You love not reading the news anymore. Because you can't. Not properly anyway. Not in that broadsheet extended double page in-depth analysis with charts and extra voxpops way, anyway. Alright, you might scan the voxpops. But I mean, who really has the time for reading even one page of a broadsheet in full? Either somebody has a little too much time on their hands. Or they haven't got kids.
Instead you find Metro's abbreviated semi-news heavy duty enough. Yes, that's right, Metro, which you used to deride for its patronising drivel. You lap up 'how to' inserts. You even find yourself drawn towards all those flimsy shiny women's mags you used to balk at. So trivial. So fluffy. So degrading to your intellect. But so easy to pick up and read between your little dearest squawking something about MUUUUUUUUUM WHERE'S THE ROUNDANDROUNDTHING MUUUUUUUMMMMM I'M TALKING MUUUUUUUUUM and CAN I WATCH TEEEEEEEVEEEEEEEEEEE and OOOWOOOWOOOOOOOOOW MUUUUUUUUUUM I GOT AN OWOOOOOW MUUUUUUM I NEED A PLASTER MUUUUUUUUUUM. The ultimate multitask read, you suddenly understand why the articles in these publications are so short and petty and frothy. And why they're aimed at women with kids.
To be brutally honest, it's a bit of a relief. Does anybody really like reading newspapers or is it just something you end up doing as you try your best to become a real adult, you know, as your 'duty', like writing thank you cards and putting the bins out. New mummies have the perfect excuse to avoid all that intellectual posturing. Of course there's a place for proper news and intelligent reading. But knowing all the world's bad news makes no difference to our daily lives, beyond injecting the reader with a sense of shame (to be part of the human race) and, well, hopeless despair. However, knowing that Kate Moss also has a jelly belly* can, sometimes, put the whole world to rights.
*uncorroborated at the time of writing
Friday, January 30, 2009
13 John Lewis
In the old days you shopped at a variety of stores. Some of them sold cool, funky things and some of them played pumping house music in the background while you were in the changing rooms.
But now, much like your parents before you, you only ever shop in John Lewis. It may not be cool. The soft furnishing section may, frankly, look like a room-set from your Great Aunt Gladys’ house.
But John Lewis is safe. It looks after its staff which makes you feel better about shopping there. It has never knowingly undersold. It has a bra-fitting service. And it sells pretty much everything a growing family could need, from baby bouncers to fridge-freezers.
And crucially – and this is the bit that really counts - it has good changing rooms. You can breastfeed in them, you can change your baby’s nappy, hell you can have a full-on, 20 decibel argument with your partner about which baby bouncer to buy within listening range of at least 10 other mothers. Frankly there is really no need to shop anywhere else ever again, so why bother?
But now, much like your parents before you, you only ever shop in John Lewis. It may not be cool. The soft furnishing section may, frankly, look like a room-set from your Great Aunt Gladys’ house.
But John Lewis is safe. It looks after its staff which makes you feel better about shopping there. It has never knowingly undersold. It has a bra-fitting service. And it sells pretty much everything a growing family could need, from baby bouncers to fridge-freezers.
And crucially – and this is the bit that really counts - it has good changing rooms. You can breastfeed in them, you can change your baby’s nappy, hell you can have a full-on, 20 decibel argument with your partner about which baby bouncer to buy within listening range of at least 10 other mothers. Frankly there is really no need to shop anywhere else ever again, so why bother?
12 Buggy envy
You spent three months debating the relative merits of Maxi Cosi lock-in systems, giant three-wheelers and featherlight, aeronautically engineered Maclarens.
In the same way men fetishise cars and motorbikes, you can tell a Bugaboo from a Quinny at 100 paces. And yet whichever buggy you decided to buy, and however painful the impact on your bank balance, you will wish you’d bought a different one. The other mummies' models will be chicer, narrower, easier to steer, lighter, better off road, have more storage space underneath, be easier to fold into the boot of your car.
If yours faces outwards, you will worry that you are permanently damaging your child by making them look out at an unloving, uncaring world and ruining your bonding experience.
If yours faces inwards, you will worry you are permanently damaging your child by making them look at your sleep-starved, angry and tear-streaked face rather than being stimulated by the outside world.
You will then spend £500 on another buggy, before realising it, and all other buggies, do basically does the same job. Which is gets your baby from A to B.
In the same way men fetishise cars and motorbikes, you can tell a Bugaboo from a Quinny at 100 paces. And yet whichever buggy you decided to buy, and however painful the impact on your bank balance, you will wish you’d bought a different one. The other mummies' models will be chicer, narrower, easier to steer, lighter, better off road, have more storage space underneath, be easier to fold into the boot of your car.
If yours faces outwards, you will worry that you are permanently damaging your child by making them look out at an unloving, uncaring world and ruining your bonding experience.
If yours faces inwards, you will worry you are permanently damaging your child by making them look at your sleep-starved, angry and tear-streaked face rather than being stimulated by the outside world.
You will then spend £500 on another buggy, before realising it, and all other buggies, do basically does the same job. Which is gets your baby from A to B.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
10 Pretty changing bags
Changing bags are just bags. With a changing mat inside. You could just as easily take any old bag, stick a nappy, some baby wipes and a rectangle of wipe-down plastic inside it and call it a changing bag. But having a changing bag makes us feel more organised, happier, more like 'proper' mummies.
We like the temperature-controlled foil-lined pouch we can put the bottle in (but never do). We like the fact that there is a separate mat that zips into place. We also like the fact that you can buy girlie floral versions now of something that is basically really all about helping you get rid of wee and poo.
We are girls and even if we don't have time to brush our hair any more, we still want to accessorize.
We like the temperature-controlled foil-lined pouch we can put the bottle in (but never do). We like the fact that there is a separate mat that zips into place. We also like the fact that you can buy girlie floral versions now of something that is basically really all about helping you get rid of wee and poo.
We are girls and even if we don't have time to brush our hair any more, we still want to accessorize.
9 Cafes with pull-down changing stations
When you have a baby, some fundamental changes occur to your social life (understatement of the year, but you know what I mean).
You no longer worry about going to hip bars or cool clubs. You no longer spend Sunday mornings lazing around reading the papers, then ambling down to a sunny pavement café where you can take your time over a croissant and coffee before perhaps moving on to a double bill of old movies at the local arts cinema. (OK you may never have actually done this anyway, but at least the potential was there.)
You have two, perhaps three, criteria for places you can go out to now:
* Can I fit my buggy in through the door, and between the tables?
* Will the other people there give me dagger-like looks and mutter ill-concealed baby-hating comments under their breath the whole time, especially if my baby cries, or heaven forbid, actually breastfeed in public?
* Is there a toilet with a pull-down changing station? If it doesn’t have one – and let’s face it most don’t, you’re in Britain – is there a space on the floor large enough to lay down your baby on a changing mat that isn’t already covered in a pool of someone else’s wee?
If the answer to these questions is yes, congratulations, you have discovered the location for your new social life.
You no longer worry about going to hip bars or cool clubs. You no longer spend Sunday mornings lazing around reading the papers, then ambling down to a sunny pavement café where you can take your time over a croissant and coffee before perhaps moving on to a double bill of old movies at the local arts cinema. (OK you may never have actually done this anyway, but at least the potential was there.)
You have two, perhaps three, criteria for places you can go out to now:
* Can I fit my buggy in through the door, and between the tables?
* Will the other people there give me dagger-like looks and mutter ill-concealed baby-hating comments under their breath the whole time, especially if my baby cries, or heaven forbid, actually breastfeed in public?
* Is there a toilet with a pull-down changing station? If it doesn’t have one – and let’s face it most don’t, you’re in Britain – is there a space on the floor large enough to lay down your baby on a changing mat that isn’t already covered in a pool of someone else’s wee?
If the answer to these questions is yes, congratulations, you have discovered the location for your new social life.
8 Birkenstocks
I knew I'd become a 'real mother' when I finally relented and bought a pair of these. 'Real mothers' don't wear smart shoes. Just like they don't have skinny bellies and shiny freshly combed hair. C'mon did you really believe that celeb hype? Did you not realise that while Katie Holmes pushes her Bugaboo gracefully in her Miu Mius, some aide is probably schlepping some huge sack of detrius behind, just out of shot.
No 'real mother' would be able to push a buggy in a pair of heels (aside from the fact they make you too tall for the buggy so you're bent over double when you're going downhill - good look). Have you any idea how much even a Maclaren weighs once you plus on a 12-kilo-toddler and their inevitable daily kit including two teddies, five types of snacks to cover every fusspot eventuality, three hardback books for the same reason, a bottle of water, a bottle of juice, spare clothes (if you're toilet training), nappies (if you're not) an extra blanket and a Dora torch?
And can you afford to? Nice shoes would last about a day with a toddler in tow. You'll need flatties to cope with the mud of the playground bushes. And not get upset about stains when the yoghurt goes flying during your toddler's valiant effort at independent eating, albeit with a fork. And let's be honest, you'll need to be quick on your feet to keep up with your little 'un who has an uncanny natural desire to walk right up to the edge of the pavement, right there, where that SUV is now backing up into the driveway. Oh and then there's beloved public transport. Try heaving a full buggy up and down the stairs in even 2-inch-high-boots. It ain't worth it.
But scratch the practicalities. Like with any other clique. Or sect. I knew I'd 'arrived' when I wore my birkenstocks proudly to my breastfeeding group where every other 'real mother' was also clad in the requisite loose jeans 'n' birkenstocks combo. OK so I couldn't breastfeed one-handed while discussing the merits of child-led weaning a la Gill Rapley, but I was getting there.
Monday, January 26, 2009
7 Annabel Karmel
We wouldn't be suprised to learn that this woman outsells Nigella, and it is easy to see why. In your darkest hour, when you are looking the prospect of weaning full on in the face having slept only four hours per night for the past four months, but have no idea where to begin, she will help you out with a series of recipe books on, basically, how to mush.
The most extravagant thing you have previously ever cooked may involve eggs and toast. But Annabel will take your hand and, like a fairy godmother, tell you exactly what to do. She will patiently explain exactly how to peel, chop, cook and puree a carrot. And an apple. And a pear. She will tell you when to give your baby a bottle of milk, which purees combine well with other purees. She will even tell you when to use a mouli, even if you still have no idea of what a mouli is.
In a perfect world, we wouldn’t need Annabel Karmel. We would be snug in close-knit communities of three generations of females, all helpfully showing each other how to breastfeed, and change nappies, and make purees and explaining just why you should quarter grapes. But we don’t. That is why we like her.
The most extravagant thing you have previously ever cooked may involve eggs and toast. But Annabel will take your hand and, like a fairy godmother, tell you exactly what to do. She will patiently explain exactly how to peel, chop, cook and puree a carrot. And an apple. And a pear. She will tell you when to give your baby a bottle of milk, which purees combine well with other purees. She will even tell you when to use a mouli, even if you still have no idea of what a mouli is.
In a perfect world, we wouldn’t need Annabel Karmel. We would be snug in close-knit communities of three generations of females, all helpfully showing each other how to breastfeed, and change nappies, and make purees and explaining just why you should quarter grapes. But we don’t. That is why we like her.
6 Cold tea
Ok, you maybe not actually like it, but you've probably got used to the taste of it.
A typical morning might run something like this. Make a cup of tea at 8am. Get distracted by baby wanting to be fed, have his nappy changed or crying. Get around to sipping tea at around 8.45am when it is lukewarm and a thin layer of scum has settled on the surface. At 9am, when it is stony cold and completely undrinkable, throw it away, boil the kettle and start again. Process repeats itself until day ends.
At various points you may find yourself microwaving three-quarters full cups of tea. This never works as it will either a) be so hot it will take a thin layer of skin off the top of your lip b) make the whole thing taste even more like leftover dishwater c) heat up the film of scum on top so it looks, as well as tastes, revolting.
Like a long soak in the bath, straightening your hair or wearing full make-up, having a hot cup of tea is something you may never experience again.
Fact: one tenth of global warming is caused by mothers boiling kettles for cuppas they never actually drink. Maybe.
A typical morning might run something like this. Make a cup of tea at 8am. Get distracted by baby wanting to be fed, have his nappy changed or crying. Get around to sipping tea at around 8.45am when it is lukewarm and a thin layer of scum has settled on the surface. At 9am, when it is stony cold and completely undrinkable, throw it away, boil the kettle and start again. Process repeats itself until day ends.
At various points you may find yourself microwaving three-quarters full cups of tea. This never works as it will either a) be so hot it will take a thin layer of skin off the top of your lip b) make the whole thing taste even more like leftover dishwater c) heat up the film of scum on top so it looks, as well as tastes, revolting.
Like a long soak in the bath, straightening your hair or wearing full make-up, having a hot cup of tea is something you may never experience again.
Fact: one tenth of global warming is caused by mothers boiling kettles for cuppas they never actually drink. Maybe.
Friday, January 23, 2009
5 Plastic crap
Did we have all this stuff when were growing up? The answer is ‘no’. When discussing what we used to play with when we were little, one of my friends said her mother told her ‘you just used to play with your hands.’
Not any more. While your baby would probably be just as happy playing with an empty crisp packet and an exposed plug socket, the Baby Industry makes you feel guilty about buying enough ‘educational toys’. In this context ‘educational’ means anything bright that you can touch – or in Plastic Crap Speak, ‘it develops their senses and helps them interact with the world’. Wow, like, really educational.
Once upon you lived in a house where, while it might not have won any style awards, at least you could actually see the living room floor. Now it is just a carpet of day-glo yellow and green, hideous 'play mats' and bizarre, multi-limbed crinkly toys that seem to be multiplying like bacteria. And it's only going to get worse. Our advice? Join a toy library. Then at least you don't have to keep all the plastic crap.
Not any more. While your baby would probably be just as happy playing with an empty crisp packet and an exposed plug socket, the Baby Industry makes you feel guilty about buying enough ‘educational toys’. In this context ‘educational’ means anything bright that you can touch – or in Plastic Crap Speak, ‘it develops their senses and helps them interact with the world’. Wow, like, really educational.
Once upon you lived in a house where, while it might not have won any style awards, at least you could actually see the living room floor. Now it is just a carpet of day-glo yellow and green, hideous 'play mats' and bizarre, multi-limbed crinkly toys that seem to be multiplying like bacteria. And it's only going to get worse. Our advice? Join a toy library. Then at least you don't have to keep all the plastic crap.
4 Golden Balls with Jasper Carrott
Make that daytime TV full-stop.
In the old days you watched things like CSI and 24, occasionally even Newsnight. Now, along with the long-term unemployed, you watch Jeremy Kyle and Matthew Wright (see also shopping in the daytime), while you breastfeed and eat another biscuit.
You know not only the names of all the GMTV presenters, but what shifts they work. The Loose Women are your friends. You are addicted to Eggheads and probably have a crush on Jeremy Vine.
You also watch the Weakest Link, Countdown and Diagnosis Murder. Golden Balls is the highlight of your day. You often think about applying for Deal or No Deal, even though you know it is just a meaningless game of chance and you’d be better off going to the betting shop. This is your life now.
In the old days you watched things like CSI and 24, occasionally even Newsnight. Now, along with the long-term unemployed, you watch Jeremy Kyle and Matthew Wright (see also shopping in the daytime), while you breastfeed and eat another biscuit.
You know not only the names of all the GMTV presenters, but what shifts they work. The Loose Women are your friends. You are addicted to Eggheads and probably have a crush on Jeremy Vine.
You also watch the Weakest Link, Countdown and Diagnosis Murder. Golden Balls is the highlight of your day. You often think about applying for Deal or No Deal, even though you know it is just a meaningless game of chance and you’d be better off going to the betting shop. This is your life now.
3 Buggie wars
Hey Miss City Woman shooting me a dirty look because I’m blocking the escalator. I used to be you. I too got irritated by slow walkers, and babies that shrieked in coffee shops while I was trying to have a quiet conversation over a frapuccino.
I too rushed around, darting around people in a mad rush to shave two minutes off my commuting time.
Now I am slow. I have to loiter at the bottom of stairs on the Tube waiting for unhurried strangers to help me hoist my pushchair up. If I am in a particularly bad mood I will ‘accidentally’ nudge your Achilles heel with the back of my wheel. It will hurt.
One day in the not-too-distant future you will probably be me, and remember how unsympathetic you were.
I too rushed around, darting around people in a mad rush to shave two minutes off my commuting time.
Now I am slow. I have to loiter at the bottom of stairs on the Tube waiting for unhurried strangers to help me hoist my pushchair up. If I am in a particularly bad mood I will ‘accidentally’ nudge your Achilles heel with the back of my wheel. It will hurt.
One day in the not-too-distant future you will probably be me, and remember how unsympathetic you were.
2 Taking three hours to leave the house
In the old days it was easy. Handbag, mobile, keys, go.
Now it’s handbag, mobile, keys, changing bag, nappies, baby wipes, changing mat, bottle, formula, toys, hat, breast pads, muslins, nappy sacks, spare vest, spare trousers, dummy, food, bowl, spoon, blanket, snowsuit (if it’s cold), sunscreen (if it’s hot). And you’ve still forgotten something. That’ll be your keys. And your mobile.
This is why if you are planning to get somewhere for 10am you must get up at 5am.
Now it’s handbag, mobile, keys, changing bag, nappies, baby wipes, changing mat, bottle, formula, toys, hat, breast pads, muslins, nappy sacks, spare vest, spare trousers, dummy, food, bowl, spoon, blanket, snowsuit (if it’s cold), sunscreen (if it’s hot). And you’ve still forgotten something. That’ll be your keys. And your mobile.
This is why if you are planning to get somewhere for 10am you must get up at 5am.
1 Gory birth stories
Most of the first month of your baby’s life will be spent with you recounting their bloody and painful entrance into the world. You will tell the story to anyone who will listen: friends, relatives, the woman at the Tesco checkout.
These tales are particularly enjoyed by other women who are already in advanced stages of pregnancy, those who suffer from tokophobia and single friends who are ambiguous at best about the idea of spawning children.
However, some birth stories have more gravitas than others. The following win hands down: any experience involving third degree tears. Caesarian wounds that got infected (extra points if you were readmitted to hospital). Losing more than four pints of blood. Any experience that resulted in an inquiry and legal action being taken against the hospital/midwife/anaesthetist.
The inverse of Gory Birth stories are easy birth stories. These are the woman who say things like ‘I hadn’t even realised I was in labour but when I got to hospital I was 9cm dilated. Then 30 minutes later little Jasper/Esme popped out.' These woman are inhuman and to be avoided at all costs.
These tales are particularly enjoyed by other women who are already in advanced stages of pregnancy, those who suffer from tokophobia and single friends who are ambiguous at best about the idea of spawning children.
However, some birth stories have more gravitas than others. The following win hands down: any experience involving third degree tears. Caesarian wounds that got infected (extra points if you were readmitted to hospital). Losing more than four pints of blood. Any experience that resulted in an inquiry and legal action being taken against the hospital/midwife/anaesthetist.
The inverse of Gory Birth stories are easy birth stories. These are the woman who say things like ‘I hadn’t even realised I was in labour but when I got to hospital I was 9cm dilated. Then 30 minutes later little Jasper/Esme popped out.' These woman are inhuman and to be avoided at all costs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
