You know you're not an Earth Mother when...

A few months ago my mother referred to one of my sisters as an Earth Mother. By implication, she meant I was not. It wasn’t great timing. The Tresillian nurse was over helping me to restore some kind of peace to my crazy baby screaming filled home. My baby rearing confidence was probably close to an all time low. In typical mother fashion, she crushed what little was left with her comment.

Since then, I’ve come to realise that while everyone wants to be the best parent they can be, natural parents who seem to instinctively understand their children and who do everything ‘organically’ are really pretty rare.

So I’ve decided to declare my non-Earth Mother status with the following set of principles.

You know you’re not an earth mother when…

1. The thought of using cloth nappies has you retching into the nappy pail.
2. You don’t do decaf.
3. You have packets of Rafferty’s Garden and a plastic take away coffee spoon at the bottom of your nappy bag instead of containers of homemade sweet potato mash and proper baby spoons.
4. You wonder why someone won’t shut that baby up in the middle of the night before realising it’s your child that’s crying.
5. The idea of peeing with a baby in a sling a la attachment parenting mortifies you.
6. You think it’s hilarious to dress your baby in a cowboy outfit and make him do the YMCA rather than swaying with him tribal style.
7. You take your baby to the super sale at Chatswood Chase rather than to book reading sessions at the library.
8. You put your baby to sleep to the melancholic throws of Holly Throsby rather than baby Mozart.
9. You swore like a trooper every time you breastfed in the early days when your boobs were tender (and by tender I mean freaking painful!).
10. When you were pregnant you spent Saturday mornings eating chocolate croissants rather than doing prenatal yoga.

Career change mums

In case you missed it last night, the Masterchef grand final was on. Like much of the country, I have been totally addicted to the show for weeks.

Last night George said to the final two: “Dreams are like stars. Follow them and you will find your destiny.”

It’s a lovely phrase that if broken down doesn’t really mean much. But it encapsulates much of what the show is about – the popular obsession with following dreams.

It’s not just a media thing either. I got a call yesterday from a friend who has resigned her job and plans to work for free in a café kitchen (by the way – her interest totally predates the Masterchef phenomenon – she’s been trying to get into food for years!). I felt inspired for her, thrilled for her – I could almost feel the freshness of the change coming down the phone.

It is quite an American concept this idea that if you want something bad enough you can have it – and that by implication if it doesn’t work out you, didn’t work hard enough.

But what about once you have kids? I’ve been mulling over the idea of a career change (or at least a job change) for the past couple of years. I had a baby instead - if I’m honest it was partly to escape from work. I don’t think I’m alone in this. I hear other women saying they are so sick of working they just want to have a couple of kids.

In many ways, this answer is fools gold. Once you have a child, it’s damn hard to give up the jobs we have. In our current jobs we lean on the good will we’ve built up to take sick days when the kids have a fever or to negotiate shorter working hours. In a new job there is no good track record to draw from. A new job requires one to prove oneself early on. What this usually means is full time work and longer hours while we get on top of things. Possible, yes. Palatable, no.

Then there’s re-skilling. Who can afford to go back to studying full time? And who can afford time-wise the part time hours at TAFE on top of work and family? Worse still, a career change means years at the lowly pay rate we’ve only just clambered above. How does that affect our mortgage, or our savings, or our dreams for our children’s education?

I’m currently in a job that I don’t want to do long term but which provides me with good working conditions and an ability to negotiate part time hours. I can walk to my office and on the way, drop my child off at the day care centres we have our name down at. If I moved jobs to the other side of town suddenly I would be traveling in the opposite direction to day care and facing a serious commute which means even less time spent with my child. I don’t underestimate how much these practical issues can impact on the daily stress of life.

For me, I’m left with a feeling that I’m inherently stuck. For now, I’m prepared to compromise. But I am also left with a lingering feeling that the longer I’m in my job the harder it will be to leave... Thank goodness there's more to life than work.

The Lure of Stuff

Just back from IKEA. Went for a 50 dollar high chair (you know the one, everyone has it – its cheap, simple and cleanable). Came back with high chair in the wrong colour (white was unavailable); one soft toy soccerball; one train set (pretty sure it’s for ages 3 and up – just two and a half years to go…); one toddler cup, bowl, plate set; a set of plastic cups; a set of plastic bowls; a set of plastic plates; two side tables (black and white); and some plug inserts. Oh, and an 18-piece dinner set.

I don’t know what came over me. Usually I am anti-stuff. While others love IKEA, I tend to be on the hate end of the spectrum, regarding it as a necessary evil. Who would have thought with this attitude I would find myself seriously considering purchasing a bottle of concentrated blueberry syrup cordial or a frog shaped plastic bib?

While others tell me they stockpiled random assortments of baby products before their little one arrived, I was relatively restrained, going only for the basics. It did mean a couple of desperate dashes post baby (once for a breast pump and once for a Baby Bjorn – both worthwhile purchases) but on the whole I was quite pleased with myself –one might even say smugly so - for being sensible about my baby’s requirements on arrival. It’s not the excessive spending that worried me so much as a feeling that environmentally we as a society need to overcome our addiction to stuff; and that personally, a whole lot of unnecessary clutter was going to send me bonkers.

So what has come over me? Since Billy was born I have made several rash purchases, probably chief amongst them a pair of baby sneakers (they were only $8, alright!) and the fluffy toy soccer ball purchased today (we already have a fluffy toy football… why didn’t we just get a real soccer ball that might entertain him more than a few months??).

Perhaps it’s the amount of time I spend in shops now I am on maternity leave providing opportunities to become bewitched with stuff. Perhaps it’s the allure of itty bitty baby things that remind me of my little boy and make me want for him. Or perhaps it’s just that consumerism is a demon and I am just as possessed as everyone else.

Breastfeeding - milk with a side of guilt

I love breastfeeding. There is something so special about the closeness of that little body pressed to your chest and the satisfied glug as he takes in the milk. There’s also something very satisfying about seeing a baby grow and develop all on the milk that you have provided.

I didn’t always feel this way. I wasn’t a breastfeeding natural. It took us a good few weeks (months? Its hard to remember now) to get the hang of it all. It is a familiar tale for many women of cracked nipples, taking baby off the breast to let them heal, nipple thrush, low supply, courses of Motillium and worst of all, a period of breast rejection. They were some dark days!

But satisfyingly enough, we overcome all of these problems to the point where although my son at one point would only have the bottle, he now won’t take it at all and will only have the breast.

I am proud of my achievements and I believe I have ended up doing my baby a favour by giving him breastmilk, particularly given his propensity to eczema etc which the experts tell me is assisted by breastmilk.

But. I cannot help but feel enraged at some of the stories I have heard from other women who have chosen to combine breastfeeding and formula or who have chosen to give formula only to their babies.

One woman in my mother’s group was told because she gives her baby formula in the evening her child could die! When I had a terribly unsettled baby who was basically awfully hungry the midwives at my early childhood centre did not even bring up the possibility of formula top ups. When a Tresillian nurse recommended it, it was with so much guilt and after receiving much criticism from other women around me that I began adding formula to my son’s diet. It was an awful time. It was not until I visited a pediatrician who looked me in the eye and said “don’t be afraid to give him a big bottle of formula if you think he needs it” that I felt this sense of relief and was given some confidence that I was doing the right thing.

Breastmilk is best for the physical health of babies, no argument from me here. But what about babies’ emotional health? The Tresillian nurse told me to give my baby formula top ups because the relationship between us around food was about trust – he has to trust that I can provide him with what he needs. With the breast that wasn’t happening hence the fighting and struggling in the form of breast rejection. It made me realize I should have offered the bottle earlier.

And what about mum’s emotional health? Struggling on for months with painful nipples or low supply or ongoing feeding problems which are almost always accompanied by an unsettled baby is just awful. If the mother is finding things that tough and there is no light in sight, then surely she is better off weaning and coping, than pursuing breastfeeding, being miserable and having a hard time bonding with her baby.

No doubt breast is best and advocates of breastmilk have done great things to encourage breastfeeding in our society. But I cannot believe there are so many people so passionate about the issue they are making women, who only want the best for their babies, feel guilty if they are unable to do so.

Surely there are more life and death issues for people to get upset about?

The day care debate - are we kidding ourselves?

Last week I visited my 10th day care centre. In all, I have my name down at seven long day care centres plus the family day care program run by my local council.

I started checking out centres when I was four months pregnant. I had heard horror stories about waiting lists and so I was determined to get in early. While one centre upset me – “No way in hell” my husband mouthed behind the centre manager’s back almost as soon as we arrived – on the whole I was fairly pragmatic about the experience.

Now, it is a different story. I can actually picture my little boy amongst the wild mix of shrieking toddlers and babies.

When I visited the centre last week, I fought back tears. The woman who answered the door had a two month old baby in her arms. She was feeding him with a bottle in one hand as she opened the door with the other. The centre manager was busy when I arrived so I waited in the nursery for under twos where Billy would go. I could see at least two babies standing up in their cots in the sleep area. I could see crawlers in the area that was supposed to be for non mobile babies. A little toddler was walking around with one shoe on. The carer feeding the newborn confided she had only felt ready to put her own daughter into day care when she was one and even then put her in only one day a week.

When the manager took me into a separate room to discuss the application process, there were just two carers left to look after 15 children aged from newborns to two years.

Robyn Barker says in Baby Love – every first mum’s bible of all things baby – keep them out of day care as long as you can while they are under two. Steve Biddulph says in his book Raising Boys – day care is bad for boys under three.

I am well versed in the counter argument. It’s the quality of day care not day care itself that determines positive outcomes for children. Some research shows good quality day care is just as good for children as home care. I know these arguments. Once Billy is two, I believe that day care can have lots of benefits. But I just cannot believe the care these centres can offer is as good as in the home for under twos.

I never thought I would feel this way. I want to return to work. Financially, it would be near impossible for me to be a stay at home mum. Already we have accepted that buying a house in Sydney is, for us, a pipe dream. More than that, I like working. If I stopped, I know I’d feel like something was missing from my life. I didn’t put myself through all those years of education for nothing.

So what to do? The reality is, I will choose one of these centres, try and work part time and minimize my hours. But are we kidding ourselves that this is what is best for our kids?

Bonding with baby

My very best friend recently had her first baby, a very lovely little boy who is just four months younger than Billy. She lives about a four hour drive from me and so I saw him for the first time the other week aged four weeks old. And even though it has only been a few months since I was in that position myself, I was struck by how incredibly tiny and fragile a four week old baby is!

And it got me to thinking, wow, what else have I forgotten already in just these last short few months?

A lot, actually. Or if not forgotten, have pushed to the back of my mind. Having a baby is meant to be a rapturous, wonderful occasion. While it’s hard to admit now, feeling so incredibly in love and enamored with my little boy, it just wasn’t quite like that for me.

The first sense I really had of how different I felt was when the hospital sent us home with a DVD of women speaking about their experiences with their new babies. And while it warned having a baby would be tough, what I remember most clearly was the interviews with women who all spoke about having these amazing highs after having their babies and how it was a thud to come back down to earth. While these women were experiencing soaring highs, I felt more like I’d started somewhere towards the bottom of the mountain and faced a massive climb up. I felt, well – ripped off. Where was my motherhood high?

It probably didn’t help that I had a fairly tough labour ending in an emergency caesarian and an extra whack of drugs. When the initial anesthetic didn’t kick in properly, the anesthetist requested of the nurse a bunch of other drugs and I recall at one point asking drowsily “Isn’t that what Michael Jackson used to take?” (it wasn’t).

While I felt a sort of happiness after William was born, it felt rather more like a drug induced wooziness. There was a sense of affection, a sense of protectiveness, but not really the head over heels in love sensation other women talk about. Once home we were beset with a bunch of feeding problems that persisted despite home visits from midwives and lactation consultants. And not long after arriving home, the crying began (no not mine, surprisingly, Billys). Not typical run of the mill crying, but hours and hours on end. To be honest, I can’t bear to think about it even now!

When my husband said he might have to go to Perth for a week when Billy was six weeks old, my mum, a former midwife, mother of five children and lover of babies, suggested I fly home for a week. I knew what she was thinking – “I’ll sort this baby out”. And in my heart I hoped she would. If anything, however, William was worse that week and I left with my mother saying “I’ve never seen anything like it!”.

What I found fascinating though, were the women who came out of the woodwork with their own stories once I started talking about our problems. Two of my mother’s friends visited me while I was staying with my parents and provided tales of their own. Between them they have seven children and for each of them it was with only one child they had experienced similar sleeplessness. When I spoke of my hope for the three month mark, that things would change then, they cautiously responded, “Well… for us it took about a year…”

And you know what? It wasn’t depressing at all. It was rallying. If my mum couldn’t “fix” him, then it wasn’t our parenting skills. It was just little Billy. And if other women had similar problems, he wasn’t the only baby who had a hard time adjusting to the world – there were plenty of other babies like him.

One more thing made me feel a little better. It was in a book by neonatologist Dr Howard Chiltern called Baby on Board. It said: “It can take time to bond with your baby.” So if you read this and you’ve experienced the ripped off feeling too – don’t worry. Its okay to feel that way. When the loving feelings come, they come in spades.

A week or so after I arrived back home, one of my mother’s friends sent me a card in the mail. It said simply “Things will improve.” And so they did –spectacularly. Consider me one head over heels in love mum.

Little Susie Homemaker

So why the nom de plume Suddenly Susie? Well I’ve never been one of those women who cooked and cleaned for her man while he plays with power drills out in the shed. Hell, we even washed our clothes separately right up until Billy was born. While we did take on some gender stereotyped roles – while cooking is shared I’ve typically done most of it – ever since starting maternity leave I’ve suddenly felt myself thrust into a more traditional female role - a la Susie Homemaker.

Nine months of pregnancy should be enough to let you adjust to the idea of becoming mum. But in reality, most of the nine months is spent trying to prepare for labour (impossible!) and living in a bit of a daydream about the idea of parenthood. It can come as a bit of a shock to wake up and find ourselves receiving praise for our chicken fajitas rather than the quality of our mental input into our work, particularly for those of us who (like me) have never really had Domestic Goddess ambitions.

It’s a strange sensation to move from equal jobs and equal domestic responsibilities to me being at home and taking on more household chores while my partner has been promoted and has become the breadwinner. I have the time to cook, to wash, to shop, to go to the bank and the post office. And to be honest, at the moment, while Billy is still stationary and I’m not feeling terribly stressed, I don’t mind doing these things.

But at the moment, it feels like I’m still “playing” at house. It’s all so new it’s almost fun to have a different role from the daily grind of work. The killer crunch will come when its boring, mundane and I’m squishing work in between runs to day care, loads of washing, cooking, shopping and feeding baby. I’ve seen enough women in this situation to know how tough it gets.

So Suddenly Suzie is me, trying to cope with a life of domesticity (never my strong point) as (temporarily) stay at home mum.

NB If I’m honest, I still don’t really do all the chores. My partner vacuums (not just sometimes but always). He often does the laundry on the weekend. And he cooks a mean roast chicken.