February 2008

PostingSee, it's not just me

Pregnancy in the over 40s has reached a record high - proving how fashionable it's become to have children later in life. The conception rate has risen across women of all ages - but is most marked in the over 40s. Pregnancies have jumped up by more than 6% from 11.5 per 1,000 women aged 40-44 in 2005, to 12.2 last year. It's worth remembering that the over 40s still account for a tiny percentage of all births - around 3% - but that figure has tripled over recent years as more women, like myself, defer childbearing until later in life.

The Telegraph reports that the news will prompt 'fears that the growing number of older mothers is placing increased pressure on maternity units'. Writing as someone aged 40 and 21 weeks pregnant, you can imagine how thrilled I was to read that. It's such rubbish that older women are causing problems in the NHS.

Apart from going mental when I told a locum GP I was pregnant and she asked me (without looking away from her screen) if I was planning on continuing with my pregnancy, (I never went back to her) I follow all the instructions in pregnancy - little or no alcohol, sticking to (probably spurious) caffeine limits, no cold remedies, fear of pate and liver, obsession with pasteurisation, location of nearby hospitals etc. My roots are growing through grey; I'm too scared to risk hair colouring. Baths are tepid.

Every health professional I've interviewed for my book on being an older mum, Fashionably Late, agrees that older mums are often less of a problem to the health service because, like me, they're compliant and do as they're told, like cutting out smoking, since they want the child so much. That leads to reduced (or zero) risk of complications like listeria infection, foetal alcohol syndrome, poor growth rates.

So it's a bit rich to blame older mums for strains in the health service, whose problems obviously go far beyond a few later starters like myself having babies later on in life.

Needless to say, The Telegraph does not miss the opportunity to have a dig at women concentrating on their careers, claiming that when professional women return to work after having children they often move 'into jobs where the average employee lacks even A-levels'. Can this be true? It's not my experience - or that of my friends. But still, makes for grisly reading.

Older women are often attacked for their 'selfish' emphasis on 'careers' (for 'career' read, grafting away in some horrible job to pay rent/mortgage while being messed around by some bloke too immature to commit to family/children) but this means we've paid shedloads more in tax to fund the NHS. So why shouldn't we cash in our tax investment and get something back? Most of us won't be getting any tax relief on childcare expenses, or much in the way of government maternity benefits, (unlike in most European countries) so we might as well enjoy having our babies on the NHS.

Posted 28 February 2008 15:34 | Number of comments: 11 | Comments

Childbirth Fashionably Late - the book Older mother Health Pregnancy Work Work vs mothering

PostingSomething in the air

One of the worst things about being an 'older' mum is the humiliation of being disabused of this fantasy that I am competent at the business of life. Having a daughter at the age of 38 has pushed me in new and uncomfortable directions. Take driving, for example. Before Beanie arrived I didn't drive. I never needed a car and I never much fancied having one. It didn't matter that I was a bad driver.

Now I need wheels to ferry Beanie around town. The problem is that I am still rubbish at driving. Actually, no, that's unfair, I'm being too hard on myself. I'm a reasonably good driver, though a bit slow. It's parking that's the problem. On the way home the other day I attempted to find a parking space in our street. No luck. So Beanie and I drove round in circles until I spied a small space in a lane next to a large stone wall. I tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried to park. Into reverse. Cue grinding of machinery. Back into first. Edge forward a few inches. Grind the gear back back down into reverse. And so on. The air stank of some vile mechanical malfunction.

As I craned my neck back to see where I was reversing I met Beanie's alarmed gaze. "Don't worry, Beanie, Mummy knows what she's doing," I lied. She wasn't fooled. I wedged the car so close to the wall the wing mirror was brushing against lichen and stone. I could feel the sweat trickling down my arms. Then a man appeared at my window. He seemed like a good guy, so I wound down the window. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Can I help?" You know that way when you've been holding tears at bay and a moment of unexpected kindness makes them flood out? Well, I started to cry. "I can't do this," I said. "Are you trying to park or to get out?" he asked. "To park," I snuffled, as I noticed for the first time a group of people standing around watching my parking, looks of concern on their faces. I was half in and half out but couldn't move either way. "That's my car behind you," he said, and I thought, "Oh my God, I really hope I haven't scratched it." He must have seen the look on my face because he said: "No, don't worry, it's fine. Would you like me to move my car? Would that make it easier?" So he moved his car, but somehow by then I'd lost all confidence so I still couldn't park. Then the man said: "Would you like me to park your car for you?" And I said "Yes, please. Would you mind? Thank you". As he got in the car it crossed my mind this might be some ploy to steal Beanie from me and I said: "You won't drive off with my daughter, will you?" He said: "Oh my goodness, I hadn't realised you had a baby in the back." But he came across as a nice, trustworthy chap, and the onlookers appeared to know him, so I decided it was okay to let him park the car.

I got out and chatted to a couple of other people who'd come out of their houses. In different circumstances it would have been quite nice to meet the neighbours, but my legs were still shaky and I felt at a bit of a disadvantage after the fiasco they'd just witnessed. "Quite a smell of clutch fluid, isn't there?" said one, conversationally. "Is the clutch slipping?" I wouldn't even have known that was the smell and didn't know what he meant by 'clutch slipping' but nodded and rolled my eyes. I haven't felt that helpless and girly since I was a teenager. Beanie looked completely unpeturbed in her throne in the back as the neighbour reversed out with her. She looked less hassled with him than when I was trying to park, in fact. And the job was done in a couple of minutes. The next day, though, when I went back to check on the car there was still a smell of clutch fluid in the air.

Posted 19 February 2008 16:36 | Number of comments: 30 | Comments

Angst Car Daughter Home Older mother Buses

PostingLabour of love

I am reading accounts of women giving birth the way I used to eat cashew nuts - unable to stop myself and always wanting more. Ina May Gaskin, Sheila Kitzinger, Kate Mosse, Lesley Regan, Zita West, Janet Balaskas  - their books form tower blocks next to my bed. I look forwards to bed time the way I used to enjoy Friday nights after a long week at work. It's my chance to read about how other women coped with pregnancy and childbirth. This would be fine, were it not for the fact that I cannot persuade my husband Va-vay to share my enthusiasm for these books.

Don't get me wrong, Va-vay could not be more supportive of my pregnancy - in a practical, solution-oriented sense. He does lots of shopping, cooking, cleaning, laundry and childcare. When Beanie woke last night at 2.30am it was Va-vay who got up and searched for Calpol, then sat with her until she fell back to sleep. At about 5am. It was Va-vay who got her up two hours later, got her to nursery, took out the rubbish and went to work.

In fairness to him, all that activity doesn't leave much time for reading. But last week I did mention to him that since he's my birth partner it would be nice if he could read up on labour. At the time he became rather huffy. Accused me of accusing him of being 'unsupportive."

"No, Va-vay, that's not what I meant," I protested. "I'd just like us both to be involved in the labour. For us both to know what's going on. So you understand the emotional side too."

"I know all about emotions, living with you," he said.

I dropped the subject.

Then on Sunday I bought a book on potty training for Beanie and left it in the bathroom - home to the potty training action. Later that evening Va-vay came out of the bathroom, quite jubilant, and started quoting facts from the book at me.

"Do you know what 'lifting' is?" he asked me.

"Errr, no. Why?"

"It's the practice of putting children on the potty last thing at night. Very controversial."

"Right. Well, thank you for letting me know that."

"If you want me to read any of those books on childbirth just leave them in the bathroom too and I'll take a look at them," he said with a jaunty air. No doubt he plans to quote salient facts back at me. He is just not taking this seriously. My private bits are risking mutilation. There will be pain, blood and gore - however well it goes. I don't want Ina May and Sheila left in the bathroom - it feels disrespectful.

Bring on our birth preparation workshops. Then I will have him discussing feelings. In a group. With people he doesn't know. Ah, vengeance.

Posted 11 February 2008 10:26 | Number of comments: 14 | Comments

Books Childbirth Childcare Home Husband

PostingWeekend, or, what if you die?

Shedworking, one of my favourite sites, is running a theatre review I wrote for them about a production of Walden, a one-man show from Magnetic North about a man who flees civilisation to live in isolation in a hut in the woods. It was great fun going to the theatre (they even gave me a complimentary press ticket, something I haven't enjoyed in years) and because I went on my own I chatted to other people in the audience afterwards. Nothing to do with late parenting, but a mini-highlight of the weekend.

Somewhat closer to home, Va-vay, Beanie and I went to our local Home Birth Support Group at the weekend. Beanie was entranced when a pregnant lady stuck her tongue out at her (in a friendly way) - and revealed a rather splendid tongue piercing. I knew I needed the Support Group after I told a friend last week I was planning a home birth and she said: "What if you die?" My friend, who is not from this country, then said: "Well, maybe compared to an NHS hospital birth it is the best thing to do." Huh. It's one thing for me to criticise the NHS, but I don't like it when other people do. The Support Group nodded and smiled when I recounted all this, before bursting into tears, and said they hear this kind of thing a lot. They said that statistically home births are safer than hospitals. That people who are negative about you having a home birth are often just worried for you. Beanie beamed as I sat cross-legged on the floor, weeping, then made friends with a small boy wearing a T-Shirt saying "Born at Home". Although not yet two years old herself, Beanie loves pointing out "babies" she sees out and about, saying the word "baby" in great excitement, as if the child in question belongs to a different generation from herself. When in fact there's an age gap of twelve months between them. She spent the rest of the event cuddling the "baby". His mum was there too. Alive and well.

Other News

A friend is organising a fertility afternoon at the Aditi Yoga Centre in Edinburgh on Sunday 2 March from two till five. This is a chance to hear expert speakers on how to improve the chances of becoming pregnant, maintaining a healthy pregnancy and much more.  Topics covered include acupuncture, chinese herbal medicine, homeopathy, mind and the body, natural ovulatory cycle, nutrition and yoga. Open to all.  Donation £5 per person.

Posted 04 February 2008 11:01 | Number of comments: 8 | Comments

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PostingTaxing times

Now that the hell of filling out tax returns is behind us, I have to vent about the scandal of how couples in the UK receive little or no tax relief on childcare. I am self-employed, so can offset certain expenses again my income. Unfortunately, childcare doesn't count as an 'expense' - which is ridiculous, since I couldn't work if I didn't pay someone else to look after my daughter a couple of days a week. It seems wrong you can offset phone bills, broadband, stationery, printer cartridges (don't get me started on that one) and the odd taxi fare against tax - but not the shedloads of cash that my husband and I shell out on childcare - easily our largest expense. I know that David Cameron has dreamt up some wheeze to promote marriage, which will mean that wives can give their husbands their unused tax allowance - but that isn't going to do anything to help working mothers (and certainly not the unmarried ones). If the government is serious about promoting gender equality in the workplace, it might want to start by doling out better tax treatment of childcare. As things stand, the fact nursery fees don't count as tax-deductable makes me suspect there is still only grudging acceptance of women with young children continuing to work.

Posted 01 February 2008 21:46 | Number of comments: 16 | Comments

Work Work vs mothering