The day started on the merry note of me wanting to feed her tea biscuits and big kid milk.
That episode ended with her victoriously chewing tissue paper and me having downed a glass of (that gorgeous) milk and 3 tea biscuits.
Sassi 1- Mummy 0.
Though that Big Kid milk. I tell you. It’s the stuff of dreams. It’s Arla’s Big Milk and it’s so luscious. It’s Vitamins A, D and Iron fortified and filtered for bacteria so it doesn’t go off in even rubbish weather.
And the taste. Oh. MyGod. I’d have it in tea any day. Or even just by itself.
Bless Dave (my stellar Brother in law) to have fetched it on his grocery run.
My cousin on the other hand fetched a whole bunch of strawberries when she heard that’s all Sassi has been eating so far. Even before we got back from Ashford!
I just find such gestures from non parents so much extra affectionate? It’s so far out of their comfort zone. Not only are they putting up with a little nutter who runs off with tissue napkins and remote controls, they’re thinking of a child through grocery shopping and doing their own mini research on what’s great for her or not.
You don’t necessarily have to be a parent to be child-friendly. Which leads me to the entire conversation of to breed or not to breed.
You really don’t HAVE to have kids, you know. To be honest, it’s a lot of work and quite laborious.
Like for instance for the past week we have been struggling to find a suitable mode of travel system that would work for Sassi on the public transport with me. We picked up a little stroller for 20 quid at Argos and figured it was
a) too low. Even for 5’2′ me!
b) too flimsy for comfort. No padding or cushioning.
Sass would hardly sit in it for 5-10 minutes before starting to wail and she isn’t really a wail-y baby.
So yeah. Dropped that idea. Then went off on another detailed research spin and finally deciding, I’ll get a carrier before Faisal is here and once he is, we will get a buggy.
Got such a nice one but will do a separate post on that one.
It’s physical labour to be a parent. Pun intended. Even though I very smoothly bypassed the entire natural birth and labour bit with my C section. The kind of labour that begins after a child is born is one you can’t skip. You have to go through it and honestly as much as I love my child I don’t judge people for half a second who don’t want to have their own kids. It’s a perfectly legitimate and real decision.
Having said that, people who choose not to have any of their own aren’t at all just vampires with fangs drawn for kid blood. They can (and do!) totally love kids. I know so. many. people who fall in this range. They’re content with nieces, nephews, friends’ kids and I tell you, it’s the best deal ever. One I enjoyed for a very long time. You play with babies and leave the messy stuff for parents to handle. Easy peasy lemon squeazy.
I’m surrounded by so many people who have chosen not to have their own babies yet I see them going absolutely nuts over Sassi. Apart from her being a very lucky little girl, you don’t necessarily have to have some of your own to feel maternal or paternal towards a child. Perhaps it should be called Unclenal and Aunternal
Being an Aunt/ Uncle to someone is a very real and a very very important job in my opinion. These are the people you go to, when your personal adults (parents!) are being absolute pricks and you still want to talk to an adult.
It’s very important to have a set of level headed people around you for your child to get acquainted with and grow with who will not lead your child astray with wonky advice when they go to them bitching about you when you said No to something because lets face it, being a parent comes with a fair amount of refusals and disciplining, most of which is unpleasant to the recipient. The recipient will most certainly want to vent and that’s when you want him/ her to go to sane people who will help process their emotions or advise them well instead of impulsive nutters who will jump at the opportunity to trash you even further, maybe.
Being a parent is an important job but being an aunt or an uncle (or just being a Dave) comes with its own fun burdens.