Now we are six

My daughter is now six, and a lot has happened since my last post. But some things have not changed. She remains a curious, creative, mischievous character, who forever keeps me on my toes. Being Mama to such an individual is a joy, and at times, a pain!

She is in Year One at school now, and let me tell you, there is no certainty like a child who has discovered something at school. Here is a conversation we had this week:

G: Is baby Jesus dead?
Me: Well, some people think so. Some people think he died and then came back to life.
G: and some people think that baby Jesus was eaten by someone.
Me:...um, no. No they don't.
G: Yes they do. Someone ate him.
Me: [Ponders a discussion on transubstantiation].

Six is an interesting age. There is a solemness to it, a sense of awareness that hasn't been present before. Year One represents a big transition for G, and she has lamented the fact that she gets to play now far less than she did in Reception. There is a sadness about that for her, and I feel it too. She is generally a cheerful soul though, and also points out that at least there isn't as much arguing over dolls.

She is of course starting to make sense of her life and her family. They were discussing their lives, homes and families at schools a few weeks ago, which is why I suspect we ended up having the following conversation:

G: But Mummy is my proper Mummy though, isn't she?

Me: Why?

G: Because I came out of her tummy.

And she did come out of her Mummy's tummy. But, as I then explained to her from the driving seat of the car (why do these conversations always happen on the motorway?), I helped make sure she was in Mummy's tummy. It was mine and Mummy's decision to have a baby, and we were the people who got the 'help' we needed to make a baby. We made her together, and I am just as much her mummy as Mummy is. She didn't say very much and then promptly fell asleep for the rest of the journey. 

I can't deny that I shed a tear or two after that conversation. But I also have to acknowledge that this is almost certainly the result of a conversation that she had in the playground with another child, a child who was curious about a different family set-up to their own. G and I have a unique and close relationship, which I am proud and protective of. That she can have these conversations with me, however painful, is a good thing. Her honesty and her curiosity will stand her in good stead as she grows and experiences life.

A post about a car advert. Seriously.

Today, a car advert made me cry.

Yes, really.

Have you seen it? The advert for the Vauxhall Grandland X. I know next to nothing about cars, and it certainly wasn't through any desire for the enormous vehicle depicted in the driving sequence. I cried because, it was the first time I can ever recall, that a female couple were depicted doing what we did five years ago - going to the hospital to have a baby. The tears were of unexpected recognition, of for once seeing someone like me, like us, depicted in that bastion of tradition - advertising. For so long, we have been absent from mainstream marketing, but recently we have started seeing representation creeping in. And that is priceless.

But why does it matter? We have equality now, right? Perhaps. In places. But beyond legislation, which has come a long way in a relatively short space of time (in the UK), visibility continues to be a challenge. Someone once said 'you can't be what you can't see'. That's not strictly true, but I am testament to the fact that it is really really hard to be what you can't see. And as I type this I think of the teenage me who started watching a particular soap opera in the mid 90s just because there was a rumour of a lesbian character. I watched hours and hours of terrible melodrama for that 30 second clip of her smiling at another woman, and occasionally touching her hand. That was all I had. I didn't understand that I was gay. I had no role models. There was no one I could compare myself to. Was I gay enough? Was I too gay? All the questions that youngsters ask themselves. I didn't know where to go, who to talk to. So I turned to the television, to those glimpses of beige, sexless lesbianism, or worse, overly eroticised sapphic action created for men. I was neither beige, nor a porn star. Where next? I found my solace at the local library, in literature, which is a far broader church.

Nearly 25 years on things have changed so much, and happily gay folk are represented much more regularly, more accurately and diversely across a range of media. But there was something about this advert. It was an advert for a car, of all things. The people in it were human, and the story they were telling was universal. They just happened to be like us. And in one moment I shed real tears, both of joy, and of grief for the difference that would have made to me when I was 16. Just two women, loving each other, being together and having a baby. Simple. Powerful. 

As an aside, neither me nor my wife were as calm or collected as the women in the advert when she went into labour. And we were in a little old car that I managed to crash when she was transferred from the birth centre to hospital by ambulance, but that's another story!

Writing and parenting - it's been a while but I have a new book coming out!

It's tough doing almost anything but parenting when you have a little one isn't it?! My daughter turned four earlier this month, which is pretty incredible. Today she started pre-school!

Parenting is, for the most part, lots of fun. However, it is also all-consuming, hard work and not for those who value personal time. That is why my second novel, Her Shadow, has taken so long to write. However, this Autumn it will be published on Amazon, and I am really proud of it.

Here's the back page blurb:

Cameron Strawbank's job as a high society fundraiser finds her wining and dining the great and the good. Following a five figure donation, her professional and personal life collide with dramatic consequences when she finds herself in bed with a prominent politician. Sara Lorenzo is a well known shadow cabinet minister, and what begins as a fling, becomes a relationship that surprises both women. Before long, the tabloid press discover their affair, and its apparent link to cash, and lurid headlines follow, forcing the couple apart. Sara prioritises safeguarding her career and Cameron is left with her working and personal life in tatters, and flees the country with an old flame.

Cameron's desire to find out how Sara really feels about her, brings her back to the UK, despite the guilt she carries. Is there any chance of a future together? She attempts to rebuild a career, and forge a new connection with Sara when tragedy hits in the form of a suspected terrorist attack in central London.

This is a story of love, loss, friendship, adventure, politics and forgiveness that will keep you guessing to the very end.

You can find out more at my author website, and also by joining my mailing list. I'm going to host a launch event in a few weeks time, so sign up if you want first dibs on tickets!

Who's the daddy?

Who's the daddy? Well, as far as my daughter is concerned, pretty much any adult male who makes conversation with us...

I remember when we first started trying for a baby I wondered whether our child would resent growing up without a father. We reassured ourselves with the fact that our baby would have two loving parents.

My daughter is now two and a half, and has been going to nursery for about a year. As a result she has come to medt many other children with different kinds of families and backgrounds, which is great. Lots of the children are picked up by 'dad' and I think this was her first exposure to being a little different to others. She has responded with curiosity. When my sister, brother-in-law and niece and neohew came to stay, she called her uncle 'dad' just as his son did. I actually found it really sweet, although I can't speak for 'uncle dad' as he became that weekend. Today we were being welcomed into an apartment we are renting for the weekend by the owner, who was with his young son. Within five minutes my little girl grabbed his hand and called him 'dad' much to his surprise.

Her name for me is 'mama bear' - a nickname my mum dubbed me with when she was born which has stuck. Interestingly, while she was busy appropriating other children's dads, at least three other children - including my nephew - call me mama bear too from time to time.

My little girl has the good fortune of having three grandfathers, each of whom she has a good and very different relationship. So she'll never want for 'male role models'. I long ago realised that it was the quality of the relationship you have with a child, not who you are, what your gender is and whether you have a biological connection with them.

I picked her up from nursery yesterday to discover all the children had done special drawings for their dads to mark Father's Day this Sunday. The nursery nurse was rather timid when she explained that the picture my girl had done was dedicated to me, and was that ok? I was so very touched. So it would seem that, for now, being mama bear is good enough. And chaps - if a small blonde toddler sidles up to you and calls you 'dad' within minutes of meeting you, take it as a compliment.

New book for publication Spring 2017: a quiet hand in yours

I'm really excited to be able to report that I have contributed to a new book that will be published in Spring 2017.

Pinter and Martin are publishing Pride and Joy: A Guide for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Parents, by Sarah Eve Hagger-Holt and Dr Rachel Rose Hagger-Holt next year, and part of this blog, Mama Not Mummy, has been included.

As a former journalist, writing non-fiction often comes more naturally to me than fiction, so it is heartening to know I've still got 'it'. The blog originally came from a place of becoming a parent for the first time, and becoming a parent in a somewhat unconventional manner. I struggled to find any real writing about the situation I found myself in, so the blog came about as a way to express my feelings. I was surprised to find it gathered a following of others in a similar situation, once again reminding me of the power of reading and writing as affirmation. There's a line in the play The History Boys by Alan Bennett about this, about the power of literature to reach out and touch you:

Hector - The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - that you'd thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you've never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it's as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.

I'm thrilled to be included in this new book, and really hope that this will help others feel a quiet hand in theirs.

Note in the image above, I am demonstrating pride and joy. Or something...

My daughter's first gay pride

I've been on Pride marches before, and felt the heady glow of walking with people 'like me', full of courage, bravado and, yes, pride. But on Saturday I experienced this anew. I walked with my daughter.  Granted, she slept for most of it, but walking through the streets of my city with friends and thousands of others, with an estimated 75,000 looking on, it was very different. 

Maybe it was because it was the first march I've done in the era of social media, where it seemed that 75,000 smart phones were trained on us, as though the streets were some kind of red carpet. I think mistly though it was because the pride I was feeling was about my daughter - I wanted everyone to know that this was my little girl, and not only was I proud to be gay, but I was proud to be her mother. To be both of those things publicly still feels a little radical, and on Saturday it felt wonderful. 

My lovely girl enjoyed the bits of the parade she was awake for, waving at everyone, especially the drag queens and half naked men. 

Hurrah for Pride! 

20 months later...

Our lovely girl is now 20 months old, and we have been through all sorts of remarkable developments in recent times:

Moving from a cot to a bed - and consequently re-doing sleep training :/

Moving from a high chair to a tiny chair - because she kept climbing out and walking off

Counting from one to ten - not necessarily the right order

Learning colours - but sometimes insisting everything is lellow

Saying no to everything

Hurling herself on the floor and screaming - while I tiptoe away to make a cup of tea

Demanding toast for tea and then looking affronted when we suggest she actually sits down and eats it...

Yes, it's true. We now have a toddler. And I love it!

Having a baby is lovely, but a toddler is so much more fun, if messier (yes, that is possible).

Poo-mageddon and other adventures...

So, everyone talks about nappies when they have a baby. Indeed, me and my fellow mums now have an agreed system for classifying these disgusting abominations...

1. Poo-nado. This can also be referred to as a 'neck toucher' but in reality any nappy that causes you to wonder how the offending stuff got *there*.

2. Poo-nami. This is where a small tidal wave has engulfed the whole nappy and potentially started to seep out of the sides. 

3. Poo-mageddon. This is the moment where you realise you may not get out alive and consider cordonning your child off until he/she is three. 

4. Poo-tastrophy. One of those moments where you genuinely consider buying a new carpet rather than clearing up the mess. 

5. Poo-pocalypse. That's it. The only solution is to sell the house (at a hugely reduced price of course) and find somewhere else to live. 

11 months on and she's all grown up...

...well not quite. But my little girl can now sit up, crawl around, walk along holding onto furniture, eat pretty much what we eat, destroy things at will and is beginning to say words. 

It's been a while since I posted about M sleeping through back in June and I think that's the single change that has made me feel like I can really do this parenting thing! My status as 'other mother' feels less and less relevant - she's my girl and I'm hers. 

There are a few things that have become special to me and M, like watching TV together side by side on the sofa, laughing while getting dry after a bath and bedtime stories and much more. 

It's odd to think that she won't be a baby much longer. 

You know you are a middle-classed parent when...

It's been a while since I posted, but I couldn't resist compiling this little list...

1) You are well versed in arguments for and against baby-led weaning.

2) You become concerned your child may eat only hummous for the rest of their life. 

3) You spend approximately 50% of your life washing cloth nappies. 

4) You become well versed in the mechanics of the 'poo spoon'.

5) You pretend that you will never take your child to McDonalds. 

6) You try all the 'no cry' sleep solutions before resorting to letting the child cry a bit (but never call it controlled cryng).

7) Your child becomes well known in your local independent coffee shop. 

8) You dread well meaning people trying to feed your child sugary inappropriate food. 

Momentous news!

Earlier this week R and I celebrated our second wedding anniversary, which was lovely. You can see M here approving of our festivities! But, this post is not about that. It is about something more important than marriage...

...it's about sleep. 

If you have children of your own you will know that for at least the first year all parents talk about is sleep, or the lack thereof. We've had our own fair share of challenges. M is nine months old tomorrow, and has been waking up every two hours, or even every hour, for a feed from R. And it has been taking its toll. Everything is harder without sleep - the other night R asked me to change the batteries in one of M's toys. It had been a very busy day, following a vey disturbed night. She may as well have asked me to run a marathon. It felt like a gargantuan task. And that's just me. R has it far worse than that. 

So we needed to make a change. After a long discussion, reading lots of (naturally conflicting) online advice, and a chat to the health visitor, we felt we had to allow M to have some independence. We needed to teach her to settle herself to sleep, we had to stop rocking/feeding her to sleep. But how?

On Wednesday we started. Instead of feeding her to sleep, we made sure she was in her cot *before* she went to sleep. I took the first shift. The commitment was that we wouldn't leave her alone to cry. But equally we wouldn't get her out of the cot if she was upset. She screamed, writhed and generally complained for 40 minutes. I sat in the corne of her room so she knew I was there. It was tough. I had to stop myself from picking her up, which was really counter-intuitive. I verbally reassured her a few times and, finally, when I thought that things couldn't get any worse, she dropped off. I was stunned. Ok it had taken 40 minutes. But she had settled herself. This process was repeated several times through the night, and it's safe to say that both me and R were wrung out by the morning. We soent some time trying to reassure ourselves we were doing the right thing. 

On Thursday, with some trepidation, I put M to bed, using the same approach. I settled in for a long sit down, and indeed R had left me some earplugs. But then something exaordinary happened. She moaned for five minutes, and then fell asleep. When R and I awoke at 7am the next morning, we realised that she had actually *slept through*! Yes, the holy grail of child rearing. I couldn't be more thrilled if someone doubled my salary!

Isn't everything so much better with sleep?! What's even better is her napping is better and her general mood is better soon. I'm sure we're not totally out of the woods yet, and she still has a few sleep-related curve balls to throw us, but it feels good to think we're heading in the right direction. 

She looks just like you...

At seven months old now, M is absolutely adorable. She can sit up on her own, smile, giggle, babble, pick things up, drop them and generally chew anything she can get her mouth round. We are slowly beginning to get an idea of the child we will get to know over the next few years. 

Recently I took her into work for the first time. R was with me too, so it was a great chance for the people I work with to meet them both. Everyone knows about my daughter and that R gave birth to her, which is why the following exchange made me smile:

Colleague: Oh she's beautiful. I can see you in her R, but not you yet S, I'm sure we will though...

[no trace of irony]

Me: oh thanks. Well, yes, I see a lot of R in her too.

Bless my colleague, she seemed to be in blissful ignorance of the biological dimension to having a child. It was actually rather sweet, and reminded me that people have no doubts that I am M's Mama.

Conversely, in character, my mum thinks she resembles me uncannily. She is noisy and chatty and very good natured. Apparently I was exactly the same. It's really nice to think that, in spite of the lack of a genetic connection, she is taking after me already!

Mummy, Mama and Mothering Sunday

My daughter is beautiful. I love her more than I could ever imagine. I love being a parent. 

On Sunday it is Mothering Sunday. I can honestly say I have absolutely no feelings about it whatsoever. It's not that I don't feel like a mum, it's just it feels so artificial to me. 

A little while ago me and R had a chat about Mothers Day and decided that it would be 'her' day to receive a card and small present from M. I have decided to claim Father's Day as my own. Not becauseI identify as a father per se, but so that when other children are making cards for their Dads at nursery, M can make one for me and not feel left out. 

In some ways, I fulfill a really traditional 'dad' role. I go to work while R stays at home, I look after the car and general maintenance, and R does the cooking and tidying and household management. It's weird to be such a stereotype - although given we are both women, perhaps society will let us off?

Maybe I'll have some kind of epiphany on Sunday, but I doubt it. In the meantime, roll on Father's Day. Perhaps I should start jangling keys in my pocket and talking about traffic on the motorway to complete my cliched role...

Sleep o'clock

M is now six months old, and among other things, can sit up unaided and enjoy a swing! However, it is also time for us to organise a more reasonable bedtime for her. For the first few months she just came to bed when we did. But recently we've noticed she gets very grumpy around 7pm and then has a long nap. So, the time has come...

...sleep training!

Night 1 (yesterday): 40 mins of crying from a small baby with a very cross face as I carried her around the bedroom, finally settling her in the cot. It was a real head over heart thing - I felt really mean but knew that she was safe, fed, warm and simply tired. It was such a relief when she finally dropped off. 

Night 2: about the same amount of crying, but it started earlier this time - she was definitely very cross with me! But now, here we are, downstairs, wondering what we did with our evenings before M. She's been asleep upstairs in her cot for an hour. 

A new beginning - we have our evenings back!

Time for dinner

I have written several times about the minefield that is parenting. Whether it's sleeping, feeding, television or nappies, there is always a plethora of opinion on what is right and what is wrong - with the emphasis on wrong!

We are very soon to be hitting the six month mark with M, which according to current guidance means weaning. But of course, there are those who feel weaning should start earlier. Indeed, when I was a baby in the late 1970s, weaning began for me at four months. This was standard practice then. But the time of starting it isn't the only decision to make. You also need to decide about the type of weaning you undertake - yes, there is more than one. It came as a surprise to me too. All the trendy babies it seems do 'baby-led' weaning, which involves fewer spoonfuls of goo, and more fistfuls of cucumber. In reality, most mums I know seem to do a mixture of both.

Last week we made a start with food for M. At the moment it is more about her getting used to the idea, which means she's licking a lot of different food, but generally then squishing it up and discarding it. Given the amount of milk she is still drinking, that won't do her any harm. The idea though is that she will slowly learn to move food around in her mouth and then swallow it, at her own pace.

In the meantime however, she is somewhat bemused by the new 'toys' that are placed on her high chair tray - they are almost always green, and don't make a noise when she shakes them...

Five months older and wiser

My daughter will be five months old later on this week. It's hard to believe really. In one sense it has flown by, but in another I can no longer recall my life before she arrived. 

Both me and R are working out how to balance our needs with hers. It's important that our needs are prioritised too - without happy mummies, M won't be happy herself. For me, the balancing act of course also involves work. 

Most of the time it is fine, I manage to get most of what I want done and fulfill my responsibilities. It's a role, as many fathers can I am sure attest to, that is hard. There is a cult of motherhood which makes those of us who go out to work feel sometimes we can't complain about the sleep loss or the old life we miss. Whatever we are going through, it is perceived, mummy is going through worse. And perhaps that is true. But it is important that I allow myself to feel how I feel without guilt.

Beeps, squeaks and the Sound of Music

Do any other parents find themselves in a world of strange sounds involving beeps, squeaks clicks and woos? And I don't mean the babies, I mean us. I spend an inordinate amount of time oretending that my daughter's nose goes beep and that jogging up and down on my legs is like being on a horse - to a largely non-plussed baby.

The other day I sang Edelweiss, famously in the Sound of Music, and ended up re-enacting the whole of the last third of the Sound of Music, including hiding from Nazis in the convent and escaping over the mountains. M was largely unmoved, but I enjoyed myself. 

Here's a thought - maybe all this playing about a noise-making is about us, and not them!

Sleep is for the weak

There she is. Isn't she beautiful like that? All sleeping and angelic. Bless. 

However, it seems we have hit a new phase that no one told me about. Four months heralds a return to waking up every hour or so at night to a crying/hungry/grumpy/squeaky baby. She hasn't been this unsettled at night since the very early days. What on earth has happened? Well, apparently this is typical of the four month stage in many babies because all sorts of crazy stuff is happening in their brains. 

I asked my mum about it on the phone today but all she remembers is me sleeping for as long as possible at all times. This is definitely true of me now. In fact as late as 5 years old I was still having two long naps in the day followed by 12 hours sleep at night.  If only little M had my genes!

So, good luck to all those neuro pathways that are developing. But please let them sort themselves out soon!

A year to the day since the fateful pregnancy test

One year ago today R took a pregnancy test. She had been getting positive ovulation tests for five days, which seemed a bit odd, as the ovulation window tends to be perilously short. I googled it and discovered that these positive readings can also mean pregnancy. I tried not to get too excited but casually mentioned it to R and encouraged her to take a test. It wasn't the first one we'd taken, but this one felt different. We were just back from a few days in Wales and set to host a New Year's Eve party the next day. 

R took the test kit into the bathroom and a few minutes later the following statement emerged:

"There's a very faint line, so I guess I'm not pregnant."  My heart stopped. Many of you will know that with an ovulation test, you're not properly ovulating unless the line is definite. However, with pregnancy tests, the rules are very different. She came in with the paddle she had just wee'd on to show me, and I breathlessly explained, once I'd looked at it, that she was probably pregnant. Silence. Neither of us knew what to say. We were expecting a baby. We hugged and no doubt talked all kinds of nonsense before calling our parents. 

From this moment, all would change!

And here we are, one year on, with a three and a half month old beautiful daughter with whom we celebrated Christmas in our new house. Here she is in her very first toy box. How very lucky we are! 

Top ten parenting milestones

Everyone who has a baby will be familiar with the idea of milestones - first smile, first sitting up, first steps, first words, first dry night etc etc etc. So, with that in mind I have devised some key parenting milestones:

1) Abject terror - some point in the six hours after you get your baby home and realise this is now your life. 

2) Projectile poo on several items of your own clothing thanks to your baby - week one

3) Develop ability to make cups of tea while still asleep - week two

4) Confusion because there are so many guidelines about feeding, sleeping and general safety that make logical sense but do not seem compatible with your baby - one to four weeks. 

5) Guilt about the above - four to six weeks. 

6) Decision made to stop feeling guilty about the guidelines you don't follow because you know your baby best - six to eight weeks. 

7) Look at newborn babies and barely remember that your child was once that small and new - eight weeks. 

8) Sense of achievement that you have finally nailed your baby's routine and have a much better idea of what you're doing - around ten weeks. 

9) Utter horror that everything has changed and your baby has stopped doing anything predictable suddenly - around three months. 

10)Sigh that this is your lot as a parent - around three months. 

Yes, I've been through all these (and many others). What are yours?