There is no rod

Mary-Ellen Krause - 8 Apr 16

I admit I was smug.

My first born slept from six weeks old. He slumbered all night, every night. Nestled in his cot, in a wonderfully contented stupor. When my second was born I naively expected the same.

How wrong I was.

The routine was exactly the same but I soon realised that my baby wasn’t exactly the same. For three long months she slept on my chest, night and day. She wanted the warmth of my skin, my heartbeat, the smell of her life source I suppose. She needed to know that I was there, every moment of every day. It was a pleasant mix of euphoria and chronic exhaustion. I was a willing prisoner in my bedroom. She would reach out for my hand in the darkness and hold my fingers so tightly. Reminiscent of a small timid animal, communicating to me that her world was too scary and unfamiliar. I could almost hear the vulnerability in her tiny cries. SO unlike the primal independence of her brother, who following a full stomach, rolled over and fell deeply into the hardiest of sleeps. How could two children enter the same house with the opposite of needs?

But twelve long weeks started to take its toll. I was exhausted and somehow unlinked in the evening with the outside world. I even googled a ‘sleep doctor’ who was charging a second mortgage for the claim of uninterrupted sleep. I suppose I was looking for answers. A baby so hungry that they fed every two hours during the night and only contented in the bosum of her mother.

That email enquiry was as far as I got and I am glad of that. I suppose we are all allowed to doubt ourselves at times. But as parents, I am sure that we are the only ones who know the answer. So I held her, loved her, shared so many moments together, alone in the darkness. Each night I grew to know her more. Like a kinship, a bond, the fourth trimester.

I must include here- a hearty disclaimer. I am not a super mum, expert, perfect human being, or anywhere near close to Mary Poppins. If I were to visualise my rather haphazard parenting style, I would draw a heady illustration of a 1940’s pinafore with dreadlocks. I’m not a one size fits all mother. I respect all families, after all, we are just trying to live our lives and do the best for our offspring.

My only parenting qualification is that I’ve graduated once before. I’m dancing the parenting tango for the second time and it is different, the steps are a bit easier perhaps. What I profess may not be right for you and that is how it should be. I would never suggest that one mother’s shoe fits another mother’s foot. But I have come face to face with my own revelation, like a neon sign in my mind. Flashing it’s gawdy letters shouting

THERE IS NO ROD.

It was a few months into life with my first born that I realised this. I wish that someone, anyone, had shared this with me before I had children.

So why do I want to impart this idea and open a line of discourse about parental expectation? Because I want to make all new parents feel less pressure, to trust their instincts and to parent in their own way. How many of us have been told of the babies of the previous generation, who apparently slept all day in a cot in a far flung nursery, fed four hourly, slept through the night at three weeks and were potty trained by eighteen months. All without so much as a tantrum or whimper? These comparisons are unhelpful and new mothers should share the truth and reality of parenthood. I am sure that it is normal for children to want to be near their parents, to cry, to wake up frequently or to tantrum occasionally. It’s a freeing feeling. I like the image of a noisy and creative home. A gaggle of family, all navigating their way through life together in colourful and contrasting ways. Perfect it may not be, but beautiful all the same.

If I came face to face with a new mum as she left the doors of the maternity ward, this is what I would tell her.

It doesn’t matter how your child falls asleep. Feel no shame if they fall asleep on your nipple or on a teet. If you pat, shush, rock, cradle, sling or give them three dummies. That old chestnut about self soothing? A few do, most don’t. So we help them to sleep and feel no shame.

A routine has its merits but not at the detriment of their changing needs. They are so adaptable and the day can sometimes take a different path and that makes for a richer experience. Don’t feel undervalued if you don’t have a routine.

If your baby sleeps with you, let not the judgement of others take away those precious moments. This is your choice and you should trust yourself to make that decision.

Be careful with those all-promising sleep books and websites. I think that we are the experts. Perhaps I never read a good one and the snippets that I did read seemed contradictory.

Spend time doing nothing together. You find the warmest of connections when snuggled on the sofa looking at each other, unwashed and in pyjamas. I did every club under the sun with my first but this time, I find the nicest stimulation occurs in our quietest or most relaxed moments. Maternity leave goes so quickly, any stolen moments of stillness are worth their weight in gold.

My strongest of epiphanous moments was realising that its nicer to exist in the moment and not to wish away each passing phase or day. Truly being in the moment makes this parenting game so much richer. Even if I’m messier, less organised and the breakfast dishes stare at me long into our day.

I confess that at times I questioned my own revelation, thinking and worrying that I might have my daughter sleeping on my chest long past her toddler years. As is the chosen path for some, I know. But I was tired and in need of a little space.

At four months, she started to become restless at night, wanting space. I knew that she was seeking her own domain, her own little nest to sleep in. I made her cot next to my bed and day by day, night by night she slumbered. I make no romantic montage. For a while she liked to be assured that I was there during the night. I had to hold, cuddle, handhold and love. We are now at five months and she doesn’t often wake in the night. She sleeps soundly and at peace. For now.

I am freer now and less confined which feels liberating. But I will never forget those nights with her. It was our time, our bond, our love. I listened to her voice and we navigated our way through those difficult three months together. Like two little explorers- finding the answers in the darkness. I have the scars but the sense of achievement too. I feel intrinsically linked to my daughter, an invisible umbilical long after it was cut.

In my humble and limited experience, I stand by the philosophy that there simply is no rod. There is a parent and their child. Each one finding a way to care and nurture their offspring. I find it a great joy admiring the myriad of parenting styles that we see today and there should be no judgement. We are more informed than our previous generation and we have the freedom to make such varied parental choices. I say, do as you please, do what makes you and your child happy. Do what makes them feel loved in abundance and makes your life easier and richer. For a new mother or father staring into the loaded canon of new parenthood, I’d say that nothing lasts forever, all of it will pass.

Let go of the rod. For I don’t even think it was there in the first place.

Mary-Ellen Krause

A mother and Drama teacher. Best things in life- My children when they first wake, sitting on the beach at sunset, drinking prosecco with my mum, climbing a mountain, laughter, a vintage dress, a nostalgic piece of music, walking into my little town and seeing familiar faces, holding hands with Mr K.

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