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.

Kids On Leads...

Babies are new to me, but dogs I understand.  Dogs are relatively simple: get your early conditioning right and you'll have the most loyal companion you could possibly wish for.  My dog, for some strange reason, loves and adores me.  Anywhere I go, she wants to be; no tether is required to keep her by my side.  All of this has been achieved between my human self and my dog dog despite sharing no common language.

So why do parents insist on walking children on leads?!

I teach puppy classes as an additional source of income.  One of the key behaviours that we work on in the four 1-hour sessions is the 'recall'.  This simple behaviour is one of the most important you can train a dog, as, if you have done it right, you can be certain that at a word your four-legged friend will rush back to you, safe from whatever danger they were heading towards, or simply by your side where you'd rather they be.  It is this behaviour that allows you to confidently walk your dog without the requirement of a lead (though law forbids this in most public places).

There are two key points that must be acknowledged for the successful training of a recall.  They are as follows:

Firstly, the recall should be your puppy's absolute favourite thing in the world: "Christmas and Disneyland all in one", as a very talented trainer has said to me.  Its reaction upon hearing your call should be "About time!", followed by an immediate, giddy explosion in your direction.  To achieve this you need to offer them more than a dry treat upon arrival; it must be an emotional response, driven by a justified expectation that they will receive some combination of their favourite things: food, toys, pats, praise and (above all) YOU!

The quickest way to destroy all your hard work is by not acknowledging your pooch's response, or (worse) punishing it.  Too many times I've seen devastated children wandering aimlessly around my workplace, desperately searching for parents through tear-filled eyes, only to be rewarded at their reunion by parents chastising them for ever becoming lost in the first place!  What better incentive to stay "lost" than that reception?!

Secondly, set yourself up for success.  One of the most important rules we tell participants in class is that they are not to attempt to call their puppy away from the dog-filled park, when they know full-well that their training hasn't reached that point yet.  You start small - literally calling a metre or so towards you in a confined, boring space, then slowly build up their experiences until you can be certain that you will have success at that higher level.

Every failed attempt to recall your dog teaches them that it's a command that can be ignored.  Similarly, think back to those red-faced parents you've seen, desperately pursuing their free-running toddlers, screaming something along the lines of:

"Tommy, come here mate.  Tommy.  TOMMY!  Get here now!  NOW TOMMY!!"

And the saga continues...

"Understandable," you may say, "that they would wish to use an alternative method to keep their child close.  It isn't actually a lead, it's a little cuddly monkey backpack that happens to have a long tail that parents can hold."

Call it what you like, but it's a lead.  So here is my declaration and great will be my shame if I am ever proven wrong:

I WILL NEVER WALK MY CHILD ON A LEAD.

I am determined that my early conditioning will be sufficient that my child will desire my company.  If she wanders, I will save my recall for a moment where I can be confident in its success, or else find an alternative method of retrieval (I DO have a sheepdog after-all!).  And yes, you may say I have just compared my daughter to a dog, but it's what I know and it's what I love; if you knew me you'd understand that it's far from an insult!

Mother's Intuition: What's That Baby?

I always kind of saw myself as being a father to boys: it's what I am, it's what I know.  Over the past couple of weeks Wifey had become more and more sure that it was a lady-baby brewing and when she felt one of the first kicks while having her nails done she became certain.  "Mother's intuition" she said.

Well, I wasn't going to believe "mother's intuition" from a lady who, just four months earlier, was adamant that she was two weeks late due to jet lag!  But the results are back and her inkling was well-placed: we are having a girl.

My immediate reaction was something along the lines of, "there goes the BMX buddy", but on reflection I have decided the dream may not be lost.  I am not talking along the lines of the Canadian lunatics who were attempting to raise their child without revealing the gender so as not to place worldly stereotypes upon he/she/it.  But I certainly don't see why my daughter can't rip it up on a BMX with the best of them; it was good enough for Nicole Kidman, after all!

But really, I will give my daughter every opportunity to take up my passions, but if she (like her mother) decides ballet is her thang, I'll be that dad at the back with the over-sized tripod and far-too-flash video camera who knows the routine a little too well.  Ballet I can cop: ballet is graceful, ballet is beautiful; ballet builds strength, flexibility and balance - all of which will be essential in her path to becoming a professional surfer.  Look out Steph Gilmore, we're gunning for you!

Baby Needs A Name

One of the heaviest burdens placed upon parents is choosing the name by which their child must be known for the rest of...well...eternity!  Perhaps it is an unfortunate fact that this occurs immediately after (generally) many hours of labour in which you have both done and endured things that I am doing my best to pretend I haven't had described to me (in detail) by everyone who has experienced it.  It is quite possible that in that state you aren't fit for such a decision.  Therefore, it is essential that you have fully thought through, considered, discussed and researched your options.  I believe that each of these steps is crucial to a successful and appropriate naming of your child.

Now it's important at this stage that I acknowledge a crucial point (which, let's face it, should probably be the tagline to my whole blog): I am no authority; simply an opinionated commentator.  However, at the risk of infuriating any of my four readers (discounting Mother), I will highlight a few of my personal pet-hates regarding what constitutes a 'good' name.  But if you really like the name "Passionfruit" (for example), you should not, and will not, let my opinion affect your decision.

The first thing that my grandmother requested of me upon hearing our news, was that we give our child a "nice, sensible, regular name."  Never one to miss an opportunity for smart-arsery, I replied that we would, indeed, choose a "regular" name, but give it a unique, hip, new spelling for individualism.  This brings me to my first pet-hate:


Bogan Spelling
There has been a trend, of particular prevalence in recent years, to take a relatively standard name, but liven it up a little with phresh new spelling: 'P-H's instead of 'F's ("Tiphanie"); double 'E's in the place of 'I's ("Feebee"); 'X's where one should find 'C-K-S' ("Jaxon" - something of a classic in bogan circles); 'A-H' where conformity would see the placement of either an 'E-R' or 'O-R' ("Tailah"); and other such genocides against the English language ("Jaksen" and The Shire's own "Beckaa", for example - these "names" demonstrate but the most basic understanding of the English language).  I have recently been alerted to another, so cutting-edge it's borderline lazy and so unbelievable it might just exist.  This name is "Xal".  I challenge you at this point to have a crack at pronouncing that, but don't be too hard at yourself if you don't arrive at the intended "Crystal"!  Just because "Xmas" has somehow become an acceptable alternative to "Christmas", doesn't mean that "Xal" works.  Such spellings are cruel: you are sentencing your child to a lifetime of "correcting" the spelling and/or pronunciation of their name, when ironically it's the other who has it right.

The temptation to change spelling is understandable - everybody seeks some kind of individualism and what better way to set your child up to stand out in the crowd than give them a unique name?  So if you're not going to rely on the rarely-used letters of the alphabet, why not just make up a name?  Please welcome pet-hate number two:


Bogan Creativity
Clearly celebrities (what every modern bogan aspires to be) are to blame for the trend in creative naming.  However, Average Joe is not stupid: he realises that he can't send his child to Punchbowl Primary called "Apple" or "Blanket", for his name must be distinguishable from what's in his backpack.  Instead we see the rise of names that sound vaguely familiar, yet just aren't quite right.  No, Shaz hasn't choked on her durry mid-scream; nor has she attempted to streamline the summonsing of her clan by saying the names of two of her children at once: she really has named him "Blayden".  Then there is the crown jewel of bogan creativity; a name that will be etched into the history books (or hard drives) as a dark mark against our generation; a name so shocking that I wouldn't believe it truly existed if I hadn't heard a first-hand account of an encounter with it at  daycare: "La-a".  No, it isn't (as this poor girl understandably attempted), "La...ah", but (as the disgruntled mother haughtily corrected), "Ladasha".  Seriously...

However, sometimes a unique name does just jump out at you when you least expect it and Blamo! you've got it.  Now, in such a situation, might I just suggest you take a brief moment to Google said name, just to check that it is in fact in line with your core values, before going ahead and giving it to your child.  Forever.  The following story happened to a friend of a friend of mine and is a glorious representation of my third point in baby-naming failures:


Not Understanding The Name
The subject of our tale (who will henceforth, for no particular reason, be known as Brutus) was invited, somewhat out of the blue, to the christening of an old school-friend's firstborn.  Having been out of touch for some time with this individual, Brutus was a little surprised by the name they had chosen for their daughter (phonetically): "Ke-ross-seh-knee".  After the service an opportunity arose for Brutus to enquire as to the origins of this unique title.  "It's a funny story actually," came the reply, "we were in Bunnings and saw it on the wall and just loved it straight away!"  "That is a funny story," thought Brutus (an English teacher by trade), "How did you spell it?"  "K-E-R-O-S-E-N-E."

Perhaps it isn't the greatest idea in the world to jump at a word you've spotted on an isle at a hardware store and present it to your child as a name, at least not without first having thrown it into your favourite search engine to ensure it isn't, say "a combustible hydrocarbon liquid".  So where do you find a nice, normal(ish) name for your child?  Why the interwebs of course!  I can almost guarantee that every person (since the start of the 21st century) who has needed to come up with a baby name, has at some point typed "baby names" into the search box and tried their luck.  The problem you face is, what are you really going to do with the 196 million pages that come up in the search result?  Click "all names" and scroll through A-Z?  Hell no!  So you narrow down your field a little and go with "Top 100 names for 2011".  But this brings us back to our initial quandary: wanting a unique name.  Many of the names on this list are classic, elegant and classy, but who wants their child to be one of seven Williams or Andrews in their kindy class?  The other names that make up this list fall into my fourth category for baby-naming blunders:


Anything From Twilight
The really frustrating thing about this is that most of the names in Twilight ("Renesme" aside, which not only contradicts rule number 2, but is RIDICULOUS) are very nice names!  Edward and Jacob are both good solid boys' names and Bella is a very sweet girl's name, or at least they would be if they weren't now so closely aligned with that awful franchise.  "Bella" has become so popular, that (according to a "Top 100 Popular Girls Names" list I came across current to May this year) "Isabella" is number 2 and "Bella" (in its raw form) number 60!  Maybe when (if ever) the hype dies down, these names will become acceptable in my eyes again, but until that time, Bellas, Edwards and Jacobs of this era will forever be recognisable as the spawn of Twihards.

So I guess a name just needs to come to you.  If you're lucky you'll have a relative's name that you can just recycle and then everybody has to be nice about it.  If not, try to take the same approach you would to a potential tattoo design: hang onto it for a little while and see if you still like it as much as you thought you did initially.  Maybe even take it for a road test!  Mother tells me that Father and her practiced calling potential names from the front porch, in order to truly determine how they felt about them.

As for us, I don't doubt that when the time finally comes for us to reveal our chosen name there will be many people who, despite their best efforts won't be able to hide their distain as they find a word to follow their initial: "Oh!  That's....." which is appropriately complimentary, without committing themselves to actual approval (you know you've really knocked them for six when the best they can arrive at is: "...interesting...!").  Though, for the moment we have taken to referring to our little bump as "Gunther" (for no particular reason), so the family will probably just be relieved if that doesn't stick!

Babies Are Expensive (Part 1)

As a little background to our situation: at the time we made our discovery, Wifey and I were renting out our (tiny) one-bedroom unit, living with my parents and both driving cars unsuitable for infants.  Clearly we had to make some changes.  Though, fortunately, we still had a good few months to make them happen.

Cue week of craziness.

Wifey is a teacher, meaning she gets blocks of holidays linking weeks of intensity.  The result of this is that when she gets holidays, she really likes to kick goals.  Therefore, when we happily settled on the sale of our unit (on the Wednesday), Wifey was keen to make a move towards home ownership fast, as the end of her leisure time was looming.  We moved VERY fast: Thursday afternoon found us in the real estate agent's office signing paperwork for the purchase of what is to become our family home.

Now I refer to "our" unit, but the reality is that it was mine by default only - I married well, as the investment had been a wise move at an opportune time entirely on Wifey's behalf.  This made our home purchase (commonly referred to as one of the biggest, most stressful things you'll ever do in your life), my first experience with such life altering decisions and changes.  I also managed to pair it with that other life-changing and stressful event of bringing a child into this world!

I am a full-blown adrenaline-junkie, but signing on the line that you will pay that kind of money, which you only "have" because you're now throat-deep in mortgage, is a different kind of rush.  The whole situation is quite surreal: you sit there talking in crazy figures based upon what a faceless institution says they will give you; then somehow papers get signed and this becomes yours.  The money is never seen - it just magically changes ownership - and it's probably just as well: I'm not sure it would be so easy to go through with if you actually handed over a bag containing hundreds of thousands of dollars!

So the papers were signed and we were locked in; time to take a break and catch our breath.  Alas, no, Wifey has other plans...

"Do you want to go and look at cars tomorrow?"

"Sure," I think, "There's no harm in looking." ...right?

But my crafty little mistress has other plans.  Somehow Friday afternoon finds us signing on the dotted line for our new family-wagon.  We have been up-sold to the larger model, because as the salesman (who is also conveniently expecting his first heir) pointed out, not only does it have unrivalled boot-space in its class (essential for the prams, nappies, changes of clothes, etc.), but the back folds down into (what he described as) a change table.  My Commodore ute, which held bikes and boards and represented my carefree youth, has been replaced by a family wagon complete with built in change table and (thanks to my always-thoughtful co-workers) 'My Family' stickers.

So in three days we sold a unit, bought a house (which I should mention needs substantial renovations) and a car.  Babies are expensive...and this is only the beginning!