Razor blades for breakfast (and other poor parenting performances)

If there was an anti-parenting award, I would be today’s proud recipient.

It started off badly. The gardener arrived at 6 am, naturally while I was naked and in the shower and my husband was somewhere on the streets of Fourways getting in his morning run. Semi-dressed and wrapped in a towel no bigger than a burp cloth, I ran to let him in and make him tea. Mid way through scooping the 8th sugar in to the mug I realised that my baby was being suspiciously quiet. Walking back in to the bedroom I found him casually on the floor sucking on my razor blade. By some act of God his mouth was still intact when I ripped the device from it, but his head narrowly missed the same result when he then FELL OFF THE BED FIVE MINUTES LATER. Why did he fall off the bed you ask? Because he took a crawling lunge at my dog at the very same time she decided to roll over. Result – head on floor, snot ‘en trane and yet another black mark in my mom book.

So, moms. For the sake of complete transparency, and to hopefully help us all feel like some days we just aren’t winning at parenting, here is a list of other incredibly glorious ways I’ve fucked up at motherhood:

  • When Carter was 2 weeks old I laid him on the floor at my feet so I could drink hot coffee without spilling on him. Unluckily for him, my dog Rupert happened to be sitting on the couch next to me. Upon heading a noise outside, Rupert jumped off the couch, jumped onto my newborn baby and bolted out the door. No, that’s not a birthmark on my child’s tummy. It’s a deeply entrenched pawprint.
  • I once left the grocery store, Carter in his pram and the handles laden with shopping bags. It was all going swimmingly while I pushed the pram to the carpark. It was only when I parked the pram to open the boot and the weight of the bags tilted the pram to an exciting 90 degrees, forcing my child to almost fall out, did I realise that perhaps online grocery shopping was a better idea.
  • A week before I had my baby I sent the dogs to the parlour to get them baby ready. Imagine my surprise when on their return, instead of the sweet smelling hounds I’d anticipated, they came back riddled with fleas. In a mad, pre-baby panic we fumigated 98% of the home and managed to kill off the infestation. Except, we didn’t. Becasue when Carter was 4 days old my mom found a flea. In his head.
  • It was 3 am and he had been crying for an hour. I was so exhausted I could barely see straight, and the only solution to calm him down was to give him a bottle. There were 2 bottles on the shelf in his room. One was a few days old, and the other was new. To this day I have no idea which bottle I gave him.
  • Last week, while I was cooking dinner and he was chilling on the floor playing, I noticed out the corner of my eye that he was eating something. Not overly phased – and assuming it was a piece of food that had fallen on the floor – I only paid attention when the last mouthful went in his mouth. And by last mouthful I mean wing. My child had devoured an entire hawk moth.
  • In other exciting eating news – he’s also snacked on a cigarette stompie (we don’t smoke), several rounds of dog pellets and a golf tee. You can imagine now how I chuckle when people ask when the right time to introduce egg is. My kid’s eaten a Marlboro, I think egg is the least of our worries.
  • I’m too lazy to switch feeding spoons between courses, so my kid eats tuna flavoured yoghurt and chicken flavoured teething biscuits.
  • In an effort to get him to eat and taste everything he can I popped a spoon in his mouth while making dinner. It was only after doing so that I remembered the sauce on the spoon was the curry paste I had been stirring.

He’s OK now.

  • According to the books – it’s very important to introduce new textures and sensory products. Excitedly, I set out to try this with shaving cream, thinking he would actually never eat the shaving cream.

He ate the shaving cream.

Don't eat the shaving cream.

Feeling like a slightly better parent now? You’re welcome.

 

 

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He's A Dad, Not A Babysitter.

I read this article a couple of years ago, before I was even considering having children, and even then, young and carefree, I thought to myself “this. This is how I plan on working a baby into our lives”.

To quote the article – a father should never be called or seen as ‘the baby sitter’. To imply that they are merely there as a temporary carer implies that their role is of lesser value and importance than the moms. As an example – you would never say to a mom who was out at the grocery store “Oh, I see you’re baby sitting today?”. So why would you ever say that to the dad?

When Carter was born there was an almost silent agreement between my husband and I that this was a dual role. That they baby was ours 50/50, and caring for him would be just that.

Even before he was born Barry came with me to every single ultrasound and checkup. I insisted he pay half the bills when my medical aid had dried up and we will split our childs cost equally going forward as well. Am I a bitch? Am I high maintenance? Absolutely not. I am one half Carters parent. Therefore I rely equally on my other half to come to the party when raising him. Not ‘help’ me to raise him. if I want help I’ll call his granny.

From day one he has been a hands on dad – we have split the night feed duties in half, he packs the nappy bag when we go out and changes the car seat base between cars (most of the time…). Just last night it was his turn on night duty (of course our baby then slept for 11 hours straight), and when I told people this, they were more shocked about the fact that he does ‘night duty. Yes, he bloody well does night duty – he also changes the nappies, baths him and puts him to bed on most nights. In fact, he comes home at a decent hour on most days, not to allow me to go run, but to give me time from my ‘job’ of mothering to go and exercise, to get some much needed ‘me time’. Plus, he knows that on Sundays he gets to disappear for several hours to hit the trails with some of his mates.

In less than 6 weeks I will be going back to work – which means we will both be full time working parents. Is it going to be easy? No. Is it going to be do-able? Absolutely, because my husband will do one half of the creche run, one half of the cooking (although I think that may be news to him) and one half of raising our child. 

I get that I am so so fortunate, and that many dads still see their role as the silent observer type. I also understand that there is a lot a man cannot physically do for his child, which may leave him feeling helpless (nursing being the biggest), but in times when a man can’t magically grow a set of boobs, he can bring his wife a glass of water, or make her a cup of tea. If baby is particularly mom-fuss on a certain day, hubby can help with the washing, or cleaning or cooking. Because it is 2015, and I know very few woman who don’t bust their ass every day in the office and work hellishly long hours too. 

Simply put, I try keep my hubby out of my blog, but sometimes a gals just gotta brag a bit. 

I got me a good one.

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