Raising Daughters

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The parenting of little girls is a job that is so special. Boys are boys and boys are awesome, but compared to our daughters they really are as different as slugs, snails and puppy dog tails.

Yesterday I did something that doesn’t happen enough in our house; I took Elfie on a little day out, just the two of us. We had an appointment with her new consultant at Great Ormond Street Hospital – and as an aside, what a wonderful place this is. I thank heavens every day that we have the NHS and such open access to brilliant doctors (ours is a Professor, oooh fancy). I’d promised her a lovely meal out afterwards and as she can’t get enough of public transport I made sure we went on both a tube, a bus, and then in a black cab for good measure.

We had a brilliant time together, and for me the day brought home how precious and important this time with my little girl is. Elfie is such a deep thinker, a deep feeler and her mind is more than inquisitive, as her mother it’s up to me to shape this into the person she will one day become and spending one-on-one time with each other brings that fact home to me.

I like to think I bring my children up pretty equally. There’s not a lot of gender stereotyping that goes on in our house: Hux has pink chinos, Elfie has blue ones. They both play with cars (E’s very much into Hot Wheels right now) and they both play with handbags. Elfie asked for her nails to be painted pink this week and so did Hux (I did him one fingernail and one toenail: he is awesome). I try to buy them gender neutral toys that they are both able to enjoy together or apart.

But in their thoughts, feelings and emotions they are poles apart. Hux barrels into everything, probably picking his nose and giving himself a black eye in the process. Elfie stands back, she observes a situation before deciding what she’s going to do. With school looming on the horizon I’ve been trying to teach her how to hold her own a little more with her peers, so she’s able to tell them if she isn’t happy. But she is so precious and I guess eager to be liked and kind to her friends she’s finding it hard. We are making progress – I heard her say the magic phrase “don’t do that, I don’t like it” to Hux without being prompted last week – and she’s getting more confident at holding her own with the older boys at softplay.

As her mother I want my little girl to grow up knowing she has me always on her side, ready to protect her at any minute. But I also need her to know how important it is that she is capable and able to be strong of her own accord, that she can do anything she puts her mind to. I’m lucky that I grew up thinking this (thanks mum and dad!), only doubting myself very rarely, so I hope to pass on some of my strength and bloody mindedness to her.

These times, when I’m feeling all introspective about raising daughters, this is when I reach for the poem B, by Sarah Key.  It makes me weep, makes me smile, but most importantly it makes me think: yeah… we’re doing OK here.

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Point B – Sarah Key

If I should have a daughter, instead of “Mom,” she’s going to call me, “Point B.”

Because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me.

And I’m going to paint the solar systems on the backs of her hands, so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”

And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.

There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.

“And baby,” I’ll tell her, “Don’t keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick. I’ve done it a million times. You’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him.”

But I know she will anyway, so instead, I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rainboots nearby. Because there’s no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix.

Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rainboots are for. Because rain will wash away everything if you let it.

I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat. To look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind. Because that’s the way my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this,” my mama said. When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly, and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain, and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment, and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say, “Thank you.” Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shore line, no matter how many times it’s sent away.

You will put the “wind” in “winsome… lose some.” You will put the “star” in “starting over… and over…” And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.

And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

“Baby,” I’ll tell her, “Remember, your mama is a worrier, and your papa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more. Remember that good things come in threes, and so do bad things, and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong. But don’t you EVER apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.

Your voice is small, but don’t ever stop singing. And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

To Dummy Or Not To Dummy?

I’m finding myself at somewhat of a crossroads with Hux. He’s a very sucky baby – feeding on demand which is about every 2 hours right now – and I reckon his late night feeds especially have become about comfort rather than hunger.

At the moment I am of the mindset that I will feed on demand for a while longer before I start trying to establish more of a routine. He’s piling on weight so it’s obviously working for him, but little and often feeds aren’t so good for our day-to-day lives. He stretches his feeds to 3 hourly on occasion at night time so I know he is able to go that long.

Recently I’ve noticed that Hux likes to feed himself off to sleep and will find it hard to sleep without the comfort of sucking, particularly at night time. So now I’m left pondering the introduction of a dummy.

I’ve always been dead against dummies, vile pieces of cheap plastic that they are. Until we realised what an unsettled baby Elfie was, and that if we have her a dummy she would sleep and be happy. So Elfie became a dummied baby, though strictly at bedtime only (you’ll never catch her with a dummy outside of her cot). I’m desperate to wean her off them and will be doing so as soon as she seems more settled; personally I hate to see toddlers and young children running around with dummies in their mouths and I worry about the harm this can do to their teeth.

On the couple of occasions I’ve offered Hux a dummy he has spat it out in disgust, it seems he hates anything that aren’t milk and nipple flavoured. Interestingly he has taken a bottle on a couple of occasions when I’ve expressed and Will has fed him (so I can go to the pub, natch) so I know he is able to take teats other than a nipple. Maybe it’s the size of the teat that offends him? I’m not sure if I should give up on the dummy and go with my suck-hungry baby, hoping he grows out of it, or persevere with getting him to take one.

What would you do?

 

Phrases I Thought I’d Never Say

“Don’t put marmite in your eye”
“Have you done a poo? Poo? Poo? Have you done a poo?”
“Stop blowing your nose on your toast”
“Dirty knickers are not for round your neck”
“Elfie, dirty, yuck, bin, NO, bin, dirty, NOT IN YOUR MOUTH”
“Don’t put your toast in your ear. Oh it’s a phone, not toast. Who’s on the phone? Hello, Father Christmas”
“Elfie, dirty, yuck, toilet, NO, dirty, don’t lick it”

 

“Is that your wand?”
“Goy goy goy goy goy goy goy”
“Squeeze Tigger’s hand. Squeeze it harder. Harder!”
“There is no need to blow your nose on the carpet of every single step”
“Here’s your banana, remember its not a phone”
“Please stop grabbing your… erm… er… fanny”
“What does a car say? What does a dog say? What does a baby say? What does a cow say?”

Adventures in Weaning

This post originally appeared at my old blog, www.the-alice.co.uk.

I had always wanted to try baby-led weaning with Elfie. I’m a big fan of parenting in a way which feels most natural to me, and BLW fit into that category.

However, when she started showing signs of being ready to eat solids (at five and a half months), there was no way she had the hand-eye co-ordination to feed herself. She couldn’t even hold toys in her hands at that point, so I went ahead with the more traditional way of feeding her myself.

Now lunchtime is her favourite time of day!:

Parsnip

Carrot

Pea

Tomato and Chicken pasta

We even got her a lovely highchair although as she can’t quite sit up straight on her own yet we only do ten minutes at a time in this: