Many moons ago I went on a village ladies’ night out. Over dinner, one of the mums was quizzing me about my family plans, and I coyly admitted that I was four months pregnant. She promptly halted all conversation at the table and announced my news.
A briskly efficient looking woman at the other end barked down to me: “what is it? Second, third?” “First”, I replied, slightly embarrassed. “Oh well, in that case”, she boomed, “congratulations”.
Her attitude didn’t sound like a ringing endorsement of motherhood, but once I got on the other side of the divide I could see where she was coming from. Every parent has done it – a friend blushingly announces their first issue is on the way and you smile winningly and say a bright “Congratulations!”, while secretly thinking “you have noooo idea, poor lamb”.
Over time I have refined my technique of what to say to a newly expectant parent if they ask for any hints and tips. It’s a two step approach.
One. I tell them that they will be overwhelmed by advice, both solicited and unsolicited, and that this advice will very often be contradictory, even from the professionals. All this proves is that everybody, even babies, are unique individuals and what worked brilliantly for one family may be doomed to instant failure for another.
Case in point. I was on a work related course when I was about five months gone and another female participant asked where I was planning on having the baby. When I said “hospital” she looked at me and shook her head pityingly. “No, no” she imparted, “I had all three of mine in the bathroom at home. We put Enya on the stereo and lit candles all round, and it was a magical experience”. I thought back to my GP who had advised me in the strongest terms not to have a home delivery as the practice had little experience in that area. What to do? Was I being a fool to want to go to a hospital? Later, another participant pulled me to one side and hissed “Don’t listen to a word she says. Find yourself the shiniest, cleanest hospital you can and book yourself in the minute you get the slightest twinge. Don’t bother waiting to see what a real contraction feels like, it’s really not worth it, I promise you. God invented pharmaceutical companies for a reason, and that reason was to give women in labour an epidural”.
I was bewildered. How could they both be right? But of course, they were. They were different individuals and each found a route that worked for them. And good on ‘em. Want to give birth on a ball whilst your partner rubs lavender oil on you? Knock yourself out. Don’t want to know anything about it? Get the doctor to knock you out.
Two. My best all round advice to them is this: be vague. You will be asked lots of questions by people in a very jolly tone. Are you going to find out the sex? Are you planning a c-section? Are you going to breastfeed? Have you chosen a name yet? ALERT. These questions are as loaded as a stuffed crust pizza. They are all an intro to someone telling you their own firmly held opinion and what will befall you if you do not heed their advice. And so my advice is to be vague. Don’t commit. Even if you have decided to give birth while swinging upside down and your preferred first name choice is Britney, confide nothing. You can’t be held to account down the line and you might even get away with them not telling you their opinion. If they do hold forth in any case, thank them, walk away and choose to ignore it or not. Just like I expect you to do with this advice.
