Penni Drysdale - P Plate Parenting

Does the arrival of a newborn mean the end of life as you knew it? Should it?

“Welcome to the Great Debate! On the affirmative team, debating that the arrival of a newborn should mean the end of life as you knew it, is New Beginnings. On the negative team, debating that the arrival of a newborn should not mean the end of life as you knew it, is Clutching On. Opening the debate is the affirmative.”

New Beginnings:
“You chose (either intentionally, or by a lack of diligence or thought) to have a baby. You made a decision to bring another life into the world. It is, therefore, your DUTY to care for and nurture this person. Your DUTY. Anything other than complete devotion and dedication is negligence. From the moment of conception, you can choose to harm your baby and jeopardise her future (for example, by drinking black tea or nibbling on soft cheese during pregnancy; by leaving her to cry in her early days; by having her jabbed with toxins; by saying no to any request; by getting angry at impossible behaviour), or do the right thing and always put her needs first in the most gentle of ways. ALWAYS.”

Clutching On:
“You cannot be serious? Are you really saying that a new mum should forsake her own needs and desires for her baby? That anyone should completely surrender themselves to any other person? We don’t do it when we marry, do we? (or do we?) And at what point does this duty, this dedication stop? Are we expected to pander to our children until we hit the grave with a thud, unrecognisable as the person who once existed before parenthood? Why not just jump into the nearest vacant plot now?”

New Beginnings:
“A little melodramatic, don’t you think? Nurturing another human is the most rewarding task of all. Watching her grow and develop; fostering the most sacred and lasting bond of all. Letting her know that you are there, always, to comfort and support her. To cuddle her when she’s sad and nurse her back to health when illness strikes. Allowing her to see that you would do anything for her. Is that so hard?”

Clutching On:
“Allow me to clarify the topic. We’re talking about ‘the end of life as we knew it’, yes? Right, well, let’s stick to that shall we, and stop using Guilt to distract us from the debate. I’m not saying that it isn’t a parent’s job to love, nurture, educate and nurse her child. I am not saying that it’s okay to wittingly cause harm to your child, in the womb or in the arms. But I am saying that life does not need to end for the parent. It is well known that a child needs many things in order to thrive both physically and emotionally. One of the most significant factors is the wellbeing of his parents. Parents need to respond to their own needs, nurture their own emotions in order to make themselves available to nurturing someone else. It could be a cup of black tea, a row of Cadbury chocolate, a hit of tennis, dinner out with friends or returning to work. Life as we know it does not and should not end when a baby arrives.”

New Beginnings:
“Selfish. When a baby arrives, she is your life. Tennis? Work? You’re happy to leave your baby for such trivial pursuits? They are more important than your own child? If you’re a real parent, with real feelings and a proper sense of responsibility, you don’t need or even yearn for more than that. Life as you know it does and should end when the most precious gift of all arrives.”

Clutching On:
“Well start digging that plot. Or should I say, you mind the child and get someone else to dig it for you? Guilt abounds and drowns us parents, even when we do attempt to do our best for our children. Unrealistic and outdated expectations only set us up for failure and a close encounter with the ailing mental health system. Go get a spade and leave me to go for a run (child looked after by another loving adult) on the green grass above you.”

At this point, both parties are required to shake hands and congratulate each other on doing the best they can (it’s in The Club‘s Code of Conduct).

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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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Let’s pretend that all is well. Yes, life with a newborn and an energetic four year old male is ‘challenging’. True, it isn’t ideal having to get up during the winter nights to feed, change and settle. You’re right when you say that giving birth can seriously mess with your body. But all is well. We smile gently, use soft, careful language and tread lightly on the surface of reality, because to delve any deeper might make people feel uncomfortable.

‘And how are you?’ Translation: ‘Let’s keep this superficial and pleasant. I’ll play the part of check-out-chick and you can be the customer. I don’t expect any more than a casual, vague and positive response, and you just go along with it. Okay? Lovely.’

It’s easier for all, isn’t it, to pretend that life is la-di-da, than to dare enter a discussion that is based on truth and is potentially awkward, upsetting or, god forbid, actually helpful. There is a place for supermarket exchanges, I admit. It’s not always appropriate to discuss the ins and outs of your ups and downs with strangers or acquaintances. The time or place is not always conducive to such interactions and you don’t always feel like opening up that can of worms and weakening the flood gates.

Thing is, sometimes you need to, and all it takes is a pair of genuine listening ears to ease some of the burden that is pretending.

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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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