Parent or mom shaming is what they call it in 2017 – back in the 80’s, things were really no different. While it didn’t have a name and social media wasn’t on anyone’s radar (was Mark Zuckerberg even born yet?) it definitely felt more personal because it actually happened in person. You could be standing in the lineup at the grocery store holding your baby with its giant lolling head when some perky mom villain sidles up to you announcing that her baby already has all of the provinces of Canada memorized. She will then glance over sympathetically, just as your baby blows an admirable spit bubble. At that moment, your heart clenches and you wonder – is there some sort of deficiency happening here? My daughter can’t even hold up her own HEAD!
Children develop at their own pace. My daughter was a little freak of nature, walking at 10 1/2 months old. She didn’t even crawl (she just slithered around like a creepy little snake) and then she just stood up and walked. Did this mean she qualified for Mensa status? Absolutely NOT. At some point, the playing field levels and kids are basically at par with each other. Some might be reading, some might be verbally accomplished and some might be riding their bikes without training wheels. Where your child falls within this spectrum really has nothing to do with their level of intellect – they are simply developing at their own pace and parents need to accept this and celebrate it. We as parents also need to cease comparing, judging and shaming other parents just because they may not be raising their children the way YOU believe they should. I am in no way suggesting that any sort of neglect or abuse should be ignored – obviously; but supporting one another would be a great place to start. Instead of judging whether so and so’s child has homemade vegan granola in their lunchbox, ask yourself, do these things really matter? Furthermore, is it really any of your business in the first place? Seriously – get over yourselves bitchy moms (or dads) – let’s try building each other up and supporting one another for a change. Anyways, enough with this mini rant – let’s proceed shall we…
It hasn’t taken me 31 years to realize that I’m not good with babies. To this day, when handed a baby, I still hold it as though someone has just passed me a tiny piping hot potato – I’m that anxious to just pass it on. Sure they smell good (at times) but I have absolutely zero trust that I will not accidentally say what I’m really thinking (new-born babies are not always cute and sometimes they do in fact resemble a well wrapped burrito) or as you are now fully aware, I have shamefully admitted to being a baby dropper. These red flags should be glaringly obvious to any new mother who makes the mistake of passing me her baby. Looking on the bright side, I am however an accomplished puppy cuddler. Having said that, it amazes me to this day that I never once dropped my daughter – this admission makes me very happy.
Colic set in after the third week, and this was something I was ill prepared for. Faryn screamed constantly, becoming a tiny nocturnal monster who couldn’t be comforted no matter what I tried to do. I gave her gripe water (which I later found out contained alcohol) and had I known this at the time, I probably would have been swigging it along with her. I tried strapping my wailing daughter into a snuggly and wore her for what felt like eternity, while she screamed and flailed into my chin and chest. Nothing was working. I took her back to the doctor, but there was little that could be done, and there were times if I’m being honest when I wasn’t sure if I could cope. (Please refer to my initial post where “pitching the screaming baby out the window” is addressed, however not recommended) My parents were a strong presence in my life and were proud grandparents, however, they felt that this role I had taken on should remain one that I continued starring in alone. I called my mom one evening while Faryn was still screaming into my chin and asked:
Me: “Can you die of sleep deprivation? Does this actually happen to people or do they just kill themselves first?”
Mom: Sighing… “Technically no”
Me: “But it COULD happen right? I’m really on the edge of a cliff here I think…”
Mom: “Honestly Shelley – this will pass, I promise you” (WILL I BE DEAD FIRST THOUGH?)
A friend of mine who had a teenage daughter took pity on me when I called her later that night sobbing and muttering incoherently. (I was possibly drunk from consuming too much gripe water at this point). She came over and took Faryn for the evening just so that I could get some rest. Eventually, just as my mom advised, all things really do pass and this traumatic time became a distant memory.
A friend was visiting from Australia and we decided that it might be nice to take Faryn to the mall. She was about 3 weeks old at this time – the perfect age to be introduced to the joys of shopping. We were wandering around in Reitmans where I was admiring all the clothing I couldn’t afford or fit into, when we decided to get something to eat at the food court. We were casually strolling towards the food court, chatting away when suddenly we both stopped and looked at each other – eyes bulging. We had the following exchange:
Me: “OH MY GOD WHERE IS THE BABY?”
Jodi: “Shhhhiiiitttt”
We both raced through the mall like lunatics, frantically trying to retrace our steps. We arrived at Reitmans and saw all three of the saleswomen huddled around Faryn’s stroller admiring her – all the while casting curious glances around the store wondering who she might belong to. I flew over to her stroller, panting like a golden retriever announcing:
Me: “Oh, there you ARE!” (As though my newborn baby had simply wandered away in her stroller)
Saleswoman: “We were wondering who she belonged to”
Me: “Yes well…thank you for watching her” (Seriously, there’s really nothing more that can be said when one forgets their newborn baby in Reitmans)
And so, with as much dignity as I could muster I proceeded to push the stroller out of the store, all the while wondering how long it would take for mall security to track me down and arrest me.
I was also gradually becoming accustomed to all of the gross things that accompany babies. I was no longer throwing up myself when she projectile vomited all over me and had discovered that a Band-Aid placed over my nostrils worked wonders when changing nasty diapers. One particular day remains firmly ingrained in my memory though… It was just like any other day – Faryn was on her change table after I had just bathed, powdered and lotioned her, when I noticed that she had a strangely serious expression on her face. (Oh she knew what she was about to do) She made a little grunting sound and then with absolutely no warning – blasted out a trumpet sounding fart, followed by a ferocious spray of poo that managed to cover me from head to shoulders. How on earth can something so disgusting come out of a baby who is so tiny and cute? I fortified myself against future attacks by cutting 3 holes into a garbage bag that I was able to wear as a protective shield – a poor man’s hazmat suit. Ingenious don’t you think?
Because I was on my own, I had no choice but to go back to work while my daughter was still an infant. I had applied for a 2 year program at Kwantlen College in Surrey, where my brother was living, however; while I waited for my course to start, I needed to work. I was able to land a job at Mariposa of all places and for a whopping $3.50 per hour, I helped women purchase clothing that typically fell apart after the first washing. (They had a strict no return policy and thus, I was constantly being verbally abused by angry consumers) I found a lovely woman to watch Faryn who neglected to tell me that she periodically suffered from grand mal seizures and just as my student loans were approved and I was working one of my last shifts, she had a seizure. Fortunately for my daughter, this woman sensed that something was wrong and locked herself in the washroom before her seizure fully began. She inevitably almost destroyed her washroom while in the throes of her seizure, but thankfully didn’t harm my daughter. As I was preparing for this new chapter in our lives, I realized how helpless I felt in my own ability to protect my daughter from dangers even I couldn’t foresee.
The Accidental Parent 