Six weeks until baby due date. Yesterday escaped flat for first time in days. Took daughter and her Granny out for lunch (tapas). Even managed to walk there and back, helped by orthopaedic truss under bump and lessons in this technique. In restaurant, Granny and I leapt back in horror at sight of enormous spider crab sat on counter. Waving its claws at us. Horrified eye meets. Two-year-old daughter unpeturbed.
Hoisted daughter into high chair, grappled with chair straps, slumped down, ordered usual tapas favourites. Spanish waiter made fuss of us all. Rush of pleasure at being back in world. Daughter ordered an apple juice. Looked around room. Surveyed the scene. Pronounced: "Like it."
Why do we expect so much of ourselves as mothers? Where do we get the idea we should be martyrs to our children and give up our own identities? This exhibition, called Images of Maternity, running at the local Scottish Gallery of Modern Art might offer some answers. I haven't yet had a chance to see it myself, but works on display include paintings by Sandro Botticelli, Pablo Picasso, George Romney and Christine Borland. I'm intrigued by this exhibition, because so much of female identity is tied up with cultural precepts that seek to define and trap us in our roles as mothers. Cultural precepts set down by music, literature, newspapers and paintings like the ones in this exhibition.
My view is that it's hard to resist the cultural message we can - and should - be perfect mothers to saintly children. And so life becomes even more of a strain for those of us struggling to look after a screaming baby. We expect motherhood to convey us to a state of bliss. Then find ourselves isolated, bored and frustrated. Experiencing something very different to the 'new baby joy' we were expecting. How much of the gap in expectation is to do with the fact women spend their lives bombarded with images of post-natal perfection - like the Botticelli picture above?
We're encouraged to believe that giving birth is the crowning glory in our lives, the moment when we fulfill our biological and cultural destiny, that it will bestow perfect happiness on us in our new roles as mothers. But, of course, despite the brave faces that new mums put on for each other at coffee mornings, it's just not like that.
I'm hoping to get along to the exhibition at the weekend, and it'll be interesting to see if there are any paintings that challenge some of the tired old stereotypes that seek to manoeuvre women into chasing after unattainable dreams of motherhood. Exhibition runs until 22 June.
Russia is to honour prolific mothers with a presidential award for their baby-making efforts, according to this story in The Telegraph. The move is an attempt to reverse an alarming decline in Russia's population. The Russian government is spreading the message that it is the patriotic duty of all women to bear at least three children. "Pregnancy is now the height of fashion among wealthy women," says the article.
'Height of fashion', indeed. At seven months pregnant, half-crippled with pelvic pain, gripped by every anxiety under the sun and sleeping with a boudoir's worth of cushions to prop up my aching limbs I do not feel remotely fashionable. My hair is a mess: I haven't dared touch up my greying roots for fear of harming the baby.
I hardly go out any more in the evenings - being sleepy by 9pm. My personal space has expanded to a two-metre exclusion zone around me. Talking to strangers scares me. My mind constantly revolves around how to protect the baby from every difficulty she might face in life. I'm terrified that the birth will be a disaster. The indigestion is getting worse. I would love to have three children, but if I can get through this pregnancy with a healthy baby at the end, and without permanently alienating all those whom I love, I'll count myself lucky.
In any case, The Telegraph quotes some so-called 'experts' on Russia saying the real cause of population decline isn't women shirking reproductive duty but .... rampant alcoholism. Oh dear. The average life expectancy for a Russian male is just 58. Poor bastards. They drink themselves into an early grave. But apparently it's easier in Russia to persuade women to have more children than it is to get the men to stop drinking.
Like many families before us, we have become huge fans of the best-selling Kipper books by Mick Inkpen (by the way, here is good biography of Inkpen, who is also pictured below). This started me thinking - we all know people in real life who are a bit like the characters of Tiger, Kipper, Pig and his cousin Arnold. Have you ever wondered which character you're most like? Here's a little quiz to help you work out who you most ressemble.
1. An overnight camping trip to Big Hill is suggested. It is your first night in a tent. You are the one who:
a) insisted on bringing toys from home
b) had the idea for the trip. But got scared and went home early
c) said little, but gritted it out until morning
d) stayed at home.
2. It is your birthday. You decide to celebrate by:
a) making a cake and inviting friends round. Co-ordinating the two events proves harder than anticipated.
b) asking for the latest, fanciest gadget. Which you find impossible to make work.
c) adding a new pet to your already extensive menagerie.
d) feeding the ducks.
3. Somebody gives you a pair of rollerblades. You respond by:
a) trying hard to master this new skill. With mixed results.
b) boasting to anyone who'll listen about how fantastic you are at rollerblading. Before falling into a bush.
c) practising, practising, practising. Until you get really good.
d) watching your older cousin and learning from his example
4. Your attitude towards your toys is to:
a) love, cherish and respect them. Life wouldn't be the same without old friends around.
b) put them in a rocket and fire them at the moon.
c) love them, but appraise them shrewdly.
d) who needs toys when you've got a cardboard box?
5. You are working on a project requiring great ingenuity. Something goes wrong. You respond by:
a) feeling a bit thrown but persevering in finding a solution
b) moaning and complaining amid great melodrama
c) your projects don't go wrong, you spend so much time beforehand preparing.
d) taking time out, then pulling off a piece of lateral thinking
6. You have done yourself a minor injury. You respond by:
a) applying a sticking plaster and moving on
b) insisting on sticking plaster, ointment, sling, painkillers and emergency trip to hospital. And, of course, moaning.
c) being grateful you were wearing safety kit that prevented the injury being any worse
d) sucking your thumb
7. You have made an error of judgement. Do you:
a) acknowledge your mistake, feel embarrassed and apologise
b) bluster and pretend it wasn't your fault
c) arrange an inventive win-win compromise that minimises the impact of your mistake.
d) approach someone else for advice
8. You are going for a day at the beach. Would you:
a) immediately start building a sandcastle
b) insist on setting up an elaborate base camp. With inappropriate kit
c) stun your friends by revealing hitherto unsuspected skills as a water skier
d) stand on your head. Perfectly.
9. As a friend you are mostly:
a) Popular with everyone. You are prepared to take the rough with the smooth and see good in most people, even the annoying ones.
b) Sometimes demanding and grandiose, but good-hearted and lovable.
c) A bit of an enigma. Not aloof, but you like to keep some distance between yourself and others.
d) Unobtrusive and loyal.
How you scored:
Mostly a) - you are Kipper. Popular and well-loved, hard-working and down-to-earth, you are able to see the cheery side of life, even amid disaster. Everyone wants to be your friend. Everyone wants to be you. Tell us your secret, please Kipper?
Mostly b) - you are Tiger. Sorry, but are you just a teeny bit full of your own importance? Come on, admit it! No? Not just a little bit? And you're not really as competent as you make out, are you? Don't worry, all your friends still love you. They know what a good sort you are underneath all that bluster. And you are often the one who comes up with the idea for adventures. Life wouldn't be as much fun without you around. Perhaps, though, you might try to rein in that grandiosity? A simpler life can often be more satisfying than pursuing complex ambitions.
Mostly c) - you are Pig. Savvy and secretive, you are the dark horse of the group. Although supportive to those around you, you tend to prefer to operate on your own, away from group restrictions. You have a highly developed sense of self-reliance and your tenacity allows you to succeed where others might give up. Few people understand you well and you are often lonely. You might consider trusting others a little bit more.
Mostly d) - you are Arnold. What a sweetie you are! And how did you learn to stand on your head so well? We wish we could do that too! The ducks cheer when they see you heading over to their pond.
The only advice we could offer would be to have more faith in your own judgement. You don't need to rely on Pig for everything.
With thanks to these good people, who sent us a stack of Kipper books.
While on the subject of children's books, Edinburgh residents among you may be interested to hear that The Children's Bookshop at Holy Corner, Bruntsfield, will be holding a weekly story-telling session every Tuesday at 10.30am from 3 June for the under-fives. The bookshop has a great range of books - with a well-chosen selection for grown-ups too - and a lovely atmosphere. It also runs regular author events for children and adults (you can sign up to an email subscription on their website informing you about upcoming readings). So do pay a visit if you haven't already.
I broke down in the doctor's office at my first ante-natal appointment. It was a few days after the positive pregnancy test result. A young female doctor asked me, without looking at me or my notes, "Are you planning on continuing with this pregnancy?" Her jumper failed to cover her stomach and she had a can of Diet Coke on her desk. She might have been hung-over, I can't be sure. Ten years younger than me? Fifteen? I knew without being told that she was childless herself. "Have you even bothered to read my notes?" I accused her. "If you had, you'd know how much I want this baby. Of course I want to continue with the pregnancy. It's a question of whether I'll be able to." I burst into tears and waved my hands around my head. Turned to my husband. "See! She doesn't even care enough to read the notes to find out I've had a miscarriage." My husband held my hands, reasoned with me and produced a hanky to mop up my tears. "It's no good," I told him. "They can't help anyway. All they do is tell you the baby's dead, then act like they're morally superior and have a right to tell us what to do. What's the point of this?" The doctor's skin turned a blotchy red colour and I could smell her sweat. "They have to ask questions like this," said my husband. The doctor nodded earnestly. "Whose side are you on here?" I asked my husband.
Since this debacle a senior midwife, a woman whom I like and trust, a bit older than myself, with several children of her own, has handled all my ante-natal care. I'm now seven months pregnant and, with luck, she'll look after me during the birth. She's arranged her annual leave to be here for me around my due date. But, sometimes, when I go to the surgery to see Lorna, the midwife, I spot the doctor chatting with receptionists, tugging at the same bobbly, ill-fitting jumper, smoothing back her hair, laughing too loudly, hanging on what the older doctors are saying, trying to copy their behaviour. Knowing she hasn't got it quite right. And I remember being the same at her age. Yes, even down to bad taste in jumpers. I've apologised to her for my behaviour - and she was alright about it. Said she realised I needed 'more support'. That she'd spent more time reading through my notes. She was sorry too.
I was reminded last week about the difficulty of younger people's well-meant but sometimes insensitive attempts to offer care, when I met a twenty-something woman who was training to be a 'childbirth educator'. As with the doctor, I knew, the way you do, that she was childless. "You don't have any children of your own, do you?" I asked. No, she didn't. "Do you, errr, not see that as a problem in helping women through childbirth and becoming parents?" No, she didn't. Could she feel my bump, please? No, she could not.
How does Angelina Jolie do it? How can a pregnant woman manage to look that good? She makes pregnancy look easy. And she's expecting twins, for goodness' sake. Plus she's due in just a couple of months. But here she is, glowing with radiance in every single picture I've seen of her at this year's Cannes Film Festival. She's there to promote her new film, directed by Clint Eastwood, about a single mother in 1920s America whose son goes missing. Looking at the press pictures at lunchtime, I couldn't imagine her suffering a moment's morning sickness, joint pain, indigestion, constipation or cramp. I suppose she is an actress, part of the deal is putting a good face on things. Even when she just wants her bed. With a bottle of this elixir near to hand. But really, I must make more of an effort with my appearance.
Childbirth can be a source of sexual pleasure, according to a controversial new documentary film coming to the UK. "The same pleasurable stimuli triggered during sex can also be released during birth," says Debra Pascali Bonaro, maker of Orgasmic Birth. Here is a trailer for the movie, which shows women gasping and moaning as if they were in the throes of sexual ecstasy. The film is showing at the Glasgow Film Theatre on 4 June. More information available here.
Seven weeks to go until my due date for younger daughter! Husband and I
attended a birth preparation workshop this weekend, practising labour
postures, pain relief techniques and relaxation. Pain
management involved gripping an ice cube. My right hand
remains a little numb many hours later. Oh well. It was a good event,
not least because I got lots of massage and attention from Va-vay, my
husband. Some of the other couples there were expecting their first
children, which got me thinking about things I wish I'd known when I
was having a baby first-time round. Here are a few of my thoughts.
Please feel free to chip in with any of your own.
1. You cannot just put a new baby down in her cot and expect her to go
to sleep. Nah. No matter how tired you both are. For a long time,
getting Beanie (elder daughter) to sleep was a delicate process that
involved rocking, feeding, singing and hushing.
2. For this reason, a Moses basket is not necessarily a great
investment. By the time I had persuaded Beanie to sleep in
hers, she had just about outgrown it. Not only are Moses baskets
expensive, and used for a short time, but they come with annoying
padding and quilts 'for decoration' that could be dangerous for small
babies. But they do look cute.
3. It might be best to assemble all the baby kit BEFORE baby arrives.
Not afterwards, like I did. A simple car seat was beyond me to fit into
the car in the early weeks after having Beanie. Same went for breast
pumps. I wish I'd practised with the wretched milking machine before
Beanie arrived. In that post-natal daze, it seemed like I needed a
Diploma in Childrearing Equipment (Intermediate Level) to master the
thing. Nowadays I see the pump gathering dust in a kitchen cupboard. It
looks simple enough. What was the problem?
4. Despite what the books say, there's no great harm (that I can see,
anyway) in letting baby fall asleep for a short nap in his or her
parents' arms. Snuggling up with Beanie was one of the most blissful
experiences of my life. Letting your baby sleep in your arms doesn't
mean your child will be incapable of sleeping in a cot on their own (as
some of the books will tell you). Just enjoy the experience. Because,
before you know it, you'll be onto a different stage. Which reminds me
of something else....
5. The sleepless nights don't last forever. Though they seem endless at
the time. Almost before I knew it, I'd gone from praying for more sleep
to missing Beanie being around for night-time feeds. All the stages are
over so quick. The era of pureed root vegetables already seems years
away. Was there really a time when she couldn't walk? When I wondered
if she'd ever be big enough to fit into six-to-nine month vests?
6. Some parenting books sell themselves by threatening all kinds of
dire consequences if you don't follow their advice to their letter.
Sleepless nights spent looking after kids who are candidates for
Supernanny. That sort of stuff. Unless you follow their 'routines' to
the letter, that is. Mostly, that is rubbish. Most parents can muddle
through very well by following their own instincts. I wish I'd been
more chilled and less desperate for advice from childless parenting
gurus who play on new parents' vulnerability.
7. Other parents in baby groups tell fibs about their children's
achievements. Do not believe them. The more insecure the parent, the
more prodigious (or apparently so) their child's ability to 'sleep
through', grow teeth, walk, talk etc. I wish I hadn't been taken in by
the boastfulness.
8. The timing of milestones like first steps doesn't really matter.
Even though it seems to matter at the time. Healthy, normal children
will do things at the pace that's right for them. It's not worth
getting sucked into competitiveness over whose child started walking
first.
9. People have more strongly held views on how to parent than they do
on religion and politics. But whereas most people will hold back from
ramming political and religious views down the throat of acquaintance
and near or actual strangers, any new or expectant mother is considered
fair game for other people to offer unwanted advice. Don't take it personally. The converse is that having a child put me in touch with a great deal of unexpected kindness from all sorts of people.
10. Looking after a newborn isn't complicated. Feeding, sleeping, nappies. But it takes a huge amount of stamina.
And a bit of nerve. This job is relentless. And you never get a lie-in
to recover.
11. It doesn't matter how much you've achieved in your work (unless,
perhaps, you worked with children). Having a baby will test you in ways
you never imagined possible. Feeling totally responsible for a small
baby who is dependent on you for everything, and I mean everything,
is a tall order. For everybody. No matter how competent they were at
their jobs or in other spheres. I didn't understand this until I had my
daughter.
11. I wish I'd known in the early days, when I was so tired I could
hardly remember my own name, how fantastic it is to have a two-year-old
daughter. We can communicate with words! She has an excellent sense of
humour. We have fun together! She has turned from a tiny baby into an
affectionate and gentle little girl with an endearing curiosity about
the world. I'm proud of her.
Just read this and am at a loss what to think. Finding herself single at 40, the author used donor insemination to become pregnant. Superficially, at least, the procedure worked: she found herself the single mother of a healthy young son.
But, unsurprisingly, the author remains unhappy. Her single status still rankles, and she advises thirty-something women to 'settle' for any old man they can get their hands on and have children with him. It seems the poor woman herself can't find any man at all now, not even the ones she claimed she turned down a few years back. Turned down for minor deficiencies like 'abysmal sense of aesthetics'. Someone, please, explain to her that 'abysmal sense of aesthetics' in a man should be welcomed. It's proof of heterosexuality! Who wants to marry Oscar Wilde?
Believe me, I want to be supportive of women who deliberately go it alone in having children. I do! I really do. Many of these women are slightly older, like myself, and desperate for someone to love. I suspect they have donor children because they think a baby will bring them that love. But in my heart of hearts, I have to confess I'm uneasy. Sorry. Can't help it.
Jetting off to Spain (that way women can bypass UK fertility laws that would deny them 'treatment' in this country), where a doctor inserts a stranger's sperm into your vagina, seems to put having a child onto the same footing as buying a pet.
I know, I know, I'm old-fashioned. Please feel free to disagree with me (though, please, don't make it personal). But having a child myself has made me more conservative. And there are good reasons why this course of action is banned in the UK. I've tried to argue myself into feeling more sympathetic, but the truth is... I don't.
Just to be clear, I'm not talking here about single mums who find themselves bringing up a child on their own when the father walks out on them. That's very different indeed. It's the mums who 'buy babies' abroad who make me feel nervous.
My problem with women like the author of this article is that they think the act of having a child will give them the entire package of love/family/social approval/connectedness they want. They just don't understand that, ideally at least, a baby is the result of love between a man and woman. I know things don't always work out like that, but what's wrong with aiming high?
So they come back from Spain, considerably poorer after shelling out for the sperm, struggling with pregnancy sickness, then the shock of caring for a newborn. All on their own. Then wonder why they're more miserable than when childless.
The author of this article is advising single women in their thirties to settle for "Mr Good Enough" and abandon hope of finding true or lasting love. Most of the other mums in her baby groups (who must be so thrilled to have her around, eyeing up their husbands) have rubbish relationships, she argues. Why set yourself up for disappointment by having high expectations? Just marry anyone who'll have you.
I'm afraid I don't agree with the author about the wisdom of 'settling'. I believe lasting love does exist. Yes, it really does. That's what's kept me going through sleepless nights, sickness and pain. Even when we're irritated with each other. The connection is still there, the reason for making a family. It makes the bad times bearable, and the good times even better. There's no point in compromising on that. Otherwise why are you having a family? For show? To impress your parents and siblings? Prove you're not a loser? I'd rather have the real thing. Or nothing at all.
I've been tagged by Vanessa of Fidra - (now that sounds like a book title if ever I heard one) - in something called a book meme.
The rules are:
1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.
Birthing from Within by Pam England and Rob Horowitz.
"The burst of energy that accompanies the onset of labour allows for last minute 'nesting'. Use this opportunity to take care of any unfinished business before settling into your birth place and the state-of-mindlessness sometimes referred to as 'Labourland'. In America, the image of women in labour lying down in a narrow bed, waiting and watching the monitor has become part of our idea of birth."
My brain isn't working well this morning - that 'state-of-mindlessness' thing kicking in already. I need to have a think about who I'll tag. Update follows later.