this week

Baby love, part two

Miriam Dunn shares some more of the trials and tribulations of becoming a mum and discovers that common sense has become a thing of the past, along with a good night’s sleep

I would have never made a Vulcan, I now know.

I am not blessed with Mr Spock’s logic; if I was being cast in Star Trek I would have been the ‘human’ Doctor McCoy, complete with Adam’s apple (well, I wouldn’t have had one of those) quivering with emotion. I have long acknowledged the fact that logic is not an attribute with which I am blessed.

But never has my lack of logic been more evident than since I became a mum. The little sense and sensibility which I have – certainly not enough for me to write a post-script let alone a 21st century sequel to a Jane Austen novel – has shamefully evaporated, since new-arrival appeared on the scene.

Let me give you three examples...

Number one: I must wake up to make sure he’s asleep...

Having spoken to friends and relatives, I am, at least, partly comforted by discovering that this is a fairly common new-mum dilemma. Because if it wasn’t, one would have to seriously consider seeking help for any kind of action which involves compromising the amount of sleep one is getting, especially when that sleep has already been substantially reduced as of late.

Anyway, this seemingly illogical behaviour is partly caused by the recent changes to new-mum’s sleeping patterns that have occurred because of new-arrival. The chances are that before new-arrival came on the scene, new-mum didn’t know what 4am was like anyway, save the odd unavoidable flight departure.

Once new-arrival has done his arriving bit, new-mum will, for a little while, lose track of time, day, night and even week. They will all merge into one long passage of crying, nappy-changing, rocking and, hopefully, sleeping. Bedraggled and braindead she will try not to slap all those not-so-new mums who insist on telling her that it will not be long before new-arrival ‘goes through the night’. ‘Goes through the night’ is something that is described in your baby book as a ‘baby milestone’ and is something that everyone tells you your new arrival should soon start doing.

What they don’t tell you is that after a few weeks of topsy-turvy sleeping patterns and having one ear craned to the nursery door, new-mum’s days of going through the night are, unfortunately a thing of the past.

Logic will tell you that on the wonderful night your baby decides to ‘drop the night-time feed’ (more mumsy jargon), you will blissfully sleep through until something like 7am, which used to seem horrendously early but which has now become a time equivalent to a luxurious lie-in. But no...at 5am, in startled mode, I’m up and creeping into the nursery. I stare, bleary-eyed, if this is possible, at baby and cot, in horror. Why hasn’t he woken? It’s one hour past the diabolical middle-of-the-night feeding time. How can I tell if he’s just decided to sleep for longer, without waking him up?

I gently try to place my hand on his chest, for the reassuring rise and fall of his breathing. It is a wonderful moment, feeling the warmth of his body in the quiet of the night. A minute of intimacy, just between the two of us, he dead to the world and me death warmed up. A disturbed night that I didn’t need to have, but leaving me with yet another magical memory. Who needs a full night’s sleep, who needs logic?

Number two: To phone or not to phone

This is another major conflict. Every book and magazine you read tells you that you and your partner are not JUST parents, but are also a couple. And you MUST remember this, the books sanctimoniously continue. You need time for yourselves they say. So you duly book a restaurant or scour the newspapers to see what’s on at the cinema or theatre and you phone granny, auntie or best friend or whoever else has offered to baby-sit, to say you now feel ready to take up that offer.

As you prepare for your night on the town, trying to remember where you used to keep your make-up in the days you wore any and wondering if you dare try on that black dress, which used to actually be a little on the large side, you tell each other that you’re really looking forward to a night out for yourselves. You smile insincerely at the baby-sitter, when she arrives and nod nonchalantly when she tells you to run along and not to worry. You try to resist the temptation to go through a mile-long list of instructions of where everything is kept, having given her a guided tour and lading her with so many nappies, baby wipes, cotton wool, spare stretch suit and bottles that she would be forgiven for thinking you were running an entire maternity unit. You also try to reduce the list of telephone numbers that you have bombard her with, your mobile, your husband’s mobile, the restaurant, your mum, his mum, casualty department...

Then you set off on your night out. You make a pledge with yourself not to bring new-arrival into the conversation – a pledge that lasts five minutes with a conscious effort and two minutes if you’re not concentrating intensely.

You arrive at the restaurant and then look at your watch to work out how quickly you could get home if your phone rings. Then you look at your phone to check it’s picking up/switched on. Then you look at your phone again to see if the battery’s getting flat.

You smile at your partner and try to talk about something completely different and compliment the restaurant on the food. Then you check your phone again, tell yourself that the baby-sitter would phone if there’s a problem. A highchair catches your eye and you stare simperingly at it. Then you decide to compromise by sending an SMS just to check everything’s OK...Hopefully you manage to eat something from your plate before the whole lot gets cold...

Number three: I’ve got all these lovely outfits to dress him in, but I know he’s going to be sick over whichever one I put on.

This dilemma more or less speaks for itself. One of the things about baby clothes is that they’re lovely to buy and very cute to look at. This means that when it comes to taking new-arrival out with you on a public appearance, you naturally want to show him or her off in adorable dungarees/pretty flower dress, respectively. This goes against all the advice you will be given. Everyone knows that baby’s bring up at best the last bit of the milk they take and at worst most of it. But logic once more gets buried...

After all, who wants to take baby out in sensible white stretchsuit which does, at least camouflage regurgitated milk, when there are designer turquoise corduroy dungarees in the drawer? So be prepared for lots of beautiful baby clothes.... smelling of stale milk. Of course, alternatively, you can always spend lots of money on designer bibs..