I only wish though I’d been told this before I had children. It would’ve saved much wailing and gnashing of teeth. But maybe learning it for yourself is the whole point? Designed to make you a stronger human being? Pffft. Sod it. I still wish I’d been a little more clued in. I feel it then my maternal responsibility to suggest gently to all future mums, without scaring the sweet living bejaysus out of them, to approach motherhood with no preconceived notions of superiority, ideas of best practice or judgment of other mothers. Knowing and accepting you know nothing (always and forever) when it comes to parenting is so much easier to deal with than failure. Well in my life book anyway.
Here are the tenets of motherhood I held true for all of five minutes before real life crushed them; one fantasy at a time.
Myth: Formula is the Anti-Christ
I was certain that no formula would ever darken my doorway. I would breastfeed exclusively until my child was old enough for cow’s milk. I would persevere at all costs. I would never surrender.
Reality: Breastfeeding exclusively while trying to maintain a fulltime job after 3 or 4 months of maternity leave is like trying to run up an escalator that’s headed downward. It is possible. A strong woman can do it. Some may call her a lunatic. But for most of us it’s the kind of behaviour that’s just too silly to try to maintain on top of everything else that’s built into the ‘full-time working mother’ job description. It’s difficult enough you’re sitting in the ladies loo during a 15-minute tea break at a conference with your breast-pump whirring conspicuously. Or you can feel a let-down soaking through your breastpads after a meeting has gone an hour over schedule. Supplementing with a formula bottle – a relief bottle as they aptly call it – is easy, does no harm to your baby and least allows you the dignity of maintaining some level of discretion over your mammorys and their function at work. No colleague should ever have to bear witness in sight or sound to the contraption you use to literally milk yourself. Takes awkward to a whole new level at the water cooler. Believe me, I know.
Myth: No TV for my Child
Educational games, puzzles, books, sensory stimulation toys. These will be the only fodder to fuel my little one’s mind, to entertain and educate him. TV will be reserved for David Attenborough re-runs or the Drakensberg Boys Choir recitals at an appropriate age.
Reality: CBeebies will at some point save your life and the life of your child. No question. Picture the scene: It’s 6pm, you’re battling suicide hour alone after a day from hell at the office. Your child has missed you. He’s cranky too. He’s screaming blue murder clinging onto your hip. You’re boiling rice and trying to strain chicken one-handed through a colander for his dinner. You’re tired. You haven’t sat down. And you just want to have little cry. Or take refuge in your nice quiet car and go for a ride to Ventersburg, Villersdorp, Vegas… anywhere really. Doesn’t matter. It’s at this point that a spot of “In the Night Garden” or “Teletubbies” will be the soothing balm to the beast. Stacking cups or building blocks my ass. TV will win. No contest. The box has its uses. And there’s no shame in administering as necessary.
Myth: My Children will Never throw Tantrums in the Supermarket
Before I became a mother, I self-righteously believed that women who are unable to control their feral offspring should not a) take them out in public b) have children in the first place. Yes I was perched at a very lofty height of sanctimonious delusion. And boy did I fall from this perch. Hard. Flat on my face.
Reality: Every child will, at some point, see a toy, sweet, ice-cream, cake *insert what’s relevant here*and throw a hissy fit when you refuse to buy it for them. It’s almost a rite of passage as a new mum. They will start to squawk and then eventually belt out their protestation at the top of their lungs. And unless you have the balls of steel required to ignore this, you will want to die with shame. You will try a gentle, yet firm ‘no’ and then launch into distraction mode. When this fails, you will start trying to speed up your shop, maneuvering your trolley up and down aisles as quickly as you can. When your child’s crescendo has reached fever pitch and people have stopped to stare outright, this is when you resort to the place you swore you’d never visit. Bribery. And voila…you become one of those mothers with your child sitting smug in a trolley eating a chocolate ring doughnut at 5.30pm. It happens. To the best of mothers. And to me. Don’t sweat it. Do your shopping online or without your kid.
Myth: No Ready-Meals. No Sugar
With my son, I’d spend all weekend steaming an array of vegetables and protein and pureeing them sans salt, butter or taste ready for his meals for the week ahead. He only drank water. Sugar was a no-no. This lasted pretty much for his first year. Then his sister arrived. And I found I couldn’t cope with being a food purist and a mother with two kids. Being the food police is a full-time job on its own. Just ask Gwyneth Paltrow.
Reality: Nutrition is important. I don’t deny this. But does every meal have to be painstakingly freshly prepared by your very own hand? Hell no. Life is too short to cube butternut for 45 minutes or boil chicken livers. As a result, my children do eat ready-meals. They drink juice. They drink water too, but both would prefer juice. So do I come to think of it. Fermented grape juice. Red or white. To counter the much-publicised evils of foods with salt and sugar, we make sure they exercise. They eat plenty of fresh fruit. They brush their teeth twice a day – and visit the dentist…(Note to self: both are due a checkup.) And you know what’s ironic? In spite of the fact that they eat meals mostly prepared by Tesco, drink watered down Robinson and scoff the occasional bag of crisps and chocolate bar, our children are rarely ill and their pearlies still exist, are still white and look set to stay for the foreseeable future.
Myth: I will Read to my Children every Night
Reality: You are just too tired to read a book to your children every single night without fail. I knew I was up for another nomination for the Shocker Mom of The Year Awards when one night I sat on my daughter’s bed and I said, “Once upon a time there was a princess. She lived in a castle. She was very kind and very beautiful. And then she went to sleep. The end.” No child deserves that. So in the evenings when neither my husband nor I can do proper justice to a story ourselves, we requisition help from a higher power. Our children go to sleep listening to the wonderful stories of “Fantastic Mr Fox”, “The Twits” or “Charlotte’s Web” being read to them by someone who’s super engaging. Does all the voices. Who never gets tired. And who just so happens to be from an iPad. Judge if you will, but it works. For us. It wasn’t what we planned, but it’s the best we can do.
Myth: I do not need Anti-Depressants. I can Cope. I am a Supermom. I can Do it All. Perfectly
Reality: Post-partum hormones can inflict as much damage to a woman’s psyche as watching Fashion TV or too many episodes of America’s Next Top Model can. Immediately after birth you are expected to trot home with your perfect feeder-sleeper bundle of joy. Tend to home and hearth deliriously happy. Looking as slim and trim as your pre-natal self. Welcoming streams of visitors in to your immaculate home to coo over contented baby and enjoy freshly home baked muffins. This state of postpartum bliss only happens on Days of our Lives to actresses who were never pregnant to begin with, who troll around on a fake set all day. It is la-la land. What is real though is the rinse and repeat cycle of broken sleep, a grisly baby, a messy house and the struggle to settle your toddler back into a routine after your newborn has shifted the balance. You veer from euphoria one minute to a complete and utter emotional meltdown the next. You’re bloated and saggy, sore and weepy and exist in a catatonic haze of sleep deprivation and self-angst. It’s ok to feel as though you’re battling to cope. It’s even ok to admit it. To yourself. To your partner. To your loved ones. And most importantly to your doctor. Who can help. With drugs. Take them. You have nothing to prove.
I smile then when I see articles on Facebook being forwarded by pregnant friends, first-time-mums-to-be that read something like “Children Who Eat Sugar Have Lower Success at University” or “Why an iPad will Ruin your Child’s EQ” or “Breastfeeding Exclusively for Two Years Will Make your Child President”. And I have a little chuckle at the demonising of the McDonalds Happy Meal. Been there. Done that.
It’s only a matter of time before this expectant mum with her rosy glow of pre-maternal delusion will join our ranks. She’ll learn in her own way – to forge her path in the jungle that is motherhood. We all do. Until then, let her freely forward her Huffington Post articles of how to raise a perfect specimen of humanity. It’s good to daydream. After all, they say you should get all the sleep you can before baby comes. That’s not bullshite. No one lied about that one.
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Fully Engrossed in Charlotte's Web |
