Penni Drysdale - P Plate Parenting

Do such people exist? People who claim to know what a baby is communicating, wanting and needing in the absence of speech and language? Certainly some profess to have such a skill, even write books that detail how to ‘read’ a baby. Well, I have discovered a whisperer much closer to home…in fact, in my home.

This baby whisperer hasn’t written any books…he cannot yet read books. He is four years old and attends kinder. He is good at puzzles and eating and he appears to know what my baby is communicating. Yes, my preschool son is a baby whisperer.

I didn’t notice at first, probably because my son has a talent for non-stop chatter and not all of it makes sense. As a consequence, my ears have adapted to perform the task of turning this incessant string of syllables into white noise, to reduce the risk of brain meltdown. Hence, I am not always aware of what he is trying to tell me.

‘I think he wants more milk mum.’

Initially I reacted as any breastfeeding-around-the-clock mother would to the suggestion that the baby wants more. ‘NO HE DOESN’T!’ An over reaction, perhaps. ‘He can’t want more, I only fed him an hour ago. Why does that have to be the answer every time he cries?!’

‘I think he’s tired mum.’

‘But he hasn’t yawned yet.’

‘He’s got a pain in his tummy mum.’

‘But I’ve burped him already.’

The cheek! My four year old telling me what the baby wants and needs! I am the mother of the baby and therefore I instinctively know what to do with it, don’t I? What does he think he’s playing at?

I ignored his suggestions to start with – my pride insisted so. But desperation gradually lowered my guard and I began to listen to him. He says he’s hungry? Fine, I’ll offer him my breast. He has a pain? Alright, I’ll do some more patting and rubbing. And on nearly every occasion my preschooler has been right, his suggestions resulting in a happier baby and more peaceful house.

How does he know? How does he do it? Is it luck? Guess work? Are my boys able to communicate in a way that is not available to me? Whatever the explanation, I’m pretty impressed and stoked. I briefly considered contacting Today Tonight, or maybe even A Current Affair to share my baby whispering child with the world, but decided against it. After all, I don’t want him to know that he is a better mummy to his brother than I am. My pride wouldn’t cope.

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To be honest, I don’t trust him. Okay, maybe that’s a bit broad and harsh, so let me be more specific. I don’t trust that my 4 year old will not squash the baby. In fact, I live in fear that I will avert my gaze for a millisecond and be faced with a death scene when I look back.

It’s not that he hates the baby, or is a violent child, but he’s four and male and struggling a little with sharing the attention.  He throws himself around the lounge, bouncing from one corner to the next, on and off and the couches. Mostly his movements are intentional, conscious, but at times he enters a world of his own and isn’t faintly aware of the objects or people that surround him. He trips on the play gym, stumbles on top of the rocker and inadvertently kicks the rattle across the room.

There’s also the bath scene, which includes husband, older child and baby, though drowning, rather than squashing, is the primary concern here. My big boy pulls ‘playfully’ at the baby’s legs (call me paranoid, but I think he knows exactly what he’s doing and just how firm he can be before having me scream at him in panic and anger). He pours warm water over the baby’s belly in what ought to be a gentle, thoughtful gesture, only the water gradually gets poured from greater heights and inches closer and closer towards the baby’s face.

What are the statistics surrounding the number of ‘accidental’ deaths each year involving babies and their siblings? You know the headline: “Big brother brutally bruises brain of baby”.  Is four years old too young to be tried, convicted and sent to juvie? My husband is more trusting of our big boy and less anxious about death scenes. In fact, on reading this, he will probably be googling ‘Parental paranoia: signs, symptoms and treatment options’.

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Sleep – that blissful state of peace, relaxation and rejuvenation. A distant, but beautiful memory. Once upon a time I could access this mystical state of existence overnight, relatively undisturbed, waking only to a full bladder or a sleep-talking toddler. I would grumble at being woken prematurely by said toddler early in the morning (and still do, to be truthful), preferring to rouse when my body and mind were fully recharged (a preference, but not a reality). How quickly the bar shifts.

Sleep is golden, delicious and at times elusive. More than two hours of sleep in any one attempt is a special treat, unpredictable by nature, precious and rare. It draws me in, regardless of where I am or what I am doing – I have been known to wake with a snort in the bath, multiple times, and to jerk awake whilst breastfeeding during the middle of the day. I often enter this restful world only to be shaken from it moments later by sounds of a lamb bleating in the field (the newborn).

As a consequence of limited access to sleep, life is a dense fog. I sound, look and function as though I haven’t slept for weeks – dark circles under the eyes (observed and reported by my eight year old nephew to all during a family do), flat hair, croaky voice and an inability to make decisions or even string a sensible phrase together. I am attempting to rest when the infant does, caring far less than previously about doing anything useful with my time. But restful intentions aren’t always rewarded when the baby has a blocked nose and snorts, groans and wakes far too often because of it.

I don’t recall feeling the effects of sleep deprivation like this the first time around. In fact, I became an enthused baker during nap times and a very house proud stay at home mum. Not even a hint of either of those now. Sure, I eat cakes and I stay at home, but there are no muffins in the oven and plenty of dust balls dancing on the surface of the floorboards!

Knowing during pregnancy that this fog is on its way really ought to make you cherish those five, brief, middle of the night toilet stops in the third trimester. Still, if women could truly appreciate the fog that awaits them on the other side of the delivery room, the population may well die off.

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On June 1^st we became a family of four. ‘Three boys and one girl,’ my eldest son states proudly. I remind him that we have three female bantams in the backyard, because they count, don’t they?

Having a newborn again, and all the demands that that places on energy, patience, perseverance and ultimately sanity, has not really been of concern to me, despite finding the early days with our first son more than challenging. This time I basically know what to expect – broken sleep, squirty nappies, leaking rocks for breasts, screaming (predominantly from the child) and lots of washing. Nothing rocket-sciencey , just monotonous, messy and exhausting.

What has thrown me is the challenge of having enough for two children and a husband– enough patience, enough energy, enough love – and the guilt associated with failing to be everything to everyone, despite knowing that this is simply impossible and not to be attempted by anyone. You see, the capacity to engage the rational, realistic part of the brain does not even go close to outweighing the impact of what is really at the core of parenting – guilt – in all its cruel irrationality and power.

I am engaging in the activities and conversations of my two big boys as much as I can between feeding, settling and resting. My efforts exist, but they are not enthusiastic and sometimes not even sincere.  I snap and grizzle, demanding less noise and better listening. The guilt nibbles at my toes incessantly like a school of small but determined tropical fish in waters of Malaysia. My husband, who has become cleaner, cook and entertainer extraordinaire, has been lumped with a bossy, bitchy wife and my son now has a largely absent mum (no improvement from the incapacitated one he has put up with for the last 9 months) who rears her disciplining head too often.

And then there’s the guilt associated with feeling nothing but love towards the helpless, beautiful newborn who seems to be doing all the right things. I know I’m sleep deprived and hormonal and I’ve been told by many that it takes time for everyone to adjust to the introduction of a new family member. It makes sense in the rational part of my brain, but where’s the magic wand that makes it easier here and now?

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In the blue corner is the four year old, armed and loaded with aggression, frustration and defiance. In the red corner is us (me and my parenting partner), peering out with uncertainty from behind our hooded robes, not knowing whether to be on the attack, the defense or simply run while we can. We are, clearly, fighting out of our own weight divisions, and it doesn’t seem fair that there’s two in one corner and one in the other, but that’s just the way it is.

Life in our little family has been somewhat tense in recent times. Big attitudes have met with angry voices, Lego has been thrown, name-calling hurtled across the room, tears and snot have poured from orifices and blood pressure has been rising. Why? His teachers suggest that it’s just a phase that children around our angel’s age go through and it will pass. Family and brave friends ‘wonder’ if it has something to do with the impending arrival of a new family member (did I order a side dish of guilt with that?). I have no idea – I just want to know what to do about it!

I was never one to clutch a new baby or parenting book tightly to my chest, sleep with it under my pillow and rely on it for great wisdom. I think such publications instill  fear, guilt and uncertainty. I believe that no child will not be found in a book and that parents know their child better than any author/expert ever will. Done. It’s said.

But I do admit that when times get tough it seems like the best thing to do – search the internet, read magazine articles and try to find the solution to your nightmare, or nightmare child as it may be. Yesterday I happened to see three different TV shows that spoke to some form of parenting practice, piled high with advice from ‘experts’. I also happened to read an article in a parenting magazine (not paid for, mind you) about managing child behavior.  I found myself, in my state of near desperation (I don’t think I’m there just yet), listening, absorbing and considering. Oops.

This is what I learnt:

1. The Super Nanny may have the whole Time Out thing wrong. It may, in fact, teach children nothing.

2. Counting to 3 (as in, ‘If you haven’t started brushing your teeth by the time I count to three…’) only shifts the post. Children know that you’re not serious until you get to three – you should just be serious from the start.

3. Yelling, screaming, shouting (not that it is ever done in this household) are not only ineffective in eliciting a change in behavior, but are a selfish act of steam release for the adult. Don’t do it.

4. Consequences, not punishment, are what children learn best from. Sometimes letting your child fall off the chair, when you have forewarned him of the danger and he continues to rock and wriggle, is the only way for him to learn that perhaps sitting still is the better option.

I’m not really sure what to do with this newly acquired wisdom. I think there is some merit in it and maybe we need to try some new tactics (we do have ambulance cover, so if it comes to learning from consequence, the financial cost is covered). I guess we’ll navigate our way through this dark patch with trial and error, as we have always done, and hope to emerge with as little bruising and bleeding as possible (having said that, labour and birth are just around the corner…).

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