Formula milk vs the traditional Japanese tea ceremony

  • Time must be allowed for preparation. The guest is made to wait, even if desperately thirsty.
  • Preparation is preceded by an elaborate cleansing ritual.
  • Preparation carefully follows rigid instructions, despite essentially being the simple mixture of a powder with hot water.
  • Both preparation and consumption utilise special implements, sometimes handed down through generations, and which are not used for any other purpose.
  • The guest of honour always drinks first.
  • The resulting product smells absolutely foul.

Potatoes in his lashes and swede in his hair

Every Mummy will, at some point, develop a sizeable collection of bodily-fluid war stories. We can reasonably expect that this will be the first of many. – Daddy

Alfie’s gag reflex works well. Mummy fed him swede for the third time. He’s not a massive fan, but ate it anyway. After a couple of coughs, combined with a cold, his gag reflex got put to the test and up came his lunch and his milk. Mummy caught it in one hand whilst unbuckling his harness with the other hand. She managed to get a plate in reach to pour the vomit in to, just as he threw up again, this time catching it in his bib. He proceeded to grab said bib and rub it in his eyes and hair.

With potatoes in his lashes, carrot up his nose and swede in his hair, Mummy comforted him, gently rubbing his back whilst walking up the stairs to change him. He let out a big fart.

Mummy put him on the changing table, undid his baby grow to see poo leaking on to his vest. Great. He proceeded to vomit again, so Mummy turned him on his side to let it out. His baby grow was sodden. He now had carrots in his ears too.

Mummy cleaned the sick into a bowl and removed his clothes for incineration. He offered his sicky hands for Mummy to chew on. Yum. She declined.

Mummy undid the nappy. He grabbed the nappy and smeared poo up his side.

Argh! What orifice or body function is left?! May as well just wee on Mummy too! So he did.

He started heaving again.

Mummy did what any loving mother would do in this situation. She gently picked him up, reassured him, patted his back with one hand, cupped his bottom in the other. He vomited on mummy and had a poo at the same time.

Mummy and Alfie had a shower.

He giggled, seemingly none the worst for wear, but hungry.

What’s new?

Amongst the most popular questions asked of a new parent are, surely, “What’s it like?” and “How does it feel?” The difficulty in answering is the lack of a frame of reference.

Beyond the obvious – I feel more tired, and perhaps more generally worried for the future – it’s hard to express how different everything now is. This is perhaps even more strange precisely because everything is so alien. Yet we find a way of adapting and coping.

My life up to 22nd September 2016 comprised variations on a routine established over a period of more than fifteen years. My life after that date no longer fits into those established patterns. Yet the adaptation was instant and easy. I cannot meaningfully say that I missed work particularly. Nor was it especially difficult returning to work, even though by then the new routine was fairly well-entrenched. As I turn up in the office each day, it often doesn’t really feel like life has undergone a seismic shift, and that we will never be the same again.

This is encouraging. We know that there is another step-change in routine due in a few months when Mummy returns to work, but I am able to look back at the previous changes and feel less daunted. If we could make it through the birth experience unscathed, then the future seems reasonably straightforward.

There is one huge lesson that every new parent must learn. It is the lesson that looking after a small child, utterly dependent on us, is a 24-hour business. There are no holidays. We can’t call in sick. We can’t start half-heartedly turning up each day while secretly updating our LinkedIn profiles. We aren’t even guaranteed a bathroom break when we need one. This makes me even more awed by the courage and resilience of single parents.

Mummy, who hasn’t returned to work yet, is bearing the brunt of this. The one small mitigation is that Alfie isn’t very mobile yet; he generally stays where he is placed. This will not last long.

How does this make me feel? Like an adult with responsibilities, of course; and proud of my Little One; but fundamentally the same person as I was a year ago. In contrast, I can look back on the person I was at the age of 25 and confidently say that I have changed. That 25-year-old would have said the same thing about his 21-year-old self; and the 21-year-old would have been pretty dismissive of his 18-year-old self. My rate of personal growth has significantly decreased, and I am comfortable with that.

But perhaps I am in denial; for, on further contemplation, a number of my core beliefs have quite simply changed overnight – mainly, the way I feel about other people’s children.

“A cleaner noticed the bin felt heavy and heard muffled squeaking and opened it to discover the newborn was still in the foetal position.”

Stories of bad parenting or hurt caused to children now often affect me profoundly, where before they might have elicited mild disapproval. Headlines such as Mum who dumped newborn baby in Wigan hospital toilets spared jail have me weeping into my desk at work. It seems that I subconsciously link the pain inflicted on an innocent stranger with the horrific possibility of harm coming to my own child.

My attitude to children in public has changed dramatically, too. To my shame, a crying child in a pub or on a bus used to make me immediately stressed. Now I’m likely not only to be sympathetic, but actually want to intervene and help. A crying child is not the same thing as an anti-social adult: he is a tiny human being in pain, with overwhelming emotions and a frustrating lack of ways to communicate his needs.

(As an aside: when Alfie cries, I get an involuntary rushing sound in my ears. Is this normal? It’s the same sound I get when I go from a very loud environment to somewhere quieter, or when I wake up from a nightmare and my heart is pounding. It seems to be physical and unrelated to my actual levels of stress. That is, I can’t feel myself tensing at the same time.)

There are more changes, of course. I follow baby blogs. I am scrupulously interested in the quality of baby products and facilities. I have a low tolerance for people who express anti-child viewpoints, and for those parents who seem disengaged from their offspring. I am much more comfortable and confident interacting with the children of friends. I am actively interested in building financial security for my family. I keep a more watchful eye for bad drivers. I am concerned about the state of the NHS. I have a marginally more relaxed attitude towards bodily fluids (I need to work on this).

And what have I lost in return? I think time will tell. I don’t feel that my social life has been severely restricted, but that’s largely because I didn’t have one of any significance. I have concerns about the practicality of travelling abroad with a small child, but I am willing to try. And my attitude to work may have shifted slightly, but that is more affected by the period of absence than because I now have a family. (My perspective on work would have similarly reset had I simply had a sabbatical.)

My life is not the same as it was, and nor would I wish it to be. But the changes have been more positive than I imagined, and despite some fears, I am optimistic for the future.

Performance review

This is the first quarterly performance appraisal for Mummy and Daddy, as reviewed and reported by Alfie.

Anticipating and reacting to baby’s needs

Mummy: Satisfactory. Mummy is generally able to identify my needs and offer an appropriate response. She occasionally reacts to a specific demand with non-specific comforting, in the form of a cuddle. These cases result in temporary relief, followed by significantly more urgent demands.

Daddy: Totally hopeless. Daddy seems to think that my pacifier is the answer to everything. He insists on going through the same tired procedure every time something goes wrong: ignoring me in the hope that I will stop complaining; repeatedly offering the pacifier, with increasing levels of annoyance and desperation; grudging cuddle; grudging cuddle while rocking or bouncing; grudging cuddle while standing; grudging cuddle while pulling faces or singing. These measures are pointless when all I need is a change or a bit of food.

Entertainment

Mummy: Good. Mummy always has plenty of times for games.

Daddy: Must try harder. Some of the funny faces and noises are quite entertaining at first, but they get stale after a while and I’d rather just sit quietly and watch the fish. Also, you’re using my toys wrongly: that butterfly thing is fun enough when I get to play with it, but it’s utterly terrifying when you flap it in my face. This must stop at once. Finally, and most importantly, no more singing. For the love of milk, I can’t take any more karaoke Bon Jovi.

Comforting

Mummy: Exceptional performance. Perfect cuddles every time, guaranteeing comfort. There’s no place I’d rather be.

Daddy: Unsatisfactory. It’s not very comforting when you’re clearly desperate to get me to shut up. Know your limits: sometimes only Mummy will do.

Feeding

Mummy: Good. Patient and gentle. Adept at identifying and dealing with wind.

Daddy: Unpredictable. On the one hand, Daddy often helps me reach new, delicious feeding volumes. On the other hand, he sometimes pushes me beyond my comfort zone. On such occasions, I am sure to provide timely feedback by vomiting violently all over him. Also, stop watching the TV over my head and pay proper attention to me. I’m not fooled.

Changing

Mummy: Generally OK. Gentle and entertaining. However, Mummy seems not to have learned that I’m quite likely to wee on her during a change, even though I’ve been trying to train her for months now.

Daddy: Failing grade. Usually hides in a different part of the house during a change, making his distaste obvious. Worse, when Daddy is left in charge, he often waits for extended periods while profusely denying that a change is even necessary.

Transport

Mummy: Good. A skilled and comforting pram pilot and harness-wearer. Sometimes flounders when putting me into my car seat or pram.

Daddy: Satisfactory. He has been known to jokingly let go of the pram on an incline. He worryingly thinks that it’s a good idea to fit the pram with headlights and a horn; let us hope that this is another putative “joke”. In the harness, he needs to recognise that he is far fatter than he believes, and therefore he must remember to loosen the straps sufficiently to avoid smooshing my face between his man-boobs. However, credit must be given for his discovery that I can keep warm while in the harness by putting my feet into the pockets of his hoody. Daddy also seems to attract the attention of little old ladies when out and about, and they are all obsessed by finding out how old I am. While I recognise that this is not Daddy’s fault per se, it does mean that trips out with Mummy are more efficient.

In praise of the NCT Mums

This week, I gatecrashed the regular coffee catch-up of the Mums from our NCT antenatal class.

Listening to the labour “war stories” and the baby-rearing tips being shared, I was humbled. I realised that these eight young women may well be struggling with being parents for the first time, but they are nonetheless going to be excellent Mums. They have actively sought to be well-informed and well-supported, and I am certain that this will extend to the way they nurture, educate and raise their children.

In most human endeavours, to become an expert in a field – a surgeon, say, or a fighter pilot – requires years of study and thousands of hours of supervised practice. Being a first-time parent is like being handed a scalpel after a handful of medical seminars, with the additional challenge that your family and the whole of society is judging you on your technique and results.

The media today seems to be relentlessly anti-parent. Mothers are too often deemed selfish and demanding (or worse, lazy), raising feckless, entitled brats. This is absolutely not so for Ranja, Emma, Hannah, Lauren, Anna, Gemma, Tamara and Amy. They seek to learn, to do the best they possibly can, and to help one another. I hope they will continue to do so, and I hope all the Dads are as proud as I am.

Thanks are due to Costa Coffee at Gloucester Metz Way, who have been very accommodating and supportive of the group.

Updated to add: One common feature of parenting blogs seems to be the blogger’s feelings of inadequacy in comparison to all the other perfect pushy parents and their precocious offspring. So it’s also refreshing and heartening that the NCT Mums will readily share their failures as well as their successes. Mutual support, not one-upmanship.

Alfie’s impressions

  • Lamb
  • Hedgehog
  • Seal pup
  • Scottish wildcat
  • Chipmunk (or possibly hamster)
  • Puppy dog
  • Truffle pig
  • Pony
  • Donkey
  • Gorilla (new today!)
  • Hungry zombie
  • No Face from Spirited Away
  • Tyres of speeding car on concrete multi-storey car park
  • Air raid siren

Alfie’s repertoire is expanding all the time, along with the capacity of his lungs. I fully expect to publish an updated list in due course.

Happy first month

Alfie is one month old today. He’s already changed so much and is doing very well. He’s starting to explore the world and to meet people too. In the next month, Mummy and Daddy want him to put on more weight and to develop his eating and sleeping habits a bit further.