Some Family Traditions Will Not Be Passed On!

My family is strange. We don't talk to each other. I mean, we say hi and ask each other how we are, but I don't think we really listen to each other's answers. And there are massive minefields of uncomfortable situations that we just don't talk about. Nobody mentions that my grandfather committed suicide when I was 5; I didn't even know about it until I was 30. Adoptions, divorces, arguments, trauma, fights, deaths, miscarriages. anything involving feelings, really, are a big no-no.

I recently found out a childhood friend had been adopted. She was pretty open about it, and was surprised I had never known; it's never been a secret for her, she's always known. The next time I saw my mother I asked her, Did you know this girl I spent a large part of my childhood with, whose parents you were good friends with, was adopted? Her answer? Yes. Why didn't I or my brothers or sisters know about it? Well, adoption is not really something you talk to kids about.The general rule in our family seems to be: If it's a bit tricky to talk about, pretend it didn't happen. If it makes you uncomfortable, pretend it's not there. Brush it under the carpet, turn your head away from it, stick your fingers in your ears and sing a loud song. Eventually it will go away.

When I was around 11 I had "the periods talk" from my mother. It went like this:
Mother: "you've had sex education at school and been told about periods, right?"
Me: "yes..."
Mother: "well here are some sanitary towels, take them with you when you go on your school trip next week, in case anything starts."
That was the first and last conversation I had with my mother on this topic.

S has been born into a fairly unfortunate situation, in that there are a lot of uncomfortable things I will need to explain to her as she grows up. Things like why her dad isn't around, the fact she has brothers and sisters she has no contact with, that she doesn't see any of her father's side of the family... and after recent events it looks like I may need to explain why random members of that side of the family turn up on our doorstep from time to time, demanding to see her. If I'm honest, I'm absolutely dreading it. How do you tell a child about that sort of situation without making them feel like they were a mistake or unwanted? How do you explain it without them thinking you are keeping them away from some magical, flawless absent family? Still, having grown up with the alternative, I suppose I had better start preparing my speech now. I'd rather she know everything, than be fed a stream of lies and find out the truth in an episode worthy of an Eastenders Christmas special

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Our Week, 15 -20 Oct

Monday 15 Oct

Up reasonably early and off to visit a friend who lives on the outskirts of town, up a big hill. Perfect workout for the legs and the lungs, only slightly marred by being rained on. Had a lovely visit with said friend, though she did give me the whole “look how far you’ve come” speech and make me a bit emotional. Afternoon spent playing, evening spent trying desperately to get S to sleep before giving up and having her sit in her bouncy chair until I capitulated and took us both to bed at 9pm.

Tuesday 16 Oct

Tiring day. S slept badly, which meant so did I. Got up late, breakfasted late. S had the world’s shortest nap and woke up grumpy, so I took her out in the pushchair thinking she’d go back to sleep. She didn’t, but I did bump into my auntie, which brightened my day. Came home, spent the afternoon trying to placate her after another pointlessly short nap. Put her to bed and prayed. Had about an hour of quiet before S woke up. Went to bed early and had a couple of hours’ sleep before she woke up, and stayed awake and grumpy until 9am. Far from ideal.

Wednesday 17 Oct

Day started about 5 hours before I would have liked. D, my Home Start volunteer, brought cakes, biscuits and a gossip magazine. Spent most of the day trying to get S to nap, or playing with her. She’s not big into doing anything on her own at the moment. No housework was done, and I really could not be bothered to leave the house. The only way is up… right?

Thursday 18 Oct

Desperate to get S to have some proper sleep, I took her for a long walk. It worked; she had a 2 hour morning nap. But no afternoon nap, and no proper sleep in the evening. Called the health visitor and a nursery nurse is coming out next week.

Friday 19 Oct

Another day, another walk to try and get S to sleep. Sort of worked but not much. Very short nap, followed by lunch and another very short nap, and then a visit from my aunt and cousin. Still going through the motions of the bedtime routine and putting S to bed at 6, but it’s largely pointless; she’s back in the living room by 7pm and we don’t go to sleep til midnight.

Saturday 20 Oct

Another restless night followed by an early morning. Up and out for a walk with little sis, then back home for visits from other little sis and her bloke, a friend delivering clothes for S, and another friend showing off a shocking new hair colour. Three messy meals necessitated Bath Night, followed by lots of frustration at trying to fall asleep. S had three naps today, all relatively short; am not sure whether this bodes well or not for tonight’s sleep. Cross your fingers please!

Diary Entries from Early Motherhood

I'm still working on a proper blog post, so in the meantime here are some more diary entries from earlier this year...

19^th May (5 weeks, 5 days)

Today a visit from another dear friend: C drove all the way from Oxfordshire to see us. He had to be somewhere else though, so could only stay for an hour or so. It’s strange to see people I’ve not seen for such a long time, and jarring to think of who I was the last time I saw them. It seems incongruous to now sit before them with a sleeping baby in a bouncy chair at my feet, my only topics of conversation how she is sleeping or what is going on with her father.

My mother came round in the afternoon; I find her being in the flat at all very irritating. I always feel that she is judging me, comparing my efforts with the way she successfully dragged 6 of us through childhood with no major injuries. I wait for her to tell me I’ve done something wrong but she doesn’t; instead she makes snide remarks about how rarely she is allowed to hold her granddaughter. Since my brother is not speaking to her, my mother tries to have S play the part of the two grandchildren she doesn’t see, as well as herself. S is too small for this responsibility. I don’t have the energy for an argument over it though, so I just pretend not to hear the comments and accept the gifts graciously. I feel ungrateful because the new baby clothes do not make me happy and I am too tired to smile; I just want her to leave so that I can share S’s next nap with her, before it is too late for a nap and I have to begin the bedtime routine.

I have made black and white patterns on old postcards and stuck them on the wall next to the table where I change S’s nappy. Apparently babies like to look at simple patterns and pictures of faces. I thought it was just one of those stupid things you read that turn out to be complete crap, but when I put her down for a nappy change today, she was completely mesmerised by my crappy drawings. I feel like I’ve finally done something right; perhaps I’m not such a rubbish parent after all.

20^th May (5 weeks, 6 days)

I have started going for long walks with the pushchair in the mornings. I don’t often use the pushchair, preferring to have S in the sling close to me, but now I take her for long walks and she has a nap. It kills time when we have gotten up early in the morning and the day is stretching out before me like some endless sentence of boredom and nappy changing. Today we walked a couple of miles, and then came back into town and I bought a cloth book for S. I’m hoping my recent success with the monochrome drawings will translate to a book with crinkly pages and pictures of faces.

Today S is wearing a baby-gro her father bought for her the day after she was born. She has only just grown into it. I love it, despite its reminding me of the life I thought I would be leading now, and the massive difference between that and what I actually do with my days. It was my sister’s birthday so we all went to Harvester for a meal. S slept through most of it, which was lucky as I am not so keen on breastfeeding in public places.

21^st May (6 weeks)

Today I did not leave the house at all. I know this was a bad move, because even before I had a baby I needed to leave the house at least once a day in order to feel normal. I feel lazy. My daughter has had no fresh air all day, that can’t be a good thing for her. I was just so tired though, and there was nothing I needed to do in town, no money to go frivolously shopping for baby clothes, and most of the stuff in the shops doesn’t fit her any way. She’s still wearing clothes for a newborn. Does 6 weeks still count as newborn? It feels like she’s been here forever now, no longer new but just as precious and breakable.

Although we spent so many hours in the flat, I cannot say what we actually did. We played with the rattles my mother bought for S, but she is a bit too young to even notice they are there. We played with the book, but that appears to be the same situation.

A lady from the childrens centre came round, I think the health visitor sent her. She had that sort of look a lot of people seem to have with me lately, the “oh poor you, you’re a new mum and there’s nobody to make you a cup of tea…” sort of expression. She gave me some leaflets and we signed up to do a baby massage class. I don’t think I even offered her a drink while she was here, what a terrible hostess. I should make an effort to go down to the centre though, I know it would be Good For Me to meet other mums; it’s just depressing because other mums invariably have a husband to share things with, and they invariably have that “oh-you’re-so-brave-you-poor-thing-I-could-never-do-this-alone-and-wow-she-was-early-too-however-are-you-managing” look once they know about me. I try to like other mums and to get on with them, but I tend to just feel jealous of them, which is never an endearing quality.

22^nd May (6 weeks, 1 day)

A friend came to visit today. She does not live locally so I’d not seen her since S was born. She had a baby a few months ago herself, and seems to have had a pretty rough time of it, though she doesn’t really mention it in much detail. She brought presents for the baby – clothes and such – but also some home cooked pasta for me, and some brownies. The perfect gift; I wish my family would take note of this. We sat and chatted for a long while, and she made me feel better about things. When she left she gave me a massive hug and told me I’m doing really well. I feel like I should be doing better though. Poor S only has me to rely on, I need to be two parents to her. When other babies are crying and their mothers are tired, their fathers take over the cooing and rocking. I don’t have that luxury; I cannot get tired. I am so lucky S does not cry very much, and seems to be a fairly chilled baby. When she does cry though, or when it takes her a long time to settle to sleep at night, I feel bad for her that she doesn’t have a second parent to come in and be all fresh about trying to get her to sleep. She just has me, begging her to please go to sleep. I’m sure other mothers don’t resort to leaving the hairdryer switched on in the bedroom for hours at a time each evening. I’m sure other mothers have more patience than me and for that I feel endlessly guilty.

Support

When you are a first-time mother, you have no idea what is “normal” for a baby – and when they are very small, the slightest thing sends you into a panic that you have broken them (or is that just me?) For mothers with a partner, even if that partner is also a first-time parent, there is somebody to give a second opinion: “did she have that mark there yesterday?” “Do you think that crying sounds different to her normal crying?” “Does this poo-filled nappy smell normal to you?” “Does she look a bit peaky to you?” “Do you think I should call the doctor?”

When you are on your own, there is nobody readily available to consult on such things. There’s also nobody to grab you a snack while you’re stuck on the couch feeding in the middle of a growth spurt and crying because you’re so unbelievably hungry and can see no light at the end of the tunnel – what if this baby is always going to be this hungry, and I never get to change out of this puke-stained t shirt?

To be fair, even before S’s father buggered off he wasn’t much support in this area. Still, when he finally went, I was completely bewildered, with nobody to consult as to what was normal, and what necessitated a trip to the doctor. I made numerous fraught Facebook updates, and had literally no clue as to how I would move forward in this.

My family has never really been very good at the whole touchy-feely thing. While I was mourning the end of a relationship I had thought was forever, missing S’s half brothers and sisters who I’d spent a year caring for, and trying to get used to being solely responsible for a tiny baby with no instruction manual, they didn’t really jump up to offer assistance as perhaps other families would. To be fair I didn’t really expect them to; it’s not like we’re a particularly close lot and the idea of suddenly spending lots of time with them makes me balk slightly. That said, I do send my sister in law at least one text a week asking a ridiculous new mum question and she rarely laughs at me for it! And I see my younger sisters regularly; but because they are that much younger than me I never feel that I could fall at their feet in a puddle of snot and expect them to help – I am the older sister, they shouldn’t have to look after me. I felt very alone in my battle to establish some kind of normality in my life, completely lost at sea. I didn’t want to burden people with my problems, but in some instances I felt that I’d been abandoned by those who perhaps should have been rallying round.

Luckily, the day after S’s father left us, a friend I’d not seen since we were in hospital texted to see how we were. I told her what had happened and her response was perfect: “this is the plan, no arguments. I’m coming round this evening, I will help you bath the baby and put her to bed so you can have some time to yourself. See you at 5.” She came round, helped bath S, got her to sleep, did my washing up, tidied my living room, and told me (repeatedly) I could do it on my own. She spent a lot of time with me over the next few weeks, helping me to put up net curtains, talking about what was going on with S’s father, giving advice and telling me the sort of things “they” never tell you about having a baby.

Several other friends came and made similar mercy missions: one friend came from her house 25 miles away to bring me home-cooked bolognaise sauce, brownies and a big hug and “you’re doing an amazing job.” Several friends texted, emailed, left encouraging comments on my Facebook. Friends I’ve not really seen much for a good few years have met me for coffee, given me lifts to pick things up or just gone on mad random road trips with me, listening to my whining and telling me everything would be fine, right when I needed to hear it. I will be forever indebted to a friend who stood in the middle of Homebase and said to me quite plainly, “you are making excuses for your ex and you have to stop.” One friend, a girl I’d actually not seen since I was around 12, sent me a message to say I was doing a great job and not to worry, and that she’d invited me to join this Facebook group she thought might be useful. Since that day, I have made hundreds of posts in that group, asking stupid questions, letting off steam about things that were bothering me, and squealing with delight when something good happened. The group is closed, so I knew that I could have a good old rant about whatever was bothering me, without the fear of anyone else seeing it. And the ladies in that group were so supportive; they made me feel that I was making the right decisions, that my gut instinct wasn’t completely off.

Some sources of support have appeared seemingly from nowhere. The day S’s father left the postman knocked the door to deliver a package, and it was the man who ran a church youth group I attended fifteen years ago. He arranged for a man from his church to come and paint over the damp patch on my bedroom wall, and also gave me a lift to the hospital one Saturday night when I was mid-panic about S. Strange though it may seem, having not been to that church for so long, I do feel very much that if I had a problem and someone there could help, they would – which, to me, is what Christianity is all about.

My health visitor, who had supported me since before the breakup, was (and still is) invaluable. She, her student, and her nursery nurse still all go out of their way to tell me I’m doing really well and bolster my confidence. One or other of them referred me to my local Children’s Centre where there were several groups they thought I might like to attend. A lady from the centre actually came out to the flat to talk to me about what services they offer, because they knew I wasn’t very confident going out just yet. They also suggested I join a counselling group for women in a similar situation to me with regards to my relationship. That group probably saved me and S from a great deal of heartache. Later, when I called the health visitor in tears after a street-based slanging match with S’s father, they referred me to Home Start, a charity based locally who are in the process of pairing me up with a volunteer who will come to visit us weekly, sit with S while I make important phone calls or come with us to appointments for the same reason. Being a single mother, you suddenly realise how easy you had it before when you had to call the gas board about a problem, or go to the council offices to go through some form or other. Babies don’t like to be ignored, especially when they are in their pushchairs, in a strange place.

I do feel that I’ve found my feet a bit more lately, but I still have episodes when I have no clue what I am doing. I have more support now, though. I know that I can post a stupid question on Facebook and, while some people will leave a jokey or rude (or sometimes judgemental or plainly unhelpful) response, I have a solid group of friends who will always help out by giving their own take on the situation, offering their own experience of it. This works well, because I know people who have raised, or are raising children in very different ways under different circumstances – so I get a lot of different advice to choose from. I still call my health visitor, but usually when I have issues with S’s father, rather than issues with S herself. More importantly, I am more inclined to reach out and call or text the people I would previously not have wanted to burden. I might not call up and say “help me I’m having a shitty day,” but sometimes just having a conversation with another adult is all you need to get you through.

The whole situation has made me much more compassionate towards other people’s suffering, especially where a new baby is concerned. I’ve found myself sending messages to people I don’t know terribly well, offering my support should they need it. My first few months as a mother were a lot less fun than I would have hoped, and if I can do anything to avoid someone else’s experience being like that, I am inclined to do it. My friends have set me a good example in that respect. And for the times when I don’t want to burden my friends with yet another whiney moan, I know there are other places I can approach for help. Things are looking up!

Single Mother of an Only Child?

One thing about being a single mother that bothers me is that Samaire will most probably be an only child.

I had always planned to have more than one child. When I was pregnant, we often discussed how much of a gap we would leave between this baby and the next. Although S’s father already has several children living with him, the youngest is almost 5 years older than her. I didn’t want her to grow up with nobody to play with. I also wasn’t keen on her going out to play when she’s older with the child he sired with his babysitter while I was still pregnant – I was dead set on just ignoring that whole situation to be honest. We discussed it once S was born too, and he was keen that I get pregnant pretty much straight away. I had just been through a fairly traumatic birth though, and was a bit too shell-shocked to even entertain the idea of going through it all again.

Now that S is older though, and I can see the situation more clearly, I do tend to worry that she will grow up alone and lonely. I am single, and am not looking for a partner, so there is no likelihood of me having another child any time soon.

I am one of six children. I am 19 months younger than my sister, and 18 months older than my brother. While I love all my brothers and sisters, and enjoyed their company growing up, there were times I would have preferred there to be fewer of us in that house – not least because seven people trying to use one bathroom and get out of the house for school in the mornings is less than ideal. Having so many brothers and sisters, I sometimes felt overlooked by my parents, with so many mouths to feed and screeching voices to listen to. Also, since S was born my mother has come out with various reminiscences from when I was a baby: I learned this early, or was good at that, but when I asked about my teething, the only one of us she could remember was my brother. I’m not about to have some major breakdown because my mother doesn’t remember every minute detail of my childhood, but I suppose if you’ve done it six times, they can all sort of blur into one. Similarly, S’s father has 6 children living with him, and it did often seem that the quieter ones missed out because they weren’t shouting as loud as their siblings

Ever since I got pregnant, I’ve been weirdly obsessed with ensuring S knows how much I looked forward to her, how much I love her and dote on her. I kept a pregnancy journal, at first recording my weight and waist measurement and details such as when the baby first kicked and so on, and eventually a full-on journal about things that were going on in our lives. I take millions of photos, as anyone who follows me on Facebook may have noticed. I have a memento box already full of things such as hospital bracelets, first clothing, cards, letters etc. Everybody says that with your first child you worry more and pay more attention, something you’re simply not able to do with subsequent children because you’re already busy looking after the first one; if I don’t have another child, will I always be like this with S? Will she reach her 18^th birthday and be presented with a shipping container full of pieces of discarded clothing and birthday cards I couldn’t bear to throw away? Will she spend her life bearing the pressure of being the only child of someone who worries this much about everything and wants only the best for her? What if she does badly at school and doesn’t go off to achieve everything she is capable of in adulthood (much as I have done)? Will she be driven mad, not by her own failure to achieve goals she is perhaps not interested in, but by her failure to fulfil my ambitions for her? Will she grow up wishing I had provided her with a brother or sister to share the burden of my neurotic mothering, or just to play trains with after school?

On the other hand, there is a glove. 

I am totally devoted to S. I spend all my time with her. I have no adult relationship with a partner to try and maintain, no other children to try and keep an eye on while I’m also looking after her. A lot of the time she has my undivided attention. As she grows older this will mean days out doing whatever we fancy, train and bus rides, reading, curling up on the sofa together watching movies of her choice. She won’t have to share my attention with a younger brother or sister, and she won’t miss out on doing things because it’s an activity not suitable for a younger child we have to take into consideration. Because I have so many brothers and sisters, she has lots of aunts and uncles (and cousins) who love her, and my brother’s children are only a few years older than her so she will have them to play with as well as the friends she makes. Many people may say that an only child has more chance of being spoiled, but to be honest, if you’re going to spoil your offspring, it’s not going to make any difference how many you have – you’re just as likely to spoil three children as one, it’s just less expensive to spoil an only child. I am very mindful of ensuring S doesn’t grow up with some false sense of entitlement born from the fact she’s never had to share her toys.

S is named after a good friend of mine, who is ostensibly an only child (she has siblings, but from what I know they are older, and she grew up alone with her parents), and she is so awesome I felt the need to name my child after her: I often remark that I’m going to spend the next 20 years badgering her mother for parenting advice, because I want S to turn out as remarkable as the person she’s named after (it’s a fairly unusual name, and I don’t want to sully the good reputation it already has!).

There’s a Jay McInerney quote I read when I was a moody teenager rebelling against my family, and it’s stuck with me since: “the capacity for friendship is God’s way of apologising for our families.” My family has had more than its fair share of ups and downs, and often (the last few months being a case in point) it has been the love and support of my friends that has dragged me through the dark times. That’s not to say anything against my family; just that it is possible to make very good friends, who will support you just as much as any family member would or could. There is no guarantee that S would get on with any more children I decided to have; being related does not guarantee compatibility, after all. At least with friends you only spend time with the people you choose to see and get along with. Some of my closest friends are only children (that sounds a lot like the old cliché about “some of my best friends are gay/black/women, doesn’t it), and they have all fared very well out of life. Off the top of my head, one is married and successfully following a career being self-employed doing something she loves, another has been in a fulfilling relationship with a partner for around 15 years and I’m fairly sure also has a doctorate. In fact, when I look back on it I can distinctly recall being somewhat jealous of a friend with no brothers or sisters, because of the relationship she seemed to have with her parents. They seemed to treat her as an equal, spoke to her as such, and involved her in their discussions. She read more widely than me, was more knowledgeable on a majority of topics, talked openly with her parents about anything and everything, and seemed to enjoy their company. I can only hope I am able to raise S to enjoy my company, and to see being an only child as a bonus rather than a handicap.

To start with, I intended to have more children, and when S’s father left I worried that I would be failing S in some way by raising her on her own. Now that we have both had time to settle into our new lives, I think my standing on the issue has changed. We are very close and spend all our time together; there is not room in our relationship for a man, much less another child at the moment. The way we are now feels just fine, and I’m in no rush to add to our family, small as it may be.

I will leave you with something I read in an article by Emma Kennedy about being an only child. She complained that parents often approach her, as an only child, to ask if they will be failing their child by not providing brother or sisters. Her response? “No. You're not failing. You will fail only if you are rubbish at being a parent. Adding a sibling into the mix will have nothing to do with it. If having an only child feels right for you, then embrace it.”