man in a powerful executive job who hardly saw his children, apart from annual family holidays, we were weighing up the benchmarks of success. I’m sure if there were a vote the outcome would be more or less equal based on the perspective of the person voting. As for my vote … it’s pretty obvious what it would be – success means nothing unless it has a positive impact on the significant people in that person’s life. What’s the point otherwise? If the choice boils down to a simple education thing, is it better to be able to afford to put your child through ’varsity or is it better to see him and help nurture him before then so he is better able to put himself through ’varsity? My child is still little so I choose to see him – I might, however, change my mind when he becomes a teenager :) I see so many parents torn between their need to see their children and their neurosis about their nest egg and recently a lot of people have lost their nest egg despite their choice to grow that instead of their children. Obviously there are people who don’t have the choice and have to be a double-income family. But if no one’s going to die if things are downscaled, then surely the choice is a simple one. This isn’t a judgement of people who want more as I totally get it – I get ambition and the freedom money can buy – I just need to make the point that all choices come with compromise and it’s best to be certain you can live with whatever that compromise may be.

Sure it’s always going to be scary – what important choice is ever not scary? – but it’s a matter of going to the edge and taking the leap of faith to see if flight is possible. There would be no reason to live if it weren’t for the challenges in life – after all, it is the challenges that make life what it is in the first place.

I don’t know anyone so far who hasn’t jumped first and then made the choice to fly.

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Sibling survival

October 20th, 2009

Everyone likes company from time to time and the easiest way to get it is from a sibling … often yet certainly not always the case. But this is no reason to keep breeding. Survival instincts just change for a child who is destined to be on his own. An only child can play with whomever he likes, wherever he likes, whenever he likes … and doesn’t have to play with anyone when he doesn’t feel like it. He is neither restricted to siblings nor forced into relationships he doesn’t want.

Children with siblings tend to remain in their comfort zone, as there is little need to look beyond that zone. Parents can make this worse by forcing friendships to form between siblings, which are often not the natural relationships, and at the same time not encourage lasting relationships outside of the family unit. I can’t help but wonder what kind of restrictions this places on the child in other areas of life later on.

People ask if my child wants a sibling. Yes, of course he does … but he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s four and people actually think he should be the one who gets to decide. I also get asked regularly why I don’t want to at least try for a little girl … little girls are a mystery; big girls are a mystery … I have three sisters so I don’t even want to go there.

I would hate to place myself as the benchmark on these issues but, having grown up in a big family, I can honestly say that it is far better to have friends scattered around the globe; friends who drift in and out of my life, as well as a potential pool of friends just waiting to be made, than siblings who feel entitled somehow to a pound of flesh for coming from the same womb. Everyone is as dysfunctional as the next person; I just like to be the one to choose which dysfunctional people I want to hang out with.

After all, there are no answers … only choices.

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BLOG ACTION DAY: Climate Change

October 15th, 2009

I was thinking about this and wondering how to incorporate this topic into a baby blog … until it became totally clear when speaking to my father about recycling and the use of chemical fertilisers. He said that in 2050 he won’t be alive and that he can basically do whatever he likes until he dies because he will not have to live through the consequences. This is a man with four children and five grandchildren.

I have a child and that brings with it tremendous responsibility to the earth as the earth will ultimately sustain my legacy. Not only is having a child a huge carbon footprint I am leaving on this earth but also a huge risk. He is already very environmentally savvy because, no matter how much money I deposit into his bank account every month, he’s not going to be able to buy himself anything if the earth is sick and people are suffering and he has to fight for his survival.

The best thing I can do, this Blog Action Day, is to send you to three separate websites which fully explain the plight of our world. They explain exactly what climate change is and the effects it will have on our future generations of children: things that include malnutrition, susceptibility to heat stroke, increased illness, lung damage and inhibited growth. Millions of children, predominantly in the developing nations, are going to be affected if money isn’t poured into climate change … not forgetting that everyone can do their bit at home rather than waiting for their government to act.

25 Million malnourished children in 2050
Diverting Aid for Climate Change Threatens Children – Oxfam says
American Academy of Pediatrics – Global Climate Change and Children’s Health

I’ll draw your attention again to the Story of Stuff (link on right) – it’s my favourite website and it points out the very basics of how everyone can do something to reduce their carbon footprint and be more aware of the impact they are having on this now fragile earth.

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Pride vs. Modesty

August 12th, 2009

How do you teach your child about modesty? Yeah, yeah, I know he’s only three … but I’m obsessive compulsive and therefore have to feel great pain over trivial things on a daily basis. My need to be the perfect mother … or is that my need to have the perfect child? Whatever! My need is getting in the way of a happy marriage … according to the other person who is the target of my obsession. Or perhaps it’s because he is not enough of a target anymore now that there is a child to dilute my anal perfectionism. But, since that has absolutely nothing to do with the title, more to the point now.

I have noticed that everything my child has is better than anything any other child has … according to him only, that is. I blame myself … of course (see opening paragraph!) … mainly, I suppose, because I try and teach him to be proud of what he has. And somewhere along the line, the boundaries got blurred. Combine the pride and the blurred boundaries with his confidence and here is a child who will approach anyone and tell them about all the things he has. And, I have to admit, there is a certain smugness there.

Precocious was a swear word when I was growing up … not that I have any problem with swear words or anything, but I feel the need to use this particular one now when referring to my child. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to be now that children can actually be both heard as well as seen. But that still leaves me with a gap where the modesty lesson should follow.

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Facebook Friends

July 28th, 2009

I had friends … you might call them acquaintances … in London, who have moved back to South Africa, had children, and totally dropped under the radar. I know it is normal to change friends when you have a child … after all you have a new identity and you need to be comfortable with that new identity without feeling like a total fraud because you have become a totally different person. Then there are the friends you have that are even better friends for the very same reason.

And then there are the Facebook friends … the people you once knew but who have now become their children – even on Facebook. I battle to get even a glimpse into the lives of people I haven’t seen in years because they have placed themselves behind their new personas as parents. There is the tricky issue of new last names … an argument I won’t get into as I kinda get the deal even though I am totally anti the idea myself … and the fact they use pictures of their children for their profile pictures. And all they ever discuss are things to do with theirs or other’s children and child-related things.

It’s fine to be proud of your children – obviously I realise that – but surely you lose yourself if you never let yourself see the light of virtual day. Somewhere behind the parent lurks the free-spirited singleton … surely!

Perhaps it is my own character that is flawed in thinking that no one could possibly be that attached to parenthood to want to become someone else in order to fulfil a stereotypical role. But is it too much to ask to just have my friends back the way they were even when I know they will never be the same again …?

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So what is it you’re doing now?

July 20th, 2009

It’s happened. That face that I saw in the mirror three years ago, two years ago and even last year was a different face to the one I see today. I saw a mother on the verge of a nervous breakdown and I saw a person stuck in societal traps, and I have been punching my way out of that box for years. I am out. After years of self-doubt, self-flagellation and general self-loathing, I can today look in the mirror and see a different reflection.

I used to hate that question: ‘So what is it that you do?’ I used to stumble and stammer and make a total botch up, not knowing what exactly I did do … I was stuck in a kind of limbo, a time warp between lives or stages. Having a child in your 30s does lend itself to a small amount of confusion when all this happens and you automatically assume it is the proverbial mid-life crisis. I have grown up with a mother who has always tried to force me into the housewife box, a box that is both too small and too regular in shape to fit even my big toe … so it stung when people automatically made that assumption as soon as I gave birth (a lot like the people at my wedding who made the assumption that I would cease to work as soon as the nuptials were complete). I could have claimed to be on maternity leave but that would have prompted more forceful enquiries of, ‘So, what is it you do?’ i.e. what great job is this maternity leave sandwiched between.

After years of trying to find my mojo and getting myself into a tizz over not earning, not achieving, not contributing and making not the blindest bit of difference, I found my space and my place. I made a choice. I’m working on my second book and in-between writing days I do volunteer work in community schools. I suppose I am lucky that I did well for myself before having a baby, and my husband is able to cover the bills. But it is not an easy choice relinquishing power and accepting a dependant role. I have made a lifestyle choice for the whole family, limiting our earnings to a single income and I have to live with the consequences. But, paying or not, I have never enjoyed any job more than the ones I am doing now so that makes it a relatively easy choice after all.

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Safe baby dumping

May 25th, 2009

Yes, I realise how absurd that sounds but there is a company that has set up a system whereby a mother can deposit her unwanted baby in a box: as she places the baby inside, a message goes out to relevant people and, within five minutes, someone arrives to take care of the baby.

I am involved in a project called the Hero Book Project (look at digitalherobook.org) to get a general idea of what it’s all about) and today I was told by a scared and confused 8-year-old that she had seen police arrive in her community to take photos of a dismembered baby someone had found stuffed into a metal drum. She described it to me in great detail and explained how, when she told her father about it, he had rushed off to check if it was her baby sister.

To put the frequency of this problem into perspective, the same story was told by an adult at the school but told in such a way that it sounded more like a common inconvenience than something that only happens rarely enough to make a big deal out of it. If I am honest, I can compare it to my annoyance at hearing that another person had thrown themselves under the train on the Underground … upsetting only because it meant I would be late for work.

But I digress. For most of you reading this post, the idea is too horrific to confront and think about, but please spread the website … and the word … because no one really knows how desperate a woman can be when faced with the prospect of an unwanted child.

Baby dumping is not an issue that can be ignored. And finally there is an organisation that has taken on the task of really dealing with it by providing mothers with an alternative. The only way any organisation like this can truly work is through input and support so please log onto thebabysafe and see how you can help.

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More choice?

May 10th, 2009

As I stumble down the stairs with yet another bundle of laundry, I can’t help but ponder my choices … specifically the one that prevents me from chasing down my parallel dweller and demanding my life back so I can go to work and leave all this behind. The child wet his bed, the dog is particularly needy and the husband is being passed over for all the small stuff that seems to never get done without the correct prioritising. It’s a mess. It’s my mess. It scatters me.

What defines you as a failure? Who decides? Do we? Or do we put that decision in the hands of people who care little about us, and possibly don’t even know us at all?

Considering my choices, I realise that value does not come with a paycheque. Too many people are working too hard to prove that they are valuable and getting nothing but grey hair and a redundancy package.

It’s entirely up to you whether you want to feel like a complete failure … or whether you can accept that you are just changing your focus and accept that you have been a success and you can still be a success – just without the paycheque. Having said that, it took me almost three years to realise that I didn’t have to run screaming from motherhood and that equality doesn’t come with that paycheque but rather with a meeting of minds. I do sometimes hanker for my life without a child, for the comaraderie of a job, for the satisfaction of knowing I am going to get paid even if I am not really valued.

I saw a stone statue of a woman at Kirstenbosch. It is a woman carved in stone, sleek and bold, elegant and poised. The plaque read something along the lines of: a woman wants to be beautiful and respected but also wants to retain some of the traditional values. The woman I was there with has a 2-year old daughter and she has decided now to quit work as she’s done the whole corporate thing for so long and she realises she is missing out on the other stuff at a time when the ‘other stuff’ is slowly disappearing (i.e. each day that passes is a day you can’t get back with your children). I also read something in a Steve Biddulph book that goes something like: the work of the old days took physical labour but at least it only took your body; these days you have to give your soul.

We have too many choices as women these days but what we have to realise is that they are still choices. We don’t have to do it all. We actually get to choose. It’s pretty fabulous if only we could deal with our choices and not always want what we have given up.

I work for free now, giving my time in little ways to children who need me. My paycheque is the incredible satisfaction I get from reaching out. And because I now have a job to go to, it doesn’t matter that there is no actual paycheque because I have finally found where I need to be. This makes the work I do at home so much more valuable to me as it no longer scatters me but keeps me grounded. I realise now how easy it is to slip into the dark places.

There’s been a shift. I am finally comfortable in this space as I have accepted it ‘for now’. I am giving my heart but I am not giving my soul.

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Nappies … yes, again

May 8th, 2009

This is for the benefit of a friend of mine who thinks I harp on about the subject just a little too much. I see her point … but that doesn’t prevent me from wanting to keep making mine.

I am puzzled by the claim by Pampers that there is little difference in the environmental impact caused by disposables versus cloth nappies. Perhaps, at a stretch, the old fashioned way of doing the cloth nappies (and I mean decades ago) may have had an equally damaging effect on the environment–the nappies were put in buckets and collected by companies in trucks who would take all the nappies to a central laundry where they would be boiled in all sorts of chemicals and dried in huge industrial machines before being pressed and driven back to the collection point.

Even so, this cannot have contributed as harmfully as the massive landfills created by disposable nappies. In England and America alone, 25 BILLION nappies are thrown away each year so it isn’t surprising that 33% of landfills are made up of disposable nappies. Add to that the fact that they take almost 3 HUNDRED years to decompose, meaning that not one disposable nappy has decomposed yet! This is just the half of it; if you start Googling the harmful effects, you will find out about the trees that are cut down to make the nappies, the forests that are destroyed to make the pulp that is used for the gels, etc. etc. The negatives are endless and there is only one positive: convenience.

There is no argument about environmental damage and which variety of nappy is worse … yet people still allow themselves to be tempted by the perceived convenience of disposables. It’s a no-brainer.

I have used both and can state categorically that, not only are the cloth variety no less convenient, but there are actually so many benefits to using them, which I can enthuse about only because I was an instant convert when I started using them when my child was 5 months old. I could have chosen any number of a variety of pre-shaped cloth nappies that require no folding … but folding a square of terrycloth into a nappy is easier than making a paper plane so it didn’t warrant the extra expense (the point is there is no excuse about the folding as there are options). My child had not a single bout of nappy rash due to the cloth being a natural substance and because there are wonderful things called nappy liners, which keep baby dry and which are flushable. My child knew when he was wet or when he had made a poo, which made it so much easier to get him out of nappies really early (yes, I can boast that he was in proper undies at one year)–so, again, a way more convenient option because I only had to wash nappies for just over 6 months. The only equipment required was a nappy bucket with a safety lid which was kept in the bathroom filled with water and a natural organic nappy sterilizer … this meant that the nappies only had to go into the machine every weekend and they could be washed at an environmentally-friendly forty degrees in thirty-five minutes before being hung up to dry.

They may have tiny feet but bringing a child into this world leaves a massive carbon footprint. The least a parent can do is make choices that this little person will not have to pay for in several decades time. It’s time to take an ethical stand and think about the big picture of having a child and not just the selfish desire to procreate.

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Isn’t it ironic …?

May 8th, 2009

I worked to the point of obsession (me and Gina) to promote independence and a sense of self. I ensured that my child would be in bed every night be 7 p.m. so that my husband and I could have time … adult time. My child slept in his cot from day one and only slept in our bed on occasion during daytime sleeps and very rarely at night if he was too sick and we were too tired to attend to him (up and down the spiral staircase!). It’s not easy following such a strict routine but it pays off when your child responds and never gets between you in bed.

Well, that was the idea.

Despite all efforts, he came between us anyway … not physically but emotionally. He is always there. And there remain so many unspoken conversations about how we both feel in our new identities as parents. Being a parent is a vulnerable and fragile time and it is often not treated with the respect it deserves. I am a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a lover, a writer, a patient, a client, a consultant, an employer, a dog owner, a Beetle driver, a shoe lover, an optimist, a runner, a breather … and so much more, I could risk running out of blog space. But when I added mother to this list, it tipped the scales, and balance is something I have been seeking ever since. I find it so difficult to switch and juggle a multi-faceted personality … but only when I am in the role as mother. My new persona takes so much from the old ones and it’s difficult enough trying to deal with those stats when you’re also playing out a guilt trip about what your new role is draining from your partner’s other personas. You whine and moan about not getting enough space when it’s just the two of you … but when there’s three, space is the one thing you could happily do without.

Does he know he’s getting between us? Of course not. I used to tell him he was ruining my life … and he developed a sense of humour. Now, I giggle with him all day and deal with the other stuff when he’s gone to bed.

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Smacking

May 5th, 2009

My child is a little old soul all wrapped up in a brand new body, full of wise words, a sociable disposition, a clever sense of humour, an awesome vocabulary and many, many lessons.

Just as he has lulled me into a sense of complacency and illusion that I have a very mature child, he will throw himself on the ground, throw anything he has in his hands at the time, tell me that I have a problem and refuse to do anything I ask of him. These are the terrible twos that have taken over a year to get here … and a rattling reminder that he is in fact a perfectly normal 3-year-old.

I made a vow before he was born that I would never smack him–it never worked on me but, instead, broke me … something I always suspected was the intention my parents had in the first place trying to deal with a brood of four and having little idea of how to go about that very tricky task. I have stuck to my vow even though I have to admit that there are moments when he gets so stroppy with me that I am tempted to klap him right across the room. These urges used to be a lot stronger when dealing with my anger at having had him in the first place–those days when I was convinced he had ruined my life and liberated me from my parallel dweller who wears her shopping and travelling fetishes on her sleeve–that I would remove myself from the room where he was performing just in case my anger got the better of me … a time when my stubbornness has served me well–I was, under no circumstances, going to turn into my mother.

If I can connect to my anger for long enough to take a deep breath and realise that it’s my stuff I’m dealing with and it has nothing to do with him–he is, after all, behaving like all 3-year-olds should–I am always amazed at how suddenly he drops his arms, puts a big smile on his face and carries on as though nothing has happened. As mystifying as it is maddening.

Something to ponder then is that perhaps the changed behaviour in children who are smacked has less to do with the smack and more to do with the fact that they are just following an inbuilt chain of events.

There is just no way I can smack him … how else would I be able to teach him that it is best to take out his frustrations on a cushion … or on the very same punch bag I used to defer my feelings of anger for him.

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What happened to the village?

April 28th, 2009

I have a friend who believes in this concept – amazingly, just the one. There are those who get really uptight if you so much as reprimand their kids for such indiscretions as smacking, kicking or even biting your own precious offspring. And then there are those who believe that bringing up baby all on your own is a lark and if not for the input from all around, your child would not be quite as balanced as one would wish. Perhaps all the breeding for more and more kids has a lot to do with parents trying to create their own mini-village … who knows. I certainly don’t have a clue what it’s all about and I could spend this lifetime and the next trying to figure it out.

Like any crisis that happens en mass, people tend not to individualise in order to better contain it. This seems to be what happens with parenthood – it happens to everyone who has a child so parents are grouped together into one collective and a rule of generalisation is applied to everyone in the collective. But, behind the scenes, there are people screaming in pain at the stress of it. Broken marriages, non-existent sex lives, grey hair and emotionally screwed up children.

It is not easier being part of the collective … ‘the collective’ is not the same as ‘the village’.

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Those people

March 30th, 2009

We are no longer the cool couple with the throw-away lifestyle, the fabulous wardrobe of designer styles and the list of RSVPs to get through. A weekend away at a designer hotel, strutting onto the plane in killer heels pulling designer luggage is something in my history books. The plane is now a 4×4, the killer heels, hiking boots, designer luggage? – the only luggage is pure essentials as the toys and kids clothes take up all the space and the only thing I pull is my 50kg dog.

I used to book a weekend away every six weeks and those weekends always involved a flight and a lot of room service. Now the only places that will have us (with our child and dog) are those horrid places that have polyester bedding and no heating in winter. Room service? – there is generally not even coffee or tea supplied.

So, I spend an awful lot of time searching the wwweb for pet-friendly holiday accommodation and usually end up not going away due to never being able to find something that is suitable for both pooch and us and I am still more than reluctant to put him in kennels because … well, because he is not so much a pooch as my first born (but you know this already). House/dog-sitters are rare but when found I thought it would be a breeze to book luxury accommodation for two adults and a toddler. Not so! I have been amazed at how much effort I have had to put into a search, only to find on step 12 or 13 that kids are either not allowed or are only accepted after a certain age. That was until I discovered the Portfolio Collection website. They have a specific search for places where children are welcome.

Check out their travel blog too, and look at the Kids of Nature website, where you can browse through other parents’ stories of traveling with their kids and share your own travel tips too.

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Breaking down value system

October 31st, 2008

When Annie Leonard (www.storyofstuff.com) looked in the mirror a couple of decades ago, maybe the current Annie Leonard was the furthest thing from her imagination … or wildest dreams. Perhaps she cursed her reflection because she failed an exam or a job interview or didn’t make the grade to compete in the Olympics. I am not saying any of these things happened … but they might have. They might have happened to set her up to a challenge that she had no idea she would have to face, back then. And here she is, trying to save the world by standing on a soapbox (one made of 100% recycled material of course). The Story of Stuff is also a story about how stuff happens … and we’ve all been there.

If Al Gore had become president, he might have been too wrapped up to investigate and discuss climate change – global awareness was key to launching his ideas. I don’t mean to frighten anyone or set anyone up to fail by making them think they have to be that huge to be noticed or recognised as achieving … but, perhaps when things don’t go exactly according to plan, it’s because there is another plan that’s just out of the picture right now and you just need to pan around a bit to find it. There are different paths and we all have to find our own. Flexibility is something that is shut down in most of us because it allows freedom of spirit and in this day and age that is considered a dangerous quality as it means you will be unable to conform …

We’re so trapped by society that even if we know what the problems are, we get stuck anyway.

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Is green ever green enough?

October 30th, 2008

So, where did it all start – my crazed-bear obsession with the environment? Well, it started slow – terry cloth nappies, solar powered boiler, gas heaters, wood fires (using wood from alien trees), recycling … and then I was sent a web address: www.storyofstuff.com and I fell head over heels in total ‘fatal-attraction’ love with the whole concept of sustainable living.

Everyone should watch Annie Leonard’s mini movie and look at her tips to find another way to exist on this finite planet. Sure, it’s hard to be a total convert, but we all have to start somewhere. Dieters who start their diets on Monday can continue to do so as long as their attitude to the environment doesn’t also spell procrastination. Everyone has to start today to do his or her bit and no one is going to mind if it’s just a small bit … as long as it’s something.

To give you a kick in the right direction, try Wiser earth to get involved with the greater good. And speaking of the greater good, have a look at Greater Good. There is a South African equivalent which has less to do with the environment and more to do with … well … the greater good:

Enjoy the march. Besides anything else, marching beats dieting.

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If only all men could lift the seat

October 7th, 2008

Ok, so we all know my child was toilet trained by his first birthday … the whole of Cape Town seems to know and it has become urban legend. I was not trying to prove anything but purely exercising my need for self-preservation. I wanted to go the terry-cloth route but couldn’t cope with washing them (despite the Marigolds) … so I had to devise a plan. By ensuring all ‘pushing’ was done out of the nappy (something that took a fair amount of vigilance), poo nappies were practically eliminated by the time he was six months old. The rest came easy. He didn’t know any different – the toilet was always the place to do the business and there was no struggle associated with having to get him used to the toilet after years of feeling comfortable sitting in his own faeces (which, let’s face it, is just not right).

When I was pregnant I used to tease that I had a parasite … until I my ‘parasite’ actually got a parasite. He was nine months old and the culprit was Giardia. This karmic payback not only caused the filling of terry cloth and waterproof liner but also the spreading of said parasite-infested faeces down child’s trousers, out past the ankles, down my jeans, onto the car seat and baby seat … all while lifting my child out of the shopping trolley and into the car to go home. Eco or not, there was no salvaging that one – the child was stripped and hosed down in winter frost on the front lawn and the terrycloth nappy and liner were promptly disposed of.

The point that is becoming so hard to make here is that all those things usually associated with potty training that no one thinks has anything to do with anything else because everyone is brainwashed into believing that the only time one can potty train is after two and only once the child has indicated certain personality changes … have more to do with things that are going to happen anyway. Around the time that traditional potty training takes place, my child went through the hand washing, the need to watch the poo flush away, holding the poo in until it hurt etc. … yet he had already been out of nappies for over a year.

So does it not stand to reason that all the pressure parents put on themselves to look for cues and then try and get their kids trained is totally unnecessary as this is just part of the normal developmental stages?

Which leads me to the obvious conclusion that I am now confident that I did it the right way after all … despite all the critisicm and warnings that it just wasn’t normal and that I would find out later on when he regressed. He didn’t regress and happily uses the toilet by himself, even lifting the seat when he does so … and he is not yet three.

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Love on the merry-go-round

August 12th, 2008

“I’d have more children if I didn’t have a husband”, says a mother of four.

This may be because there is just not enough love to go around … after all, when you run out of love … Who do you love more? The man you have been with—seemingly for an eternity—who has ‘gotten used to you’ or the child who has just rocked up in your life and ‘needs you more than you will ever know’.

This tiny little human who has stolen its mother’s every waking moment, and every last drop of effort and energy usurps your husband’s position and deprives him of a little bit of your love.

It transpires that something’s gotta give when there just ain’t enough love to go around. In my case, the fairground attraction ended when my husband, used to a high dose of merry-go-round, had to make do with the swings. Back and forth didn’t do it for him; he went tummy-butterfly cold turkey and ditched the fair completely.

Aaaaanyway, fair or not, he suffered without his full dose, dished out a fair amount of rejection and lost a fair amount of passion in the deal. The baby ended up getting all the love for a while … and the husband is only just managing to function on his reduced dosage.

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Galleries in Paris

February 18th, 2008

If you have a baby and you don’t want that to get in the way of a good holiday, go to Europe where they are tolerated in even the trendiest restaurants and even woken up by friendly restaurant staff and fellow patrons … usually when you have just got them to sleep in their prams … people want them around. And if you are into a cultural trip to see great art, Paris is the place to be on even the busiest long weekend with the most popular masterpieces on show.

It seemed too easy – taking a 7-month-old baby on holiday to London and Paris had images of crying in queues, restaurants, planes and trains. People still claim I’m just one of those lucky mums with an easy child. I can’t claim to not have had luck, as I can’t claim to know what it would be like any other way. What I can claim is that, even if there had been an element of luck involved, it also had a lot to do with dedication, perseverance and tenacity (and that’s baby and me).

To digress slightly, there was an issue with dummy sucking as opposed to thumb sucking. My baby started sucking his thumb as soon as he could get it to his mouth (around 6 weeks) and I switched his thumb for a dummy every time due to the nattering of concerned friends and relatives. Once I realised that dummy sucking involved getting up in the night to replace the dummy every time it fell out (spiral staircase one unfortunate obstacle), I withheld the dummy until my baby learnt to either go to sleep without it or use his thumb or blanket (this involved only two sleep times worth of crying to sort out). But, back to the story …

I booked a flight to coincide as closely as possible with my baby’s sleep routine. Because he had a blanket (several actually but all pretty similar) that he was attached to at sleep time and because he sucked his thumb, he knew it was sleep time as soon as I gave him his blanket and promptly started sucking his thumb … to coincide with take off (and middle ear neutralising!) He then slept all night until the lights went on in the cabin, by which time he (as well as all passengers in close proximity) was well rested.

To digress again, we ordered a TwinArc Travel Cot by LittleLife online, which we had posted to where we were staying in London. This is the most lightweight travel cot you can buy and, therefore, does not reduce your luggage allowance by too much. And, while I’m on the topic of luggage, the pram does not get counted towards your allowance because you push your baby in it all the way to the plane where it gets put in the hold last minute (and not weighed in).

Because baby was following The Routine, there was no issue with putting the cot in our room as he was used to going to sleep at certain times and was not even unsettled by the different environment because we prepared him (never underestimate how much a non-speaking baby can understand) and never made a fuss about putting him in his travel cot to sleep. This gave us free reign to go out when we wanted to and because we were shopping and sightseeing every day, all we had to do was put the pram in recline mode, throw a blanket over the top to block out some light and, hey presto, baby would fall asleep effortlessly … because he was used to The Routine. There are certainly pros and cons to The Routine and I would never be able to convince someone to follow one unless they were that way inclined from the start … but being free to wander the streets of London and Paris with a perfectly rested baby is certainly one of the pros.

Where the luck came in was visiting galleries and exhibitions in Paris where the queues wrapped around buildings and stretched down streets for what seemed like miles. There was always a kindly guard wandering around, ushering all parents with small children to a special queue, which was immensely shorter. At the Picasso museum we even got a personal guide to show us the easiest route and help us into the private elevators.

If you are more geared for rave holidays in Goa and Ibiza, The Routine probably isn’t for you because what parent wants their baby to go to sleep at 7 p.m. and wake up at 7 a.m. when they only get to bed around 7 a.m. themselves?

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Sleep Deprived

February 11th, 2008

A term always used when referring to new parents … but almost never when referring to the new baby. It is usually common for the baby to get all the sleep it requires. Unless, that is, you think Gina is the Rabbi and you are prepared to do whatever it takes for your baby to fall into The Routine.

You don’t let the new baby sleep in your room, let alone in your bed; you never allow the baby to sleep when the Fridge Rules clearly state it is playtime, and you never rock the baby to sleep … ever.

The Rules are very clear on the need to keep the baby awake for two hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon for playtime. What they are not clear on is that the Rules are specifically in place to help parents with babies who don’t like to sleep. And what they should be especially clear on is that the parent should not distress if baby would rather sleep for 24 hours a day than lie on its play mat and look interested.

I woke him when he was sleeping. I tried to play with him while he was sleeping. I talked and sang at the top of my voice to try and prevent him from sleeping. I tried everything in my power to keep him awake when The Rules dictated. I deprived my baby of sleep. And then I complained of being sleep deprived myself.

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A Message in a Bottle

February 6th, 2008

Or rather, a message about a bottle … a bottle of cold pressed sesame seed oil.

I was too stubborn to do the baby-bathing test before I left the hospital. I was totally unprepared for how minuscule baby would be and the thought of trying to wash him in a bath of water while supporting him from head to toe was more than I could comprehend (on top of all the other stuff I couldn’t quite comprehend).

There’s a solution: a sturdy changing table with a comfy changing mat; a plastic bowl; a few facecloths; a baby massage book and a bottle of cold pressed organic sesame oil (there are other oils that can be used but this was the most lightweight I could find). At bath time, the naked baby is wrapped in a towel on the changing mat while you work on each part of the body separately, massaging the oil into baby’s skin (and even the head). Once complete, you use a facecloth and a basin of perfectly warm water to wipe baby down before drying gently and dressing.

This is not only a way around the cumbersome process of bathing, it is also better for baby’s skin – sorting out skin rashes and cradle cap, amongst other things – the massage is great for baby’s body, and it is an incredible bonding experience. While I hate to differentiate between the functions of mum and dad (mainly because it is usually a gross generalisation more than anything else and my husband proved to be a better mother than I was at times), it is a fact that there are men out there terrified of caring for their babies. This massage method brings an easy caring experience to dads as well, and at the right time of day too.

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Dispose or reuse

October 14th, 2007

You can recycle, grow your own vegetables, and cook on gas pumped from the septic tank. But you have to face the fact that when you have a baby, you stamp your greatest carbon footprint on this earth and you have to be industrious to offset your emissions.A third of landfills in developing countries consist of disposable nappies.

This is an alarming statistic by anyone’s standards. But you still have a choice – you can either contribute to this stat or you can trust in terrycloth.

My reaction to this stat was a carbon-emitting shopping spree at an inappropriate environmentally harmful shopping mall. The quest, however, was a virtuous one – terrycloth nappies, nappy liners, Enchantrix (organic) nappy sterilizer and a functional and baby-safe nappy bucket. All in the name of fighting the stats and doing my bit about global warming.

People not only took me as hormonal (a.k.a. slightly nuts), but also tried to convince me that all that soap and water undid all the perceived good. What they didn’t count on was the fact that because I had a big issue with washing crappy nappies, I started putting my baby on the toilet every time I saw him pushing. This not only meant my job was much easier but the washing machine only saw nappies once a week and, since the organic sterilizer had only to work on urine, the nappies required nothing more than a quick cold wash and a bit of sunshine to get them back on the nappy shelf.

Thus, toilet training was easy and my child has been in underpants since he was eleven months old. Sure, there was the occasional ‘accident’ but no more so than any newly toilet-trained child … and the added advantage (yes, another one) was that my child felt so much more comfortable never having to sit in a dirty nappy – come on, is this even forgivable?

I chose to use the old-fashioned terrycloth squares and had to search the web for folding instructions. This site shows you all the different ways you can fold a terrycloth square – try them out on baby to get the best fit and the least leaks (and, by the way, a disposable is just as likely to leak):

Kitty Kins – Terrycloth folding instructions

You can use the excuse that it’s just too much sweat to use this method but, with the new range of shaped nappies, there is no excuse to keep using disposables. You can find a few of the options on the following sites:

Stegi
Cuddlebabes
Natures child

… or you can just plant a tree!

Bloggers Unite - Blog Action Day

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The Anti-Mum

August 29th, 2007

An avid campaigner against the need to have a child has reached a stage of her biology that she is battling to hold at bay. As the last of her peers to be childless, she feels her life is lacking something and that this indicates that she needs a baby.

Nobody needs a baby; most people just want one. It’s immaterial what your motives are for either wanting one or not but you have to be very clear on what you actually need.

Wanting a baby requires you to want it badly enough to compensate for the loss of freedom, mobility, travel, late-night parties and the halving of your relationships.

But when you choose the alternative, you have to be strong enough in the face of the social pressures, the emotional guilt and the need to know if it will ever be enough to not have one.

Having a baby is like upgrading or downgrading your neighbourhood … whichever way you choose to look at it. It’s a lifestyle choice. Take it or leave it but never feel it is so integral to life that you will feel incomplete without it.

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The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth

June 8th, 2007

There I lay, veiled in a drug-induced mist, recovering from the trauma of surgery. I hadn’t learnt anything from my hospital ‘trial-run’ the weekend before and found it almost impossible to ring the bell for help. Friends came and went, my husband was there almost permanently and, even when I didn’t ask for it, I had nursing staff buzzing about checking this and that, taking my temperature, giving me sponge baths … and an unwanted suppository at some point.

Not the type for broodiness and maternal instincts, I none-the-less recollect an almost immediate instinct to nurture. Regardless of all the activity, the exhaustion and the drugs, I insisted that the nurses bring me my baby every four hours through the night … whether he was sleeping or not … so I could nourish him. I returned him to the nursery immediately afterwards so I could get my rest and, come morning, I had him by my side where I could gaze at him sleeping, lift him to feed him and lay him against my skin so he could feel my warmth and feel safe. It doesn’t take any form of maternal instinct to realize the trauma a baby must go through being ripped from the warmth and quiet of a watery womb and into the foul smells, noise and bright lights of the physical world. From a miniscule part of each parent, a body is formed, through which a soul can reach the world. I was intensely aware of the fragility of the situation. And he clung to me, somehow realizing that I was his life-support.

We co-existed like this for 4 days.

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No surprises?

June 7th, 2007

I knew the due date and I knew I was having a boy … so no surprises there. But everything else … Let me just say that you can buy a cot, decorate the nursery, book your foetus into high school, but you can never be prepared for what follows after that first cry when that tiny baby is ripped from your belly. They may as well rip your heart out too because from there on out, you wear your heart outside your body.

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Beans for Lunch

May 17th, 2007

If your partner sheds the only tear on seeing the first ultrasound scan, don’t panic! This does not mean you are not bonding with the bean-sized bunch of cells in your belly. Yes, sure you want to, but … it’s a bean-sized bunch of cells in your belly.

And further to that, this bean-sized bunch of cells is, by no stretch of the imagination, capable of eating a full fry-up for breakfast, a lunch of bangers and mash, a roast dinner with all the trimmings and a midnight snack of a tub of ice-cream. So try not to eat for two. You will only look like a fool if you try and convince the person at the buffet table that the bean-sized bunch of cells in your belly needs its own plate of food. And if you gain too much weight during pregnancy, you will only be depressed after the birth – you’re kidding yourself if you think you’ll have time to go for a 10km run any time soon. Hey, you’re kidding yourself if you think you’ll be able to walk to the front gate without breaking a sweat. As it is, I only gained 12kg and I still looked five months pregnant for several weeks after the birth. And I’m one of the lucky ones.

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M is for Malaria and Motherhood

May 14th, 2007

I always imagined I’d be able to pinpoint the exact moment … the moment of earth-shattering bliss that would signal the successful exchange of DNA and the beginning of cell division …

Not feeling sure I even wanted a baby, there’d be those moments when I would lie in post-coital bliss thinking, “Hmm, now if I was to fall pregnant, THAT would be a good way to do it.” I even started planning holidays to Fiji, Bora Bora and Hawaii at the mere hint that perhaps we might be ready to have a baby. After all, conception is as important to the parents as birth is to the baby. But the actual planning for the baby never reached fruition. So, at the onset of nausea, headaches and exhaustion, my first thought was to pull out the unused self-test malaria kits I had lugged half way across the malaria-infested Indian subcontinent several months earlier. The lack of pictorial instructions proved too complex and, after puncturing two fingers on my left hand, and one on my right, I drowned both test kits in my blood before figuring out that my stupidity must surely be indicative of the onset of a far more dangerous ailment … Motherhood.

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