Remote Controlled

One of my biggest failings as a parent is TV.

Yes, I ashamedly hold my hand up to the confession that screentime is the babysitter in our house.

The love affair started very innocently as a single rendezvous with Iggle Piggle and his lovely bright garden, but it swiftly led to my days being increasingly controlled by DJ Lance Rock, the Wiggles, or a myriad of other brightly dancing characters.

And every time I reach for the remote - those times I need to do some work, laundry, or make dinner – I’m always painfully conscious of that niggling maternal guilt of not tending to my 3 year old as best I could.

However, on the flipside, there have been many times where I’ve been so grateful for the few minutes grace, that if I ever met an Octonaut in real life I’d kiss him and buy him a pint.

So is there a happy medium? And more importantly, how much is too much?

The Facts

Well, the current Australian guidelines for screentime for preschoolers are that children under 2 years old do not spend any time viewing TV or any electronic media, and children 2-5 years watch less than 1 hour per day.

An Australian study of preschoolers (aged 1-4) found that a child’s risk of being overweight increased by 6% for every hour of TV watched per day, and if that child had a TV in their bedroom, the odds of being overweight leapt an additional 31% for every hour watched.

In a comparison of children who had more than 2 hours screen time a day to those who had less, those with over 2 hours are at increased risk of being:

·   Overweight

·   Less physically active

·   Drink more sugary drinks

·   Snack on foods high in sugar, salt and fat

·   Have fewer social interactions.

Excessive TV has also been linked to other negative outcomes such as poor cognitive performance, antisocial behaviour and reduced sleep time. And research now indicates that for every hour of television children watch each day, their risk of developing attention-related problems later increases by 10%. To put it into context, if a child watches child watches 3 hours of TV a day, that child would be 30% more likely to develop attention deficit disorder.

Scary stuff.

What can you do to cut it down?

·   Limit channel surfing or background TV. When a chosen show is over, turn it off.

·   Limit TV on weekdays and keep it as a something special for the weekend

·   Identify non-screen activities that your child likes around the house

·   Eat at the table as a family, not in front of the TV

·   Have TV time happen around the same time every day, so your child knows that TV isn’t an ever-present possibility.

·   Always watch your child so you can talk about what you are watching. Children at this age don’t know fact from fiction.

·   Model TV viewing for your child. If you are sitting in front of the TV for hours, they will want to know why they can’t too.

But does what they watch make a difference?

Personally, in our house it is only ever educational or age appropriate shows. Yo Gabba Gabba being a firm favourite, closely followed by Octonauts and Sesame Street. So I feel a little vindicated that at least we are learning and growing as we stare at the box. But we will certainly be installing some stricter viewing rules to ensure we fall under that 1 hour a day... right after this episode of Dora finishes...

Do you have any particular rules when it comes to TV?

How do you find the ‘Off’ button?

Girls can't drive trucks!

It's a typical Monday morning and my three year old son, Hamish* and I, are heading out to do our weekly grocery shop.

Yet, when I discover my husband’s truck is blocking the driveway and I go to move it out of the way, I’m immediately shot down by a small voice behind me shouting “Mummy, girls can’t drive trucks!” And it seems this opinion is utterly unchangeable, judging by the tantrum that develops when I continue into the cab!

Once the drama was over and we are happily ensconced in my little Mazda, I try and tackle the discussion of why he has this opinion.

I begin by explaining that despite their physical differences, a girls driving ability is equal (some would argue better?!) to a boys, and anyone can drive any vehicle, regardless of gender.

But as the conversation progresses, I quickly learn that this absolute opinion he holds isn’t confined to driving trucks, but also applies to a whole host of other activities that girls can’t do - mowing the lawn, using power tools and climbing ladders – to name a few.

Every day I watch in fascination as Hamish tries to make sense of the world by establishing a rule for almost everything that crosses his path. But what are all the influences that drive children to reach these conclusions, and at which point are they irreversibly set in stone?

Are gender expectations simply part of our culture?

Through a study of our immediate world for a week, I became increasingly conscious of the amount of everyday gender traditions we simply accept as normal:

·       All the bin trucks and haulage trucks we passed – driven by men

·       The diggers and heavy machinery on the building sites – again, all operated by men

·       The grass at the oval – mowed by a man

·       Shop assistants – all women

·       Carers at preschool – all women

And though I realise that employment in many roles are traditionally gender split because of personal preference (I could drive a bin truck if I wanted to, just as my husband could be a pre-school teacher), I am starting to understand where Hamish’s theory originated.

The difference is, he interprets this lack of girl participation in traditionally male roles as a definitive rule, not a choice – in his mind if you could drive these vehicles, surely you would?!

The domestic roles in our house tend to be traditionally split by gender too, it works for us whilst we are renovating and I’m pregnant – my husband fixes and builds, whilst I cook and clean (though I was pretty handy with an angle grinder in my pre-pregnancy days!)

But how do we explain that gender roles can be reversed, it’s just that in our busy worlds, we still instead tend to still follow traditional gender roles?

Nature or nurture?

Whether it’s the environment we create, or something we are born with, the nature/nurture argument has been hotly debated for decades, and is not a straightforward one to resolve.

A stock-take of Hamish’s favourite toys shows he has the usual mix of gender-neutral things like teddies, Playdough, Lego, puzzles, and slightly boyish ones such as matchbox cars, a play garage and the much loved plastic dinosaurs.

There is certainly no guns, shooting, fighting or violence of any kind, but also no dress-ups, dolls or tea-sets either.

I’m unsure whether we bought the boyish toys because he showed interest, or he showed interest because we sub-consciously bought boy things in the first place. But it is certainly our nurture influence that there are no girly toys in the mix.

What I am also sure of, however, is that amidst any toys, he has a natural tendency to give most gender-neutral games a boy-ish orientation – from teddies speeding around sofa-cushion racetracks, to car crash carnage built from Lego. 

The influence of preschool and peers?

Without doubt, time at pre-school has certainly had a major influence on Hamish’s evolving expectations of gender and play. From statement such as ‘girls aren’t my friends’, to excuses such as ‘but Robin* kills people’ when reprimanded for pretending to shoot me, the preschool environment and which gender children he plays with, already seem to be firmly segregated in his mind.

So it seems there are myriad factors influencing our children’s gender expectations every day, and only some of them are within our control as parents.  What we can do is educate with the examples that are within our control, and hopefully be alert enough to guide through those that are not.

Can girls now drive trucks?

Well, Hamish did eventually accept that girls can indeed climb ladders, drive trucks, and push mowers, just as much as boys can clean, do laundry, and play at princesses. Whether he understood that this means genders are different, but still equal, is yet to be tackled… 

And meanwhile, my repertoire of gender-neutral games is growing by the day – Playdough picnic, anyone?

What influences do you believe mould your child’s opinions?

Have you managed to find a way to raise a gender-neutral child?

What are your thoughts on the gender expectations of today?

*names have been changed

Find me and all the comments, at birth.com.au

How big is your bump?

I've completely lost track of the number of comments I've received throughout my pregnancies on the size of my bump.

Ranging from the quippy “come on, it must be twins”, to the flagrant “OMG you are HUGE”, and coming from every facet of life – well meaning friends, colleagues, strangers on the bus – they never fail to stop me in my tracks!

The social etiquette of pregnancy has always intrigued me, because the minute your belly pops you become subject to perpetual social observations from whoever crosses your path – usually completely uninvited comments, but they happen nonetheless.

And sometimes I struggle to remain tight-lipped, as I wonder why pregnancy falls outside the realm of acceptable social remarks? Why is it suddenly completely acceptable to happily comment on a person’s shape and size, when in any other context it would be inappropriate?

And does it happen for everyone – large and small?

Baby bumps come in all shapes and sizes, and they are not always a direct correlation to your own body size – very similar to other body parts such as your nose, ears, and hands, I guess.

Never, however, has someone stopped me the street to breezily remind me that my nose is slightly large for my face (which it unfortunately is), or my hands are strangely oversized for my arms (which is also quite true!). Yet this unspoken, yet important social decorum of quietly accepting people’s idiosyncrasies is all but flung out the window when it comes to anything pregnancy related.

I must admit that size-related comments such as these caused me great angst through my first pregnancy: Am I really too big? Is there something wrong? Will it fit when the time comes to push him out?!

Second time around, however, I quite happily smile and embrace my humungous bump, because I know it means I have a very healthy, happy and thriving little passenger on board.

But what compels people to be so outspoken on the subject?

It also seems that being pregnant leaves you open to public commentary at almost every level available, this phenomenon is not simply limited to observations about your waistline…

1) Stranger touching your belly: I heard about this one but never thought it would actually happen to me, but it did just last week.

2) Observations on your deportment: Yep, the word ‘waddle has been thrown my way many times, from as early as 16 weeks.

3) Critique on choice of clothing: Absolutely, from tsk tsk at continuing to wear wedges after a bump was visible, to concerns about skinny jeans.

4) What labour is in store: Again, I was surprised, but it did happen when a stranger on a bus happily stated to me “that one is going to be difficult to get out!”

5) Exercise: I’ve had declarations of horror from both sides on this subject – one appalled that I would even consider stepping foot in a gym, and another questioning why I had stopped jogging.

Naturally, none of these things happen when I’m not pregnant!

Of course, there is another aspect to the eternal bump discussions, and that is the myths attached to the shape, size and position that apparently indicate whether it is a boy or a girl. The old wives tale suggests that front and low is a boy, whereas high and visible from the back means a girl.

Apparently both of my bumps 'look' like boy bumps – never mind whether it was my first or second baby, how my body coped with the change of pregnancy, or most importantly how many Tim Tams I'd eaten that day.

One was a boy and one is a girl, so in my case it wasn’t so accurate. 

But how does your bump size up to the myth?

What is the most outlandish pregnancy comment you've received?

And do you find yourself commenting to others without qualm?   Find me and all the comments, at birth.com.au

Life - but not as we know it

Have you ever had one of those huge life experiences, an event or an epiphany that not only changes your path, but completely re-maps your entire personality?

I had one recently, and only with that beautiful thing called hindsight can I now see it was so desperately needed.

I’ll explain.

I was only content when I was busy. Setting a blowtorch to both ends of the candle of life was my happy place, thriving on flying frantically through life in a vain attempt to have it all, and always adding to my To Do list until I could paper my walls with the remnants.

Want the perfect house? Let’s renovate.

The perfect body?  Not likely, but I’ll squeeze in 4 brutal sessions a week at the gym anyway.

 Well rounded kids? Sure, activities, play dates and toddler soccer present and correct.

Full time career? Absolutely, 50 hours a week at the office dedicated to a life in publishing.

Social life? Sure, I’d love to come to brunch, and of course I can whip up a BBQ for 20 on a Sunday afternoon.

Still not fulfilled? No, so let’s start up a new venture to fulfill the dreams of independent business woman.

I’m a child of the eighties. I can have everything. Right?

Then I suffered a series of miscarriages and was forced to take a stern look at why my embryos were taking a leap off the ledge so determinedly at such an innocent age.

At this point I realised I had been racing through life faster than a rabbit on rollerskates. I would fly into a room breathless and wonder why everyone stared at me with slight trepidation. Sentences were spoken with such haste I never really finished them. Emails, phone calls and conversations were all exchanged like I was a 90’s raver on speed. Every part of my personality was set on overdrive and burning faster than a supernova.

The health boffins very wisely said enough was enough, and I was forced to stop, and choose. Not just slow down a little, but actually stop the whirlwind if I ever wanted another baby. Maybe the lifestyle had nothing to do with the losses, maybe it had everything to do with it. That fact I’ll never know.  But it wasn’t a risk worth taking anymore.  So after the realisation struck home, and with the squealing handbrake still resonating in my ears, I began the very hard process of completely re-wiring my personality to behave differently, to think differently, and to believe differently.

It’s an almost impossible thing to achieve straight away, a journey something akin to giving up smoking, something which I also achieved about 7 years ago. But already I’ve learned to talk slower, walk slower, breathe slower, and to gaze at the sky for no reason other than simply to look up. 

Will it last? Who knows, maybe eventually I’ll fall off the zen wagon and bolt for the nearest font of chaos I can find. Maybe you can’t completely give up the frantic addiction. But until that happens, I’ll keep breathing, counting to ten, and appreciating the boredom. 

But aside from the lifestyle change, the embracing of the new zen-me and the echo of whale music as I pass through my day, there was a bigger demon to slay. And that epiphany happened the moment I accepted to settle for less.

The renovations will not be finished anytime soon.

The body will always be wobbly, and likely to get wobblier.

The career is unlikely to advance anytime soon.  

And all that is perfectly OK, because what I have achieved is good enough.

And for any stubborn lingering remnants of over-achievement that insist on hanging around?

Well, they are very swiftly swept away on the tailwind of the long awaited news that baby #2 is safely on the way.

 It’s bloody hard to accept that you can’t have it all. But at the end of the day, did I really want it all anyway?

The second best thing about motherhood?

There are so many incredible, inspiring, life-changing things that happen when you transition into the new role of mother.

Yes, the first, primary and most obvious change is the arrival of a very small person in your world. Someone who will light up your life in ways that you never imagined possible, as well as frequently test your patience more than ever before!

But in my newborn baby world there was another surprisingly special occurrence. 

It was something that rarely gets the recognition it deserves, an institution that you hear rumours about, but never truly know what it’s about until a few weeks after the birth.

And that is the introduction of a whole new circle of people into your life, a local group of girls who you would otherwise never cross paths with - It’s the Mothers Group.

Ten random strangers, all at probably the most fragile juncture in their lives, are thrust into a room together with a packet of biscuits and a box of tissues and left to their own devices.

Now I know that not everyone has a nice experience in this circle, some have competitive members, some unreliable, some just don’t click and fizzle away.

I count my blessings that I was one of the lucky ones where I hit the jackpot on this occasion. We all clicked and bonded like no other friends could - over the tears, the exhaustion, the shared stories of ‘is this normal…?’ as well as celebrating the little milestones and achievements at every stage.

Even as our lives change and grow, we will all remain friends, as will our children.

So, I would like to say an eternal round of gratitude to whatever council member came up with the idea - because it is a bold one.

A recent visit to my local childhood centre really made me appreciate the randomness of it all. Picking my way past all the shining new prams in the hallway, I glanced through the door at a circle of shell-shocked women who don’t know each other from Adam, they just happened to give birth at the same time, in the same postcode.

And I stopped to marvel at whether it could be the start of yet another whole new set of friendships, a sisterhood that goes so much deeper because of the shared experience you all have. 

I had great reservations when I went to my first meeting. Not only was I seriously struggling with my newly acquired role, I’m also not the easiest person to bond with - I’ve been blessed with that self-effacing English sense of humour that can very quickly offend. But thankfully we all shared a passion for TimTams and champagne, and were all brutally honest in our parenting experiences, without any competition, pride or envy.

Many women, myself included, end up losing a key circle of friends when they have their first child. Those ‘Before Baby’ friends who only sms to catch up over drinks on Saturday night, or worse, stop calling at all because now you are accompanied by a minor, and even then are a little preoccupied with the current lack of sleep.

So to be provided with a new group of friends, all who share and understand everything that is monumental in your world at this time of great upheaval, needs much more heralding that it receives.

So, I raise a glass to the Mothers Group.

Enjoy your Thursday mornings in the park swapping stories. Make the most of those lunches chatting about sleep, routines and achievements that as a new mum you are so proud of, because these women are the ones that will truly understand how important these things are.

I, for one, still somewhat miss those sleep deprived morning coffees, the tears and the laughter at the baby’s escapades, and at the chaos of our newborn lives.

What was your experience in your mothers group?

Did it work out for you, or did you never go back?

Find me and all the comments, at birth.com.au

Baby ahoy…

I’ve got to be honest, I truly didn’t enjoy being pregnant. Yes I know the biology is incredible, I’m growing a tiny person and I should embrace the insanity hormones, but aside from the seemingly endless vomiting and exhaustion, I just remember feeling utterly hijacked by this tiny little pirate marauding around my insides, causing chaos everywhere he turned. Throughout the pregnancy I wished I felt differently, that I bonded and glowed and all the other things you hear that happen, but it sadly just never clicked for me and as the belly grew bigger, I liked myself less and less. After 8 months I was staunchly adamant that I would never – repeat never – go through it all again.*

This fact had been happily accepted and neatly filed away for a few years, along with my other never-to-do-again memories such as sky-diving and beer-bongs, but it has recently resurfaced because I am quite surprisingly about to embark on the whole baby shennanigans again**. And before I even get close to puking in a plant pot, I know as much as I’d love to have another child – I still have more than a little trepidation about going through pregnancy again.

Perhaps all my best intentions of being a calm and serene incubator this time around might somewhat alleviate these issues – taking up baby yoga and only eating vegetables planted by virgins being just a few, but I’m sure all these divine plans will be flung out the window the minute the first production deadline hits in favour of sobbing at the keyboard with a packet of timtams.

I have a very clear memory of being handed my newborn son, and amidst the chaos of an overly complicated emergency ceasar I simply thought ‘thank god he is out of me, someone please take him away. And this feeling didn’t change for almost a year.

Maybe the second time will be easier, the biggest upheaval of the transition into motherhood is already achieved and I’ve accepted the mummy tummy is for good. Or maybe it will be a million times harder with a 3 year old in tow?

Does this happen more now because our lives today don’t allow us the time to be pregnant? Morning sickness has to be snuck in around meetings and deadlines, fatigue managed by napping in the carpark for 20 minutes at lunchtime.

I do wonder how many women are delivering with their iphones to hand, and still feel like they’ve let someone down before they’ve begun? I know I am certainly guilty of all of the above, and mostly because I put that pressure on myself.

What I do know is the inbuilt human desire to reproduce must be so overwhelmingly strong, for it to cause such a deranged u-turn for someone such as myself!

I now love my first fiercely and unconditionally, yes even when he shoves a plastic dinosaur in my ear when I’m trying to grab a cheeky lie-in. So lets hope that the second goes the same way with an added dose of pre-natal tranquility to really start us off on the right foot...

Did you experience the pre-natal bond?

Did you enjoy being pregnant?

Or vice versa, did you struggle with pregnancy only to have a great experience second time around?

*and yes, I know now that it was a classic case of ante-natal depression, but that is a whole other post.

**cue a mountain of calls from family and friends who are now reading this realising they can serve me a big fat dose of ‘I told you so’.

***yes, don’t worry that feeling has gone now, only to resurface whenever I hear the ‘In The Night Garden’ theme tune.

Shh... it's a secret...

To tell or not to tell.

That is often the question on many women's minds when they find out they are pregnant.

On one hand you are excited, nervous, and desperate to share the catalogue of emotions that are bursting inside.

On the other, there is the age-old tradition to hide it away until you are clear of the uncertainty of the first 12 weeks (though how you truly achieve secrecy amidst all the morning sickness, fatigue and fainting of those early weeks I've never completely understood!)

And of course to confuse and overload you even more, as with everything pregnancy/parenting related, there is myriad articles and well meaning people who are too quick to tell you what the 'right' thing to do is.

Now I've been faced with that predicament several times now, sometimes ending in a beautiful bouncing baby, and sometimes not. And during those 'sometimes not' times I've questioned, as I'm sure many other women have done, whether the heartache would be any easier to endure if I wasn't doing it so completely alone?

Yes, colleagues and friends might initially put their foot in it with over-zealous pregnancy comments, but at least you'd then get the space and support so desperately needed at such a difficult time. However, would facing all the subsequent questions and awkward silences mean you are better off with nobody knowing?

Miscarriage is suffered by an estimated 50,000 women every year in Australia, often in almost complete silence. This intangible grief is processed with no acknowledgement from your day to day circle, leaving it all feeling somewhat trivialised. You carry on pretending to the world that nothing out of the ordinary has happened today, just return to your desk and field the suddenly meaningless daily demands, whilst your head is screaming 'my baby has gone, does nobody care?'

Of course they care, they just don't know.

Unfortunately even after seeing things from both sides, I still don't know the answer.

There were moments when I wanted to scream it from the rooftops, just to be given a moment to acknowledge my loss and behave in a way any grieving person has the right to.

To be able to broadcast it a step ahead of your every move, so to safely avoid situations such as a large 'tell everyone we are pregnant' dinner party on the day of a miscarriage (yep, that did happen, as did running out of the room in tears!)

Other moments I was so glad nobody knew, because any pregnancy related question would have torn me in two if I had to explain it was now a 'sometimes not'.

What are your thoughts?
Did you tell people early only to sadly miscarry?
Or did you purposely keep your pregnancy quiet until after 12 weeks?

Find me and all the comments, at birth.com.au