So how do we justify a decision to bear children?

I recall a discussion with my brother a couple of years ago, when we were in the decision-making phase of child number two, and wrestling justifications for either side of the to-have or not-to-have argument. He didn’t agree with some of my rationale, nor I with his…so who was right? Clearly, I was. I always am. I cited reasons such as having a sibling for child number one and wanting to see if I could cope better with those early days second time around.  Admittedly, the former justification weighed a little more heavily and probably sits more comfortably with most, but the latter is also truth.

And so I got to wondering about what justifications for having kids other people provide, either stated overtly or swimming silently through their minds. Is it a basic obligation to prop-up the population? An egotistical desire to see our genes laid before us? A desperate attempt to be needed, dependent upon and loved unconditionally? A mere excuse to escape paid employment for a period of time? A misguided decision to get enlarged breasts on the cheap or receive money from the government?

Parenting is full of dodgy decisions and even more appalling justifications. But the eased guilt or remedied indecision is justification enough. Right?

It goes against everything we will tell our kids about strangers, especially men offering gifts and cuddles. But we push them forward each year, so that they can have their annual photo with the big guy. We chuckle at the screamers, applaud the children who make it to the feet of the jolly fella, and cheer when a smile breaks out or physical contact is made without meltdown. WHAT?

The Big Boy has never really taken fondly to St Nick, but now sees him as a source of toys, the giver of gifts, the one who asks for nothing in return. So this year he went with no cajoling towards this man and snatched the bubbles right out of his hand.  He told us that this was the real Santa, as opposed to the one of TV who is simply a person dressed up as Santa. No panic attacks and no screaming.

Only a few months ago we’d had a wee chat about talking to people he doesn’t know, when he took it upon himself to go out into the front yard and talk to a walker with a dog (as opposed to going to the garage and getting in the car as he’d been instructed to do). Without wanting to squash his sociable, chatty tendency, we spoke about making sure that mum or dad is with him if he decides to wander and converse with an unknown quantity. We didn’t want to harp on about dodgy men with lollies and backseats, because instilling fear seems a little wrong.

So why is Santa any different? Should we be including a clause (excuse the clever pun) in our Stranger Danger talks about red suits, bells, sacks and ho-ho-ho’ing? Should we explain that when it comes to Christmas time, parents are inconsistent and please don’t dwell on this one too much? And then there’s the small issue of a strange man coming into their bedroom when they’re asleep…

Mia Freedman referred to it recently as ‘backseat parenting’ – when others generously impart their parenting wisdom on you, ready or not. Everyone seems to have an opinion – another parent, a non-parent (I like to refer to them as The Sane Ones), family, friend, stranger… There are experts everywhere! Aren’t we, the parents of the child who is up for analysis, so fortunate to be surrounded by such a wealth of knowledge and experience?

I don’t want to sound ungrateful – as a parent, support from others is crucial to survival. I often seek an opinion or some advice when it comes to working out my kids – my foggy, indecisive and often anxious mind doesn’t always permit the clearest of thoughts or rational problem solving. Plus, talking to someone else about an issue, whether it be a defiant preschooler or a windy baby, gives me an excuse to debrief  (otherwise known as whinging), and that, in all seriousness, is just as necessary to my sanity as getting practical help.

The thing is, some advice is sought and some is dished up, complete with feeding assistance (the spoon invariably overloaded and then reloaded as soon as it touches our lips). Some is offered out of a genuine desire to help and some is served with an icy cold side dish of know-it-all-ism. You know the people I’m talking about – they know everything about everything and believe that it is their duty to enlighten and educate the rest of us poor souls.

Parenting is trial and error, no matter what anyone says, published or otherwise. It can turn the most confident, capable and organised individual into a self-doubting, second guessing and balding shadow of a being, especially for those of us who are members of Control Freaks United. We absurdly assume that being parents, by nature of the fact that we have children, is qualification enough to know exactly what to do with our children and this ludicrous belief renders us highly vulnerable to the crushing effects of backseat parenting (with the exception of the Know It Alls).

So am I the least informed when it comes to my kids? Whilst my vulnerable inner child calls ‘maybe….’ in a pathetic whisper, I will stubbornly answer ‘NO!’, so that the backseat parents among us don’t succeed in wriggling their way into the Ford Focus drivers seat to send me tumbling down a slippery, prickly embankment.