I have never really been much of a swearer. When I was growing up, my mother drilled it into me that swearing is a lazy form of self-expression. She encouraged me to choose my words more carefully, often with more devastating effect than any S- or F-bomb could ever achieve. So, while my French husband constantly has to bite back the “merde!” and “putain!” that pervade French speech, it’s never been hard for me to watch my language around the children. And that’s one less thing to worry about in the pool of anxiety that is parenthood, plus I get to feel all smug when he slips up and receives shocked glances from the kids and whispers of “Naughty Papa said the P word!”
I am, however, horribly guilty of using bad language of another kind. Firstly, I complain: “My back hurts. There’s so much washing to do. It’s raining again”. I use negative self-talk at times: “Oh heck, I look ancient this morning!” And I criticise: “For heaven’s sake, could the checkout go any slower?” (imagine that with a Chandler Bing-style intonation). Now, I don’t do this all the time, but I do it more often than I care for, and it happens in front of the children. I doubt I’m alone here. Using these kinds of negative speech is so common, I bet many of us don’t even notice it. But I did recently. I had a sort of out-of-body moment as I truly heard myself doing all three and realised I have less to feel smug about than I thought. Because just as I don’t want to hear my children effing and blinding, nor do I want them to become complaining, self-insulting and critical.
When searching for wisdom, always look to musical theatre
There’s a lyric in Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods that warns, “Careful the things you say –
Children will listen; Careful the things you do – Children will see, And learn…” Ever since my Damascene moment, I’ve had that song playing in my head on a loop. Because it’s true. Every time I complain I have too much to do and not enough time, my son is listening and learning that life is about lack and rushing. Every time I make an offhand remark about feeling like a hog after a large lunch, my daughter hears me and learns that food and indulgence lead to guilt and recriminations. When I criticise, the kids are absorbing the message that when life isn’t as we would like, the right response is to get annoyed and assign blame.
The medium is the message
It rather goes without saying that none of this is what I want to teach my children. But the message they receive when I use these three types of communication – complaining, negative self-talk and criticising – is that they are acceptable, normal and perhaps even useful. But we all know they’re not. All three backfire on the user! Complaining about tiredness doesn’t make you less tired. Insulting a wobbly tummy doesn’t make it shrink. And criticising others doesn’t make them more competent. In fact, these three acts all actually make the situation worse. I feel even more tired when I bang on about how little sleep I got. Berating myself for double helpings of pudding brings me down and probably leads to my raiding the biscuit barrel for comfort. Criticising others just makes me feel like a mean-spirited cow.
Changing the record
So what’s to be done? How can I – we – change? Well, there is the swear jar option. If you’re really far gone, a euro/pound/dollar in the pot every time you use negative talk might even let you upgrade your car by Christmas. I think it really all starts with mindfulness, though. Noticing what you’re saying (and how you’re saying it) and choosing the words you use and sentiments you express with care. Enlisting a family member to help you do this is a good idea, but really it has to come from within. Mindful speech is a fundamental part of mindful living because the way we describe the world, how we name it and put it into words directly influences how we perceive it, how we feel about it, and our actions in it.
This doesn’t mean we have to deny the fact that we’re tired, or that the post office clerk is slow or that eating too much has left us feeling bloated. It simply means choosing more carefully the way we frame the expression of these feelings to make it productive, or at least not harmful – to us and our children. So, “I’m tired. Hmmm… I’m sure I’ll feel less so after a cup of tea”. “Wow, I feel so full after that lunch – salad for dinner for me, I think”. “Gosh, this line is moving slowly – well, it gives me time to reply to some text messages”.
There is so much in life that we cannot influence or choose. What we say and how we say it are two things over which we have total control. I plan to exercise that control more mindfully in the future – both for my own happiness and to ensure my children are receiving messages I’m proud to send.
If you’d like to change some behaviours and attitudes that are holding you back from living life to the full and with joy, energetic and supportive coaching that focuses on making the right changes for you can help you achieve the mental shift you require. Contact me for your free introductory coaching session to find out how working together can help you build a life lived with purpose and on purpose.
Nothing ruins time with my kids more than when I attempt to multi-task. They hate it when it’s “their time” and I am not giving them my attention; and, once they are off at school or in bed, I always regret when I wasn’t 100% present during the time we had together. Managing their dinnertime, for example, can be a fun moment to chat and talk about their day, but it is spoilt when my attention is split and I leave the table to hang up laundry, answer a quick email, or take out rubbish. In general, weekday time slots with the kids are short and precious. Make them the true focus of that time and it will be more enjoyable for everyone.
Don’t let technology pull focus. Of all the things that compete for my attention when I’m with the children, the most insidious and unrelenting is the smartphone. In the evening, put your phone on silent, stick it in a drawer or – whisper it – turn it off, to ensure you give your undivided attention to the people who are actually in the room. In most cases, your colleague won’t remember that she went to voicemail and you called her back later. Your friend won’t even notice that an hour elapsed between her text and your reply. But your kids will definitely be aware of how you made them feel during the golden hours between school ending and bedtime – seen and heard and important, or like they play second fiddle to your Android.
Try to get into it. Sometimes finding the strength and patience to make yet another Kapla tower or play an umpteenth game of Connect-4 it can feel like a superhuman act of will. In those moments, it sometimes helps to get genuinely super-enthusiastic – even if it’s just pretence at first. Get serious about winning the game, make your structure look like the Eiffel Tower, mix and match toys to create new ways of playing (my kids like making a massive “village” by combining the train set with the toy cars and the Playmobil saloon and farm). If you can find some true kid-like enthusiasm you might just tap into that Holy Grail of feelings: flow – that sense of being in the moment, connected and committed to what you’re doing. If you can hit that spot, everyone will have more fun and time will fly.
If motherhood were a competitive sport, the Olympic committee would be overrun with candidates…
I am not a competitive person. I get no pleasure from an activity when trying to do it faster or better or for longer than someone else. Example: swimming lessons. I loved (still do love) swimming, but when the teacher suggested to my mother that I enter competitions, I was out the other end of the pool in a time that would have made Michael Phelps question his achievements. I enjoy activities most when doing them for their own sake and without any form of comparison with others.
So how did I end up in the qualifying rounds for the summer sport of competitive mothering?
Because you are entered automatically from the moment you announce you’re pregnant – didn’t you know?
Every decision you make is judged by someone, and the worst culprits are other mothers clearly going for gold by comparing your pregnancy/delivery/baby/post-baby body with their own.
There’s the choice to breastfeed or not, whether you sleep-train, baby-led weaning, if and when you go back to work… And don’t even get me started on Montessori! I have seen powerful, successful women cower before others who casually drop into conversation that they have chosen to Montessori their kids “because we really wanted the best for her education, you know?” Translation: you are lazy, uncaring and your child will end up in the gutter if you don’t do the same. Every choice you make becomes another mother’s food for smug comparison. At best, it’s exhausting; at worst it’s disempowering and distressing.
However, for every mother sure that she’s standing higher on the podium than you are (and making sure you’re painfully aware of that fact), there’s another weeping inside from feelings of inadequacy at your wildly superior skills. Having a baby is unlike anything we’ve ever done before, and it can turn even the most confident of woman into a pile of self-doubt and anxiety. Faced with someone else’s certainty at deserving that coveted first-place medal, you can start to doubt even choices you know were right for you and your family.
The irony is that we are all at some point Mrs Smuggy McSmugface (“I make all my baby’s purées myself! I breastfed for longer than her! We go to more playgroups than they do!”). And we are all at some point that poor cringing creature convinced she’s not so much swimming as sinking (“She’s coping so much better than me… Her baby is crawling already… How did she lose the weight so fast?”).
So, what can we learn – and do differently?
I said before that I am not competitive. That’s not quite the truth: if I am to be precise I have to say that I am competitive with just one person – myself. I am always trying to do better today than I did yesterday: increase my knowledge, act with greater love, try harder. Applying the same logic to motherhood, I have found, is the only solution when faced with a Smugface or when resisting the urge to be one myself.
It’s hard to do, but the trick is to simply opt out of comparison with others and replace it with checking in with yourself.
Am I doing my best?
Did I make decisions that best served me and my family today?
Am I being kind to myself?
The answers will never be a unanimous, Welsh-male-voice-choir-style YES. But maybe you’ll realise that you did indeed play with your daughter and read her a story. Or you’ll admit that skipping playgroup this week and meeting a friend for lunch was simply necessary for your own sanity and will not cause lasting damage to your baby. Perhaps you’ll remember your son’s giggling fit as you made silly faces over breakfast and enjoy knowing you make him laugh.
And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find it in you to be a little less hard on yourself – and on other mothers. Now that would be a gold medal for everyone.
Originally published on Inspirelle.com.
Recently, my daughter had her first ever rentrée – an initiation to an autumn ritual every mother in France must face. No uniform or stationery purchases were required (more’s the pity – I love buying notebooks); my 14-month-old simply started going to a childminder four days a week. We’ve been building towards this momentous event all summer, ever since we found our lovely assistante maternelle and signed the contract. I’ve been busily packing a bag with all her essentials and talking to Alice about her new adventure. When the big day arrived, we were ready.
We did a few trial-run days with the childminder over the summer which went well, but as I dropped her off on D-Day, I still steeled myself for some crying and clinging. To my utter horror, Alice simply gave me a kiss, let me put her down, and happily started playing with a ball.
I walked to the door, braced for a sudden scream. I turned to say a final “goodbye” to find her smiling and waving at me.
The childminder texted me minutes later to reassure me that all was fine and that Alice was banging a drum and shrieking with pleasure. That’s when the hysterical crying began – mine.
Now, I get that Alice’s cheerful and easy-going acceptance of the childminder is, in many ways, sickeningly ideal; and I’m very grateful to be spared the earth-shaking screams that some other parents experience at every drop-off. But, while it is a comfort to know that Alice likes the childminder, the fact that she’s taking the rentrée in her stride doesn’t mean that I am. I’m experiencing a host of classic feelings:
- Guilt (motherhood gold) at leaving her
- Worry at our choice of nounou (agréée and apparently delightful, but Dr Jekyll looked perfectly normal too, didn’t he?)
- Fear that my daughter will prefer the nounou/forget about me/resent me for leaving her
- A sens of being incomplete without her – as if someone removed one of my limbs.
I doubt there’s a parent alive who can’t identify with some part of this, so, drawing on my own limited but recent and raw experience, here are my suggestions for dealing not with your child’s reaction to the rentrée, but your own.
1. Trust yourself
The first night after starting with the nounou, Alice’s sleep was rather disturbed. At around 3 a.m., my husband and I simultaneously voiced the inevitable thought: She’s clearly traumatised by the childminder! The only thing that talked us down from that particular ledge was remembering that we did lots of research before choosing our assistante maternelle, met with several, and spent some time getting to know the one we chose. We also just had a really good feeling about her. You undoubtedly did your due diligence when choosing your childcare – trust that and trust your instincts. (It turned out to be a molar pushing through that was keeping Alice awake, by the way. How foolish we felt.)
2. Give yourself time
Most new childcare requires a kind of easing-in period, the période d’adaptation. That’s not just for the kids, but for parents too. In those first days and weeks, expect to be emotional and off-kilter. It will take time to adjust to the new routine as this new chapter begins. If you can, try not to go to work on that first day. Returning to work after a break feeling emotionally wrung out is to be avoided if possible. Give yourself the day to be with whatever you’re feeling and prepare for your own rentrée. If that’s not an option, try to find time between leaving the crèche and arriving at work to sit calmly, let yourself feel, and then close the door on whatever happened at the drop off.
3. Accept that this is a big deal
Don’t mentally downplay the significance of leaving your child with a nounou, at a crèche or at school. For me, using a childminder was like adding a new member to my family – someone who will care for and influence my daughter, and who will have an important impact on our lives. That’s a big deal, so don’t be dismissive (or let anyone make you feel silly) when you have big emotions in response to what you’re doing.
4. Remember the benefits
Whatever your child’s age, and whatever your chosen form of childcare, you and your little one will — in some way, shape or form — benefit from this time apart. Without denying your fears and worries, make yourself a list of all the good things that will come from the situation. Note them down and keep them at hand.
You may feel your child is too young to be at crèche. Think about how being with other children sooner rather than later will stimulate and encourage him to develop.
You’re using childcare because you have a career you love and want to get back to, but you feel guilty about that? You’re a model of vocation and ambition for a child who’ll grow up to expect joy from the workplace – that’s invaluable!
When that little voice inside says “But, I’m abandoning my baby!” (or “I shouldn’t want to work”, or “I’m a bad mother” or whatever nasty thing your mind chooses to bash you over the head with), look at that list and bash the voice right back.
Originally published on Inspirelle.com.
Recently, my husband and I undertook a major challenge. Now, just for context, you should know that we have both climbed some serious mountains in our time. I moved to Paris alone at the age of 23, we moved house with a one-month-old baby, and my best beloved is a fan of Bear Grylls-style hiking, for heaven’s sake! Yet nothing prepared us for what we did last month: We went on holiday with our baby.
For the first time.
Abroad, travelling by plane.
Friends warned us it would be hard. Some said the air travel would be hellish. Others cited disrupted sleeping and eating as reasons to stay home. One, on what I hope was just a particularly tiring day for her, told me simply to wait 18 years for my next real holiday. But, true to form, we rolled up our sleeves and decided to give it a go anyway.
And, do you know what? It was hard. But it was also fine. In fact, it was fun. True, the trip in no way resembled holidays pre-baby.
No lie-ins. No romantic late-night dinners. No real down-time to speak of, and a lot more stuff to haul around with us than usual. But it wasn’t the frazzled nightmare that I was led to expect.
It helped that I approached the project drawing on my work as a coach and had done some mental preparation in order to limit stress, disappointments and complications. I won’t offer advice on sun cream (other than to wear it) or whether to pack or buy nappies, but here are my tips for preparing your mind for the vicissitudes of holidaying with a baby.
1. Make reasonable choices
When choosing your destination, method of travel and accommodation, be gentle with yourself and your baby. Downsize wherever possible. For our first family flight, we ruled out anything over two hours. We also researched a resort that offered a particularly good set-up for children. I’m of Scottish stock, and my daughter and I are so fair-skinned that we’re almost blue, hence our choice of a spring holiday when temperatures wouldn’t exceed 25 degrees celsius. Which leads me to my next point…
2. Take into account what your child would choose
I always hear my mother’s words when I’m making decisions that have an impact on my daughter: “Children don’t choose to be born”. It was my choice to have a baby, and while that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve any rest, fun or relaxation, it does mean I have a responsibility to secure said pleasures for myself in a way that isn’t gruelling for my child. Yes, you may want to visit your friend in Argentina, but will the heat, the long flight and the time difference be too hard for your tot? If the kid is having a rough time, it’s guaranteed that you will too – why do that to yourself?
3. Prepare. Prepare.
Get as much information as you can from your travel agent or travel guides, friends and the Internet about the weather, the food, the journey. I phoned our hotel and got a list of exactly what was provided for my baby’s needs. Think through your child’s daily routine and make lists of all the things you use for each one. I had the dining table spread out by activity: in one corner, everything we’d need for Feeding (bottles, formula, bibs); in another corner all things Hygiene (nappies, wipes, cotton wool); and so on and so forth.
In short, make like a Boy Scout and be prepared.
4. Change your expectations
Do not go on holiday imagining that it will be anything like past vacations; you’ll avoid so much frustration if you can expect the unexpected. It’s like the first time I tried goat’s cheese. Yep, that’s the simile I’m going with, folks – humor me. I assumed it would taste much like cow’s cheese and so I hated it. Once I got my head around the fact that it was just a whole different thing, I grew to love it. Expect something new and you can’t be disappointed.
5. Be a team player
And make sure your partner is too. Take turns doing the post-pool bath while still in your own sopping swimwear. Give each other a break by taking baby out for a pram nap while the other person gets some afternoon shut-eye. Go back and forth on who feeds baby and who gets to eat their meal hot. These are all things we probably do naturally in the home environment, but on holiday it’s so tempting to just kick back and not notice your partner is slogging. Make sure you both pull your weight.
6. Remember you’re lucky
Whatever kind of holiday you’re planning, remember that you are lucky to be doing so. It’s so easy to bemoan the fact that babies have no notion of lie-ins, or that your evening apéro is somewhat less serene than before as you wrangle a wriggling toddler. But – without getting into gratitude diaries or counting blessings – think about the fact that you have the time and money to go on a family holiday and how lucky you are to have both that family and that holiday.
Originally published on Inspirelle.com