Unwanted advice, insights and general smugness

Babies are easy talking points for many people. Friends, acquaintances, family and strangers can all find something to say or ask, when you are carting a TH around. This post is tricky to write as nearly everything is said with good intentions and it seems unfair to be rude. That said, when I declared my intentions to cover the subject matter, I was inundated with requests as to what to include. It seems that mothers and fathers everywhere are bored to tears with repetative questioning, strange questioning and unwanted advice. So as not causing offense has never been my strong point and my audience has requested it, here we go…

1) Pre birth: enjoy “it” now, you won’t be able to do that once the baby comes.

“It” usually meaning sleep or going out, to a lesser extent looking after your appearance and occasionally revolving around taking a shower (note these are not exhaustive “it” options.) Please can we calm down on the filling parents-to-be with the impending sense of doom? None of us venture this path thinking our lives will carry on like before but this precursor is taking the fun out of the change. There’s stuff I used to enjoy that I can’t relish in anymore and I do sometimes mourn for my old life (mainly drinking lots) but there’s a a whole new range of things I can enjoy! Also: Sleep? Honestly, I get more of it than when I was working full time. Appearance? Piling on the slap is part of TH’s morning routine (he loves the brushes and my vlogger style commentary on what I’m plastering on.) Shower? It’s all a bit Freudian, loves watching…that or trying to eat loo roll! Going out? I come home earlier and pour a lot less pinot down my neck.

2) Pre birth: do you miss alcohol? You won’t even be bothered about it after. Is Mr Gobshite drinking less?

FUCK YES. LIES. NO (in fact he drunk more expensive beer since the rounds were so cheap.)

3) Mostly pre birth: You’ll wonder what you did with your life before.

Let me think about that: left home, gained an education, employed in a variety of trades, went to uni again, began my career, travelled solo, travelled with friends, formed relationships with friends, dated unsuitable men, dated decent men, dated exciting men, enjoyed single life, went dancing every weekend, ate in fabulous restaurants, stayed up until the early hours listening to music too loud, lived with strangers who became friends, read more novels than I can remember, met my husband, travelled together, bought a home, learnt to love red wine, developed my fashion sense, indulged in expensive haircuts, honed a bangin’ body (I had abs for christs sake), spent time with family….WONDER WHAT I DID WITH MY LIFE? I chuffing lived it mate and made some fantastic memories. Now, I’ll carry on living it and making new ones.

4) Around due date: is the baby here yet? Have you tried…?

Listen here: if you have to ask, via Facebook, if the babies here yet. We obviously aren’t that close. A social media whore (me) will post it the minute its out her fanny. If someone is more private and you’re not in the inner circle, suck it up, you’ll find out on the grapevine.
Have you tried…? Basically guaranteed to make any pregnant woman, particularly the overdue ones, want to turn a bit stabby. FYI: don’t do what I did and try and eat the curry once labour starts (I was scared of not being allowed to eat in hospital.) Your body is designed to “cleanse” itself at this point…out both ends. Comprende?

5) Pretty much the second you have the baby: when are you having another?

I still cannot get over how often I am asked this. It’s such a presumptious and offensive question, especially when asked by strangers. Strangers who know nothing of the individuals journey to the one in front of them. Strangers who still carry on insisting “ohhhh you can’t just have one, it’s not fair on them!” What about what’s fair on my body? My financial situation? My relationship situation? What if this one destroyed my relationship? What about if this was a rainbow baby? What if this was a miracle baby? What about if this one was an accident? What about if I can’t have any more IVF? What about if I had PND and am terrified? What if one’s just so much bloody hard work I can’t be arsed with another? Sssssshhhhhhhhh, stop asking.
Besides all this, why is it so unbelievable that some people just want one child? There appears to be an ongoing narrative that there’s something wrong with one child families, sort of an inverse China!

6) Post birth: are you enjoying it?

Really, can parenting a new baby be reduced to a closed question? Looking at the whole picture, as in 24 hours a day, 7 days a week etc etc…no, no I’m not. Please don’t think I mean I hate it, “enjoy” is just the wrong word to describe the overall experience. There’s too much happening to “enjoy” consistently. For me there are moments of overwhelming joy, nearly every day, so much so I could burst with happiness. But then there is daily frustration, boredom and worry. There are days when I’m so done with mothering I practically throw TH at Mr Gobshite when he gets home and run away. My days are long but fulfilling and I couldn’t say I “enjoy” them all.
As with many off hand questions aimed at new parents, it also shows very little consideration regarding PND. People may be smiling and well presented but it doesn’t mean they are not struggling on the inside. At the risk of sounding like the teacher I am, maybe a more open ended question would be better.

7) Post birth: is he good?

I don’t know what this question means. I think people mean sleep when they ask this but I’m not sure. I don’t even know what to write about this as it confuses me so much and people ask it all the time! Any help appreciated.

8) Post birth: you’ve got all this to come.

Basically “just you wait” in another disguise. Sneaky sneaky. Often said by parents who’s kids are currently being shitty, whilst trying to vaguely reprimand them but failing miserably.

As seems to be style, I’m abruptly done here. Maybe it can be my signature move? Neat conclusions are for people with too much time on their hands, I’m just trying to bash this out and enjoy my alone/adult time before TH wakes again! As always I hope you’ve enjoyed reading, or if you’ve not, that I was at least interesting enough to hold your attention to the end and bitch about after! 

Goin’ pub wi’ a babi.

Once upon a time my life was baby free and beautiful. By beautiful I mean: clean, lacking pratical clothing, easy to leave the house and full of endless hours spent in drinking establishments. Occasionally I would arrange to meet friends with babies, to which the question of “I’m not sure if that place is baby friendly” often came up. That ‘place’ frequently meaning the pub. I assumed that viewing the pub as evil, like many aspects of child rearing, was something I failed to grasp the concept of (along with presenting raisins as a delightful treat) and I’d get it if/when I sqwoze a TH out.

Five months into my own rearing of tiny human (TH) I am yet to discover why the pub is such a terrible place to take him; in fact I’m convinced its an undiscovered gem of convenience. Now I’m not stupid, I know perfectly well some people read this with the sole intention of knocking my parenting style, while reinforcing they are doing the ‘right thing.’ For those people: I DO NOT SPEND ALL DAY EVERYDAY IN THE PUB GETTING PISSED. I could blandly list the many many MANY baby groups we go to (FYI: at least once a day we fill our boots with singing, clapping, eating coloured plastic, loving other babies in the eye and downing tea) but really that would be rather bloody boring. I LOVE baby groups, OK? Truely I do. My favourite group? An afternoon one, where we all hit the local after, babies in tow, drinking £1 wine (maternity pay needs to stretch sisters). I seriously champion the pub. I’m not advocating hanging out there all day, believe me I’ve tried. Even my 5 month old knows I’m conning him that the selection of condiments and cutlery are sensory toys. I’m just saying, give it a chance.

It’s also worth noting I’ve never really gotten coffee culture. I’ll be honest, I’m a little more open to it since having TH. There’s a fabulous coffee shop near me, where TH is a real hit with staff and they serve a bangin’ jacket spud. As a result we visit most weeks. But I just don’t get it. I could never wax lyrical about lattes and I didn’t piss myself with excitement when Costa came to town. I seriously just don’t give any fucks about hot drinks and overpriced muffins. It’s pretty safe to say TH will never be served a babyccino; the idea makes me gag at the smugness of it all. As is a common theme in my blog: my adult lifstyle preferences didn’t die with the birth of my child. Cut me in half and I bleed pub; seriously. It is with great pride I state: I went into labour in our local AND it was the first place I went after I had him. We still go in most weeks; the landlady doesn’t think twice about scooping up TH and taking him behind the bar to pull pints.

Many years ago taking a baby, or a child, to the pub was unheard of. Grandma Gobshite reliably informs me that in her day it was a serious no go, smokey and bloke filled boozers dominated the pub scene. Times have seriously changed, the smoking ban was clearly a big one and also the rise of ‘ladette’ culture in the 90’s. Whilst the likes of Zoe Ball and followers have mellowed out (although recent gossip rags suggest otherwise) they paved the way for women in pubs being acceptable. It is no longer an outlandish idea that a woman will walk into a bar by herself, order a drink by herself, and drink that drink by herself. Thank you progress! The biggest clue that babies are welcome too? Do I even need to write it? Seriously? OK, baby change facilities. I could get seriously pissy about them frequently being only in the ladies but I’ll suck it up, for now. Baby change (along with highchairs and colouring sheets) is a clear indication that you and your TH are welcome.

That said my favourite boozer, in which to take TH, provides nothing in the way of baby friendly facilities, literally nothing. It is in every possible sense an ‘old mans pub.’ I find I can only write about it in contrast to the neighbouring facilities. Let’s say said neighbouring facility is a large department store that does a cracking line in Christmas adverts. Let’s say it’s also supposedly baby friendly, yet has its changing facilities on a completely different floor to the café and also requires you to balance your wares (that are rather expensive) on a tray in order to get to a table. Said table is also several miles away (seemingly) and the pathway scattered with dozens of unmoving elders and their shopping. Want to park your buggy up? Fine, as long as you are at peace with the buggy blocking the entire aisle. Highchair? I don’t even know where they keep them, can only assume they are conjoured up via witchcraft. My favoured boozer next door? I can walk in, park up TH at a table, keep one hand on him and order a coke (and/or wine) with the other. What’s that he needs changing and…fuck me, there’s no changing facilities! I should get on my high horse and complain that they dare not pander to my baby needs. Oh no it’s fine to do it at the table, on the bench or (horror of Horrors) the floor! Believe me I’ve asked and pointed out it’s not going to be pretty, seriously no problem! It’s occasionally a spectator sport, hark at the weird yellow poo! I cannot even begin to describe how much more relaxing it is than navigating the mdf aisles of next door. My friend’s toddler, roams free, on the carpeted floor, amongst the empty tables and without the fear of molten liquid being poured upon his head. No way that would happen next door.

Now old men pubs are all well and good but let’s face it, they frequently serve shit wine. I’ve made no secret of the fact: I love wine. I also think it’s acceptable to have a glass or two with TH in tow, get the fuck over it haters. For a decent wine, you need a bar. Bizarrely the most baby friendly bars I’ve been to have steps BUT have also had the best changing facilities. Sister gobshite lives in another city, the best baby change in that city? A John Lewis stacker, with a proper cushioned mat and wipes. Location? Up 10 steps in a city centre bar. This city? 3 good size steps, perfect baby change and brilliant large bar both suitable for toddler roaming and baby juggling. I’m telling you: don’t be put off by steps, it’s totally worth the upper arm workout in my experience.

Now we all know, I gave up the tit long ago but it’s worth mentioning: I whacked it out in them all, from the lowly to the classy and never had an issue. In good old ‘spoons a man once approached me while TH was on a tit, glass of wine in my hand, I thought “here comes the judging”..asked if I’d let him know when I was done, so he could look at the baby!

So there we have it peeps; the pub; perfect lone lady and TH haven with all the facilities and none of the hot liquids, definitely “baby friendly.”

*Further to this blog: I’m looking into setting up a “babies, besties and a bar” group in Sheffield. A group for small people, their big people and big people’s friends, who’d like to meet up, drink a little (or a lot, or none…it’s your call) in a boozer. I’d love to know if it’s of interest to anyone.

“Just you wait…”

I’ve encountered very few statements that start with the words “just you wait…” that haven’t been accompanied by me silently plotting the imminent, untimely death, of the mouthpiece.
Considering it is mostly spewed forth by pre-existing parents, I can only assume they loved being fucking patronised pre-child.

I was going to cover other sayings that make me want to coax my eyes out with a teaspoon but changed my mind. Not only is “just you wait” deserving of its own place but I’ve had loads of suggestions for others, both publicly and privately, I want to dedicate more time to in the next post. Please let me know any of yours you want adding.

The first whiff of JYW (just you wait) starts waaaaaaaay before producing a TH. In my experience it begins with the enjoyment of adult life. I mean proper adult life, like when you’re serious enough about it to consider a wine list, not just pick the cheapest. When taster menus are a way of life. Sunday’s involve reading a big newspaper over brunch AND not just because other people might see and aspire to be you. Long weekends in European cities on cheap Ryanair flights are regular occurances. Fuck, you even once ordered an organic veg box or tried a fitbit! YOU ARE LIVING THE ADULT LIFE, YOU MATURE BASTARD!
And there they are, the one’s who know better than you, for they have reproduced, bow down. Myself and Mr Gobshite were together five and a half years before we considered children, two of those married. For every child unfriendly activity (a term I use loosely, as I strongly believe you can shoehorn a TH into most activties) we undertook there always seemed to be some smug shit telling us “JYW you won’t be able to do that when you have kids.” What was clearly surprising was my frequent answer of “I know; I’m quite aware I can’t have a TH and do these lovely things” was met with slackjawed dumbfoundedness. I can only presume people who questioned me in this way spent their pre child life prepping, like those doomsday nuts on discovery. Adult only, all inclusive holidays? Noooooooo they spent two weeks milking up on the John Rocha pure cotton sheets and mumbling “fuck just turn it round” while throwing plastic bags of shit down the stairs, several times a night. THEY KNEW HOW TO LIVE. FACT.

Sub category of JYW pre children: “You’ll understand when you have kids/you don’t understand because you don’t have kids.”

I feel the same as I did now I have a kid, as I did before, it’s very simple: fuck the fuck off with your patronising attitude to my child free life, it is/was beatiful and fullifilled, understand that twat. As per my post on shit quotes, no empty space in this here heart, how dare it be presumed that wanting/having kids gives a better perspective on life.

So then you actually get knocked up and it really ramps up. I could go on forever but I’m going to stick with the one that bothered me the most and simultaneously offers advice to any pregnant women reading. DON’T EVER MENTION BEING TIRED/TAKING A NAP WHILE PREGNANT. I will eat my metaphorical hat if you’ve not had a convo like this:
Twat: how’s pregnancy going?
Me: I’m tired/I had a three hour nap today
Twat: JYW until the baby comes, you’ll never sleep again.
Me: I suppose the next thing you say will be….
Twat: make the most of it now
Me: yeah I thought so, saves me putting that as a sub category in my blog, thanks
Twat: you’re a bit rude aren’t you
Me: no, just fucking spot on bro

Following this you either squeeze out your TH or have it ripped from you, well done, have a lolly (not a sticker, don’t push your luck). Lo and fucking behold, your TH will begin to develop. This is when JYW sayers really come into their own, often with no prompting.

TH: *cries*
Twat: JYW until that gets louder

TH: *sleeps*
Twat: JYW until he’s teething/talking/able to climb out/shagging some bird he’s dragged home from plug at 3am

TH: *rolls*
Twat: JYW until he’s crawling/walking and destroying you’re lovely lovely cream house and carpets

TH: juggles fire
Twat: JYW he’ll burn the house down

I mean really? Did these people enjoy being showered with perpetual morbid foresights when they had their first child? Here’s the thing, I’m chosing not to live in a constant state of fear over what’s to come. Even though some days bring developments that scare me shitless, I’ll do my best to live for the moment. Yes he’ll fall over, eat crayons, talk shit etc BUT it will be fine.

The same people who love to tell me JYW also seem to be fond of waxing lyrical over how quickly time goes. The cliché around time is, however, is very true. If I spent my time worrying about the JYW moments to come, I’d be missing so much. TH is just over 5 months old and everyday he learns something new and exciting. Until today I didn’t realise I could take pleasure in someone else noticing they have toes but TH’s discovery of such was brilliant. It’s not a case of ‘just you wait’ it’s a case of ‘I can’t fucking wait…’