A Guide To Being Not-Sh** Friends With Babies

Recently, while at the beach with a friend and his wife the topic of pregnancy came up (it has a strange habit of doing that when you’re expecting – friends love it…).  This time I had a good excuse, as we were mesmirised by a VERY pregnant woman roasting in a bikini, who, by the look of her was nearly cooked.  As the conversation took a turn towards my pending parenthood, Mrs Friend sweetly asked:

“Are you guys still going to be fun to hang out with when you have a baby?  Or are you going to be those sh** friends who change completely and disappear?”

I assured her that Baby would simply be an addition to our merry little group and not a wedge between us all.  But the thought troubled me.  So, just to ensure I didn’t make any major blunders to set me on the path of ‘sh** friend-hood’, I racked their brains for tips from their past experiences to keep me on track.

Therefore, I have compiled a list of ways to keep friends through parenthood:

1) Moderate Your Facebook Posts

My mate has assured me that he will be deleting me on Facebook as soon as I become a parent.  He sees me most days at work anyhow and, as much as (I’m sure) he loves seeing my every waking thought in seventy words or less filling his newsfeed, his interest will wan when my witty social commentary is replaced with: “Here’s another hiccup video – SO ADORABLE!!!! <3”

I, myself, have ‘unsubscribed’ to new parents on Facebook.  It’s bad enough to have every real-life conversation with them manipulated thus: “That [conversation about politics] reminds me of Toby’s sneezes!  Here’s a [low-res, poorly-framed, shaky] video of it on my phone!”; without having to see it in my newsfeed every three minutes when I check my Facebook!

So here’s the first step to keeping friends onside: try to moderate the baby content on your Facebook (and in conversations).  I’m sure you’ll be forgiven for posting the occasional photo, video or amusing anecdote, but try to set yourself a maximum – one a day runs a risk of too great-a regularity.

2) Don’t Forget Your Friends

Priorities are bound to change when Baby arrives.  All the spare time that I didn’t have during the nesting phase is bound to be taken up with baby duties.  Friends will be understanding of this (to a degree), but to forgive they must understand and to understand, they must first be told.  I’m told a cardinal sin commonly committed by new parents is to fail to respond to calls, texts, online advances or knocks on doors from once good friends.  Maybe you find it hard to turn down an invitation to go surfing with a mate on account of Baby, but spare a thought for your friend left wondering if you’ll ever reply!  Answer the phone, respond to the text, engage in social media [in a moderated fashion] and let them know what’s going on and why it is so.  It’s also worth keeping in mind step 3…

3) Don’t Discount Your Friends’ Willingness to Participate

When I buzzed my friends on how they had been wronged by former-friends/now-parents (positions which were sadly at risk of becoming exclusive), one of the greatest mistakes made was an assumption by the parents that the friends would not want to spend time with them and the baby.  They reminded me that they would still want to be friends, even if the form of social events went from day-long surfing adventures and night-long bar-crawls, to casual BBQs and watch-how-baby-crawls.

Sure, there are some friends who will fain interest in Baby’s existence upon her arrival and be conveniently unavailable at any invitation to spend time with me beyond that, if she is to be present.  There may be times when my mate is not willing to give up clear skies and glassy waves to just hang out, so goes surfing without me (though I’d really like to tie down short-term, low-price, last-minute sitting at a location convenient to the beach).  This being said, I hope that my friends are willing to be a little flexible and accept Baby into at least some of our social time.

This would be a tall ask, however, if there wasn’t a willingness on our side to be a little flexible too….

4) Don’t Be Precious

Sure, there are times in parenting when sacrifices must be made and Baby must come first.  That will take some adjusting to, but I accept it (pregnancy has been a teaser…although probably one of those really early ones that doesn’t really give away much more about the film than the title – no actors, no setting, no plot – yet leaves you feeling like you’ve had some great insight…only to discover months later that your pre-conceived notions were entirely misplaced and what you thought was going to be a side-splitting comedy, is actually Adam Sandler flapping about and talking like a child, getting unnecessarily angry at inanimate objects in what should have been a straight-to-DVD flop that has somehow got a cinema release because he made Happy Gilmore).  The exact toll that birthing has taken on Wifey will be particularly important, yet difficult to realise – with Baby due just a week out from Christmas, I’ll be itching to pack them all up and head on over to family festivities, but the reality may be that Wifey is all-but bedridden, particularly if Baby’s late!

However, this being said, once all has settled and we’ve found our flow, I’m determined that we will not be a couple who must leave early for Baby’s feed, or blow off an event that coincides with her nap time.  Sure, some more preparation may be required for our attendance and we may arrive looking like we’re staying the week, but I went to sleep in many a foreign bedroom as a child with the frivolity of my parents and their friends carrying down the hall and into my dreams.  As far as an infant is concerned, travelling with their pram is tantamount to taking their whole world with them; and as far as I’m concerned, pushing a pram is tantamount to being a racing-car driver, so everyone’s a winner!

Once again, it’s easy for me to preach these bold ideas prior to Baby’s arrival, blissfully naïve to the reality that’s yet to befall me.  To my friends, I apologise in advance for my pending assault on your newsfeeds and beg your forgiveness if I go off the radar for a while.  Accept my assurance that you’re still well loved and I am missing you badly – it’s simply that I’ve been thrown in the deep-end and the fact that I’m a strong swimmer has momentarily slipped my mind.  If you feel so-inspired, please throw the life buoy my way.  With any luck your aim may be true and you might knock some sense into me!

Nesting

Renovations, Day 1.

Little (or Fairy) Penguins are creatures that always captivate people.  They are dainty creatures, with that adorable penguin waddle, only on an iddy-biddy scale.  One of the most remarkable things about Little Penguins though, is their courtship.  While they are credited as being a monogamous species (‘pairing for life’ for those playing at home), they will re-pair if one party becomes absent…or gains weight or something…  Anyhoo, the intriguing thing is that the female chooses their mate based upon the quality of the nest they build.  This makes Little Penguins both excellent nest-builders and talented wife-pleasers.

In this regard, Little Penguins and I share skill-sets.

The phenomenon of pregnant women nesting is well documented - I’m sure there’s a chapter all about it in “What To Expect When You’re Expecting”…or maybe it doesn’t cover the big issues like I do.  Well here’s the scoop – once women reach the point of no return (when there’s no denying that things are about to change…in big ways…for good), they start nesting.

Nesting, from my experience, can be defined as: “an overwhelming desire in a pregnant woman to create a living space that aligns precisely with her vision of perfection and the expectation that her partner will deliver upon it with appropriate time left before the baby’s arrival”.  It may begin small – a simple Google search for baby furniture, or a wistful gaze at the paint swatches in Bunnings.  But before you know it, you, too, may find yourself waist deep in asbestos-ridden kitchen cabinets strewn across what was once a lawn, while bulging Wifey stands on a stool somewhere above issuing directives.

Nearly every mother we’ve spoken to will tell that tale of renovating their first home while pregnant.  Rewarding though it may be, I certainly wouldn’t recommend it to one prone to stress!  Unlike regular renovations, where you can chip away at things little by little, with progress trundling on at it’s own merry pace; renovations for purposes of nesting have a clear deadline before which they must conclude (particularly when you take our approach of gutting your house in a weekend, rendering it uninhabitable and spending the next two months slowly, but surely putting it back together - in a manner that aligns with Wifey’s mystical vision).  Sure, you might say, “Baby won’t realise that mission-brown frames are hideous and would look much better in Princess Bling [white]”; but if you don’t do it before Baby comes, when are you ever going to get around to it?  Particularly when ‘it’ involves sanding off paint that (by colour alone) likely came from a lead-based era.  And I challenge ANYONE to tell a pregnant wife who’s just reached the cankles phase of pregnancy, that the baby doesn’t care about a perfect house!

So resign yourself to the fact that you are either going into slavery for an indeterminable length of time prior to Baby’s arrival (good practice for post-Baby’s arrival [PBA] I guess), or - in the case of those so-endowed – forking out a healthy wad of cash for someone else to ensure that your baby enters a nest that’s just right, according to her mother’s particular vision.  On that point – if you have any particular vision yourself for the kind of nest you think your child would appreciate (perhaps swayed by a personal preference), it is worth gingerly raising it (perhaps in a hypothetical scenario) to determine whether or not it aligns with those of the mother of your soon-to-be child.  If so, awesome!  She will be pleased that you had an input!  If not, lock it down.  Don’t be a hero: it’s not worth it.  Smile and nod, say, “Yes, I was just thinking that we should use Hog Bristle for the walls – what other colour would I want?” and “I agree, the bottom of a box under the house is definitely the best place to keep my surfing photos!”.  Accept the fact that this is going to happen.  Hopefully, like me, you find it to be a fulfilling adventure.  Exhausting though.  So exhausting.  Totally kiss sleep and energy goodbye.  I’m told that’s what it’s like having a baby, too…

An Explanation of Absence.

Dear Blog,

I am writing to you in hope that you will accept my humblest apologies.  When our relationship began it was fresh; it was exciting.  We met regularly and conversation was easy.  Our interactions were joyful and cathartic in a crazy and confusing time in my life.  When we were apart you were ever on my mind, as I made mental lists of topics I wished to bring to you.

The last two months I have been distant.  At first you were a victim of circumstance, as life swallowed time.  However, as weeks went on - though time was still a precious commodity - it was shame that kept me from coming to you.  What would I say?  How do you explain your sudden and unplanned absence to one who was once so close?  What if I was to mend our relationship only to disappear once more?  So I avoided you, though you never left my mind.  The guilt weighed upon me.

But here I am, Blog.  I'm writing to you now to say sorry.  Sorry for building our relationship into something beautiful, only to up and leave you alone and uncertain of where we stood or whether I would return.  Please accept this and believe me when I say that I have learnt from my failings and I am committed to you from here on in.

I feel that it is only right that with this apology I offer some form of explanation, though I do not claim to have an excuse for my actions.

It turns out that not a lot happens in the middle trimester.  Don't get me wrong, Wifey has not ceased her expansion (you should see her now, Blog, she really is bulging!), but beyond that, there have been no real pregnancy revelations.  Yes, we go for a checkup every couple of weeks and the public hospital waiting room is the same assortment of folk all crushed closer than you would ever expect to be to a stranger (outside of a Big Day Out moshpit), staring at a tiny, flickering, muted television, pretending that they are 100% engaged with Ellen re-runs, in order to excuse interacting with those around them.  Wifey and I generally amuse ourselves with games of "Pick-the-Father", "Which-One's-Pregnant?" and "Who-Just-Farted?".  This is fun (for the first hour), but when we finally get seen to, it's generally just "How are you feeling?", "Is she still kicking?" and "You can go now."

On top of this lack of inspiration, is the fact that my every waking moment away from work has been occupied with facilitating Wifey's nesting.  You may recall, Blog, that dump that we bought to live in?  Well it ain't such a dump no more!  But I think I'll save expansion on that point for our next exchange.

I hope that this letter finds you well.  I promise that I will be back in touch soon - shall we say within a week?

Yours sincerely,
Dad In The Deep End.