Ceasefire

A comment I recently posted in a mum’s Facebook group received more than 50 "likes" in the hour following my scribing of it.

At my last check of it, it had exceeded 100.

We are a lazy bunch in the Miller household.

Steve’s alarm goes off at 6am (when he actually gets up is debatable) but Zella and I are only awake before he leaves if thereis a feed to be done or a poop explosion to clean. Some days 8, some days 9, on the lucky ones 10am is the hour we make it downstairs.

I still breastfeed Zella, in spite of her clamouring on top of me as if I were some gymnastics apparatus, and the occasional nip from the four teeth she has recently acquired. I am more than happy feeding her in public: on the bus, at cafes, at others houses, in parks, and, if the moment arises, while running to catch a train.

Some days, we hang out and play with the toys, some wooden, some with batteries. Often the only toy she’s interested in is my phone or the video baby monitor. I know I use technology around her too much because she can swipe the Mac and change my screens, and enjoys sitting back and looking through the morning’s Instagram offerings. I do try and do reading everyday as well, to make sure she is a book geek like me.

Sometimes we head to the park, or go on the swings. Yesterday we did this on the way to Tesco. That Tesco trip where I brought more than I could carry, and had to pile the buggy high and carry Zella home. Which wasn’t a problem…until it started to rain and I had to fashion a covering for her out of the shopping trolley seat cover I have because I don’t want her to get germs. Because for me, the germs in Tesco on the carts are far worse than the germs from the raisins I let her eat off our living room floor. I have also unknowingly taken her to this den of bacteria when she had a viral infection. I'm clearly going for mum of the year. 

Often we go clothes shopping. I often get caught out and spend far too long shopping and socialising in town and am suddenly faced with a screaming babe. I hastily feed Zella the baby snacks and pouches of puree, trying not to condemn myself for not preparing an organic feast fit for The Savoy. At home, dinner times are a happy chatter amidst of baby-led mess; our kitchen tiles’ the loser, splattered with the disregarded and thus flung regurgitations of our child.

And on our favourite days, we hang out with other mums and babies. A year ago, I didn’t know anyone in Birmingham with a young child, but classes and playgroups have grown our circles wide. One mum and her son live nearby so we often meet spontaneously and talk about cloth nappies. Another mum teaches and is full of advice for Steve as well as support as she has carried on full-time breastfeeding. One mum is ten years older, a classically trained musician and a highly disciplined individual; on paper we should have nothing in common, but she makes me laugh hilariously and we have great conversations.

The reason my comment on that post

Seemed to resonate with so many others

Was because I attempted to speak out

Against, what I saw, as an unfair judgment of amother

Breastfed vs Formula

Baby-led weaning vs Purees

Co-Sleep vs Cot

Cloth vs Disposables

Baby carrier vs Buggy

Pacifiers vs Thumbs

Staying at home vs working outside of the home

In our attempt to make ourselves feel better about our choices

Often others are put down for theirs

We draw battle lines and the mama wars begin once again

With angry and judgemental words

The media provoking and antagonising

This fervent fire

A fire that causes another mother to weep

Pushing back the waves of post-natal depression

As at her most vulnerable

One hand cradles her babe

While the other shields her heart and mind

Why do we choose “versus”

Rather than “and”, “with” , “or” ?

I am more than aware that I’m not theperfect mother

I write my daily choices to show they are

Both good and bad

But am learning

Steadily

To rejoice in the fact

I am a mother

With healthy child

Who delights in my face

Who delights in our life

I look at so many of you and think you are thriving

Although you may only see your flaws and failings

But the truth is

We are all doing our best

Serving them best

Teaching them best

Loving them best

And our best is more than good enough

Though we act like these decisions

Are life and death

Denying child a place at Harvard or Oxford

In countries near and far

The abuse of children is far more abhorrent

Than the outcome of these differing views

For my friends

With babes unborn

Uncreated

Unfertilised

Dreams in your head for the future

May you carry the baton

Of freedom in motherhood

And support and love

In the face of this torrential storm ofwords

May we be free from the judgement

Free from the lies

Free the tangled webs of the enemy

That would convince us otherwise

Of the simple fact

You, my precious fellow mother, are doing a phenomenal job.

And as gummy smiles and toddler eyes reveal

That we are succeeding

May we take these words

And be a blessing to others.

Poop

I've never been one to do things in order.

I can distinctively remember being in one of my favourite places in the world, Whole Foods grocery store in Arlington, Texas, perusing the aisles, when they caught my eye.

Steve and I had been married little over a year when I came home declaring that I had found "it." The items that we did not need at all, but I tried in vain to tell him we needed to buy in advance:

The nappies we were going to use with our baby.

Previous to that fateful store trip, I had never been particularly interested in cloth nappies. I'd always thought of them as old fashioned, bulky, stinky...but you know me: put something in bright colours and make them sleek and fashionable, and I'm all up in its grill.

Roll on three years, lots of convincing of a husband, immense researching of the site, testing out at The Baby Show, and one gorgeous princess later, and we are avid users of gNappies: gParents, cloth nappy people, the hippies who buy disposable inserts to go in them that we then add to our compost heap for extra roughage.

Feel free to come over in the summer to sample veggies fertilised by Zella.

It will be better than when we served salad to a guest last year, and we discovered we served her an earwig.

Rather than the simple throwing away of disposables, after each change, time must be spent in a more labourious cleaning up job.

As I leant over the bath last night, showering off the mess, the colours swirled amidst the waters, revealing more of my very self.

Cloth humbles me.

I take the soiled, wet, stained garments, and with bare hands scrub, rub, and make new.

Regardless of how I feel, how the day goes, I have to put the effort in; laying aside my self to provide for my child's most intimate need.

This mess is none of my doing, but it is mine to sort out.

My pride must consistently and constantly be pushed to the edge, as I endeavour in the dirtiest job in my house (besides the bins).

And I needed this.

I need to be humbled.

I need to be put in my place.

I need to know there are others needs beyond my own.

I need to know that I'm not above anything.

I need to be reminded that there is more than "me" in this world.

I need that quiet time of pondering to evaluate who I really am throughout the day.

Do I think that everyone should use cloth nappies?

Yes, because landfill sites are filling up, nappies create a lot of waste, it can save you lots of money, they are great with sensitive skin babes, and there are some really awesome options out there.

Will everyone?

No, and that's ok because each family needs to make the choices that works best for them, and that's the way it should be.

Do I think everyone needs to be humbled?

Definitely.

Consumerism rages.

The customer is always right.

We push and fight and wrestle to be top dog.

Not realising the importance of the worker bees.

We all need a place of self-reflection.

A place to serve others.

A time when we aren't first, second or even tenth.

By the nappy bucket

with soap suds and poop

is mine.

Where is yours?