Penni Drysdale - P Plate Parenting

He sucks and sucks and sucks. Oh, hang on, you might not know who I’m referring to. There are, after all, three males in the house. It’s not the Baby (no, he has been convinced to give up the nipple addiction..sort of..though his lunge towards the drooping left one in the bath tonight suggests that he still has some way to go in therapy). It’s not my husband either. That leaves the School Boy.

Anything will do – cords on clothes, buttons on clothes, toys, the TV remote. He’s not even aware that he’s doing it. So why does he do it? I know that our rabbit used to lick our skin in order to get extra salt. I know that babies suck for comfort, and probably out of boredom too. Has he decided that his little brother was on to something and there is great joy to be had by having a suck? Is he parched? Does he enjoy the tingle and sting of the eczema that surrounds his mouth as a result?

To my great relief, I’ve seen other kids in his class do it too – the cords on school hoodies and hats seem to be popular for a suck. But that doesn’t make it any less bizarre or disgusting. The handles of his library bag are drenched and stinky. The cord on his big blue hat is disintegrating. And his mouth resembles that of a clown’s (let’s hope that school photos fall on a day of less sucking activity).

Why? I don’t know, he doesn’t know. Let’s add it to the mounting pile of ‘Why does my child…?’ questions, along with smearing poo on the wall and waking at the crack of dawn regardless of the previous night’s bedtime.

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So genetics versus environment. We all know it’s a combination to the two, the ratios of which depend on where your guilt lies. You see, it’s entirely your fault if you blame genetics, but at least there was nothing you could do about. Whereas environment, well, you can blame other factors outside of yourself, but you potentially have more control over them than your genes…with me?

So, when it comes to my kids, here is what I know I can blame on my genetics:

1. eczema – as we smother the wriggly, nudey rudey, obsessed with his bottom and penis Big Boy in moisturiser morning and night, my poor husband groans and curses my genetics… sorry to say, darling husband of clear skin, that the Baby has patches of dodgy skin now too!
2. a pasty complexion (the Baby) – once again, apologies to my olive-skinned, tolerant-of-the-sun husband who laughs at my paranoid slip, slop slapping
3. a touch of the ginger – whilst the Big Boy seems to have his daddy’s colouring, it appears that the Baby may have inherited a little strawberry-blond from my side. I’m not sounding like the best choice in mating partners, am I?

Things I can perhaps blame on my genetics:

1. Big Boy’s ‘cheeky monkey’ syndrome (though my husband has to accept some responsibility for this one)

Things I wish I could claim as my genetics:

1. Big Boy’s spatial skills

Things the Big Boy didn’t seem to get from my Good genetic pile:

1. athleticism – at the 70m mark on the aths track next door, his shoulders slump, feet drag and his face pales…and don’t get me started on his poor performance in body building classes
2. musicality – tuneless tunes are his love…at least he has imagination and creativity when it comes to making up his own melodies and lyrics…in fact, we may well train him up to audition for X Factor!
3. determination – at present, he prefers to try and never try again…ever! Or to not even bother attempting. Having said that, he’s certainly very determined when it comes to being heard and getting his own way.

Things I can well and truly blame on the environment:

1. his slightly pommy accent (cheers to a year in the Motherland)
2. his love of the Simpsons and Super Mario Galaxy (though some would argue that the passion was so great that genetics – not mine – simply must be involved)

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