Flawed motherhood

Some people come to motherhood very well prepared. Either by inclination, exposure, or sheer experience, they enter this stage of life with a wealth of useful skills at their disposal. I had none. Not only was I the youngest in my own family, but I had never even held someone else’s baby. Probably other mothers’ sixth sense warned them that I was flawed and lacked the requisite abilities.

So, when my first child arrived, I knew nothing, had zero experience, and was terrified of the responsibilities that were now mine. I remember, in hospital, asking the midwife to put the baby back in his cot, as I wasn’t sure I could walk and carry him successfully at the same time. In my defence, new-borns are weirdly floppy, particularly their heads. It was my first day of being a mother, and it was evident to me that I sucked at the whole business.

There was, however, an abundance of love for this tiny entity, and the universe seemed to have swung on its axis. But as we left the hospital with this vulnerable little baby, it felt as though the entire health system was vastly overrating our ability to keep him alive. I really felt someone sensible should have stopped us.

Thankfully, he was an easy baby who slept, ate, and grew normally. Heaven knows how I would’ve coped if he hadn’t been so very reasonable. Not that I didn’t make mistakes. When holding my six-month-old baby in a queue at the nearby post office, I was ridiculously upset that he would hold out his arms and lean into any passing person. On some level, I assumed he sensed my total incompetence and was hoping some random passer-by would rescue him. In reality, he was just a remarkably friendly chap who beamed at the world with infinite good grace.

One day he would not settle. I tried changing his nappy, feeding him, winding him, and even carried him around to no avail. Exhausted and somewhat exasperated, I put him in his cot and let him cry. He was obviously becoming spoiled, I told myself. But his cries drove me to distraction, and I decided to give him a bath to try to settle him. When I undressed him, I discovered that the zip of his baby suit was lodged tightly in the flesh under his neck. That was the reason for all the tears. The poor chap had been in agony. The baby suit had zippers at the legs to allow you to change the nappy without removing the entire suit. My guilt was epic. Surely no one deserved a mother like me! Fortunately, once I freed the zip from his red, sore flesh, he didn’t take long to return to his normal, good-natured self.

I suspect that as parents we often fail our kids—thinking we’re doing everything right while inadvertently choking the very life out of them. It’s all the things we miss, mess up, or misinterpret. I suspect every child could construct an encyclopaedia of their parents’ failings. Thankfully, my children have shown no resentment. They remind me of the walks, laughs, and fun we had too. The truth is we all come to things in life either incompetent, expert, or somewhere in between.

The journey of life as a parent is awesome. You experience a huge love that erupts, volcano-like, when they enter your life, and then you get to accompany them as they learn new skills and abilities. There are some tricky years when they seek independence and weather the tumultuous rapids of hormones, but finally the adult emerges. If you’re lucky, you discover that they are a much, much better human than you could ever hope to be. Then gratitude becomes the only appropriate response for this epic privilege of having children.

A North Coast Walk on the Wildside

My father used to sit in his  favoured seat in the living room at the window overlooking the busy seaside resort. Coffee shops, ice cream parlours and tourists melted in an economically productive slurry a floor below. After his early morning 5 mile walk he enjoyed the quiet rest his corner seat offered. In fact he liked it so much he eventually wore out the carpet in front of his chair. But it was the treehouse quality he appreciated most. Being on the first floor the living room  is perched at the perfect position to allow you to people-watch or if you raise your head you see the sweep of the coast towards the Giants Causeway beyond. 

The beach stretches for miles in pristine condition with sand, sea and sky creating new masterpieces each hour. Even in the winter storms he would return triumphant that the wind had buffeted his 15 stone but not managed to blow him off his feet. How many others struggled along the church rails opposite hauling themselves along handover fist in the 70 mph gales. He loved these battles with the elements even in his 80s and his all weather kit and strong walking boots usually won the day. I find I share the same Northern Irish habits. You can be suddenly caught out by the weather on the distant headland. The clouds close in and the ferocious rain stings your face and your anorak flaps in foetal distress against your chest. At times to put one leg in front of the other seems a physical battle. Then from inside suddenly springs an ancient ancestor who seems to shout in delight “Bring on your worst! I can bear this and more!” 

You screw your courage and strength within and delight in this unexpected challenge. Lifting your face to the rain you feel eyelids sting with the downpour and your feet beat a heady tune in time with your heart. This is an ancient landscape not cultivated like smooth English downs nor pretty like chocolate box Swiss villages. It is rugged and edgy with bog pits that can kill and treacherous sheer cliff path's that erode continually. The waves can become angry mountains at the flick of grimace  both terrifying and awe inspiring. They, like the wind, beat upon this headland with relentless timeless fury. As I round the most exposed part of the coast I want to scream at my victory despite my numb fingers. At that moment it is as if I feel my father's feet beneath my own, his heart beating with mine in celebration of another triumphant victory on the north coast. Perhaps it was ever so. When times are easy we forget even ourselves. But when tests or hardship bombard us we are forced to remember the fundamentals. Who we are, those we love and who loves us.