We are having phone trouble. It's none of the usual suspects. I'm afraid I blame a pair of well-meaning New Age parenting gurus for the problem.
A while ago I bought a book on babies
by a California paediatrician and his wife. They've got eight children
themselves. I reckoned they must know what they're talking about. They looked like nice people on the cover shot. Their philosophy is called 'attachment parenting'. Heard of it?
Hugely popular in the US, less so in the UK.
Amongst other things, 'attachment parenting' involves:
breastfeeding on demand, 'co-sleeping' with your infant, avoiding
mechanical devices such as prams, rockers or bouncy chairs, 'wearing'
your baby in a sling and, of course, natural birth. Being a bit of an
old hippie at heart myself, I loved these ideas. I just couldn't quite
translate them all into reality.
The authors never argue, but
offer 'loving reminders' to each other. They write wistfully about a custom in Rwanda of not letting the
baby
touch the ground for the first six months of their life. Instead the
local women carry their babies with them at all times, wrapped up
in a cunning arrangement of knotted fabric. These women are so close to their babies they don't use nappies. They can just sense when the child needs to go.
The writers suggest that
if a mother can't breastfeed, the baby's grandmother might consider
re-lactating. Breastfeeding's so important, you see. I've mentioned
this a couple of times to Granny, never with much success. She tends to
clutch at her bosom and look affronted.
I did my best to
follow their advice, and managed some of it. Beanie went in a sling, but I couldn't carry her for long without hurting my
back. I breastfed. The one area where I followed their advice to the
letter was their advice to invest in a cordless phone. To prevent
accidents. Apparently a little-known danger to toddlers is mum
wandering off to answer the phone. Or so they say.
When Beanie was born, Va-vay
dutifully went off to buy cordless phones - after a
'loving reminder' from me. Eighteen months later, we
spend half our lives hunting for the wretched things that Beanie has reallocated somewhere - pillow,
toy basket, knitting box, or the rubbish bin. Even if we phone ourselves to find out
where they are, they won't necessarily ring. No juice left.
Mobiles aren't so reliable either these days. Beanie's fond of
sucking on them. Helps her teeth.
Last week I gave Va-vay another 'loving reminder'. To buy us a conventional, corded phone.
Breastfeeding Childcare Daughter Domestic chaos Husband Parenting gurus Toys
The first family holiday is a shock. Ours wasn't a holiday at all, not
in the strictest sense. We worked harder than I've done in some
paying jobs. It was hard graft. Day and night. Each evening I squirted my milk
into a bowl and mixed it up with powdered baby rice for my daughter. I still remember the
sound it made hitting the plastic. It was fun. But in an unfamiliar, cow-like
way. I felt sad at losing the old freedoms. In private, I cried.
Back in the heady days of coupledom we used to book a cheap flight
somewhere, then wing it, smug about being proper "travellers". We only
once came to grief, descending from a
Cevennol mountain to find a room for the night in the valley. A
Festival de Cinema had taken all the accommodation in a 10k radius. No room in the inn. Again, I cried. A lot. It worked.
The nice monsieur in the local hotel rang round. After many worried
looks, he found us somewhere and sent us off with rabbit stew for our
supper. After all he'd done for us, I had no heart to confess my
husband was vegetarian. The cottage was grim; no windows. The
bed too small to accommodate me or husband. I woke
several times with nightmares, unsure if awake or asleep. A long
night.
We left the next day, both blaming the other, and got a room in the
hotel, which all the actors had by then finally left. We stayed for two
days, because we had no money and the one cashpoint in the village was
in a shop that didn't open until then. The hotel staff asked every
time they saw me "Ca va mieux?", which seemed to translate as
"You're not going to have a nervous breakdown on our premises, are
you?"
Not wishing to risk a repeat of this on a family holiday, we've agreed
to plan ahead. I'm not experienced in any of this, but we're ruling out hotels. Either we'd have to leave daughter alone in the room while we got our
meal. Or sit there in silence and darkness from 7pm.
The obvious solution would be self-catering. But
that would mean booking a place for a week or fortnight, and then we'd
be stuck. I've a yen for adventure, and would love some of the
old spontaneity.
So we're investigating tents. I discovered on Saturday tent brands are named after birds. Buzzard,
Hawk, Shrike. It speaks of freedom. Prairie, Roadrunner, Vista, Oregon, Halo, Aurora.
Challenge and adventure. In my imagination, I'm there. But our daughter is already
ahead of us. Her Pop-Up Activity Tent arrived home yesterday. Mine, however, will be waterproof.
Daughter Dilemmas Fun Husband Kit Mistakes Out and about Toys Work
New research says toys and books have no significant future
associations with children's development. According to the Institute of Education, reported by BBC Online, the most important factor is parents playing and talking with their children. Err... doh!
"Toys and books have their place and do help children develop but what
is important is having the parents interact with the child," says the
Institute's Dr Leslie Gutman.
This should be so obvious. How do people get grants to do this kind of
research? Surely it just confirms what every parent already knows.
So much of the report's findings sounds like common sense.
"To have parents read to their children is much more important than
having a hundred books," says the report. Well, yes. Kind of a
no-brainer, surely?
Children whose parents took them out grew up with better social skills, said the report.
Again, not a hard one to figure out.
But actually, on second thoughts, maybe this is useful research. In
fact, I wish I'd known this a year ago, before I accumulated sacks of
unwanted toys.
I bought them partly because I didn't want people to think I was a tightwad who wouldn't spend on her child.
The toy marketing made me think K would suffer impaired development if I didn't.
I mean, my goodness, not having the musical mobile that plays Bach,
complete with cows circling in mid-air above, might have hindered her
hand-eye co-ordination and slowed her speech development.
Yes, maybe this does have all sorts of useful applications. Perhaps Dr
Gutman could circulate her research to health professionals. That might
deal with my health visitor who was on about why we needed a baby "gym"
to help with "infant stimulation".
Parents might have more spare space in their cupboards if Dr Gutman's
research got a good airing. Charity shops would probably come off
worse, though.
Actually, what the research proves is that I should have listened to my daughter. She's had the right idea for months.
She's far more interested in parental interaction than toys.
Her top-favourite thing right now is when I put a muslin over my head,
pop my sunglasses on top of the cloth and do my Mrs Muzzlepops/Yasser
Arafat impersonation.