Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Baby + 139

A few Snottie's Nurse regulars have revolted against Baby + 137. As my aim is to give the public what it wants (which is evidently more Donk Donk, and less a poor man's Raj Persaud), I shall ponder the implication of these comments. Re-reading + 137 does suggest I may have drifted from the founding spirit of Snottie's Nurse.

I am afraid that there is no news on Donk Donk at present. The clear-out has meant that most of our daughter's possessions, including Donk Donk, now have a permanent home in the back room. I therefore see less of the cheeky chap.

If Donk Donk has been neglected, Tigger (yep, the Winnie the Pooh character) has been well and truly abused. She with the elbows which must be obeyed has taken to using him as a door stop, which I am fairly sure is not in his contract. Still, he does it well, and hasn't complained. Should our daughter form a bond with him, this will have to stop.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Baby + 137

Having a child raises some challenging questions about how we, as parents, can make sense of the world to her as she grows. A colleague, I learned the other day, went to great lengths to shield his children from those aspects of society he abhors. They lived at home when at university, for example. I am sure there are other things he stopped them doing.

I can understand his motication. In a large city like London, every secret that life has to offer is laid bare. I am often struck by how completely unconnected lives there are within the capital, with people sharing the same spaces but their worlds colliding infrequently, and often unnoticeably. I know that I could walk less than 30 metres from where I am typing now and be exposed to radically different circumstances. I also know that I would not want my daughter to be socialised in such an environment. But such is the city that these spaces co-exist, and only rarely conflict.

The plurality of these existences is well known, and well studied. For me, Dickens explored this theme - what happens when individuals from one of London's many worlds pass into or acros another – repeatedly. Today, the barriers are less obvious, but they exist. Still, I am not sure if it is possible or desirable to try and hide these realities from a child. If anything, it is the revelation of the brutality of another's life that can shape our own character in very positive ways. Trying to prohibit exposure to these facts (for this is what they are) may seem the right thing to do, but I feel it is ultimately a very narrowing act, not unlike pretending that all revealed truth can be found in a particular book.

This takes me to a question I haven't resolved, which is how to balance prohibitive actions (i.e. don't take drugs) with educative parenting (i.e. this is what may happen if you take drugs). Perhaps it is foolish to seek to resolve it at this time. Conversely, on the assumption that there is no right answer in parenting - simply some answers that are better, or perhaps less worse, than others - it is worth balancing the pros and cons now.

Before becoming a parent I was firmly on the side of allowing people to make mistakes, as long as they were aware of the consequences of their own actions. So, those who smoke are welcome to do so as I cannot possibly imagine how such a person could be unaware of the consequences of this habit. I am less certain about obesity resulting from a poor diet. It seems to me that the food industry does its very best to disguise the consequences of its products, particularly those processed foods it sells to the poorest in our society. As such, I have little sympathy for those who argue that the obese are solely to blame.

The danger as I see it with prohibitive parenting is that it constricts the development of those critical faculties which are essential to leading a healthy and fulfilled life. If I say "no" to my daughter, I feel it is incumbent upon me to explain why. Does this mean I should I encourage dissent? My instinct is to allow challenge, as long as she understands that her ability to do so is very much predicated on her ability to combine reason and experience in a constructive way. If it is to be drugs, therefore, she had better have better reasons than mine as to why I would argue they are ultimately futile and destructive (whatever benefits they may have, and let us not pretend there are none).

At some point in my life I expect to start learning things from my daughter. I wonder how many years it will be before I am prohibited from wearing x, or watching y? It is certain to happen, but when it does I shall make sure to ask for the reasons!

Monday, March 13, 2006

Baby + 130

Our daughter has extended her sonic range. Our neighbours invited us for drinks on Sunday evening in the rather swanky flant they rented while their house has been refurbished. This prompted junior to explore a range of noises, the most endearing of which is a long, almost whistling ooooh. I think this particular sound reflects her sense of wonder at the world and she encounters. It is also a very happy expression.

I hope that when our daughter is older the BBC exists and is still making television like Planet Earth. I am mostly critical of the BBC's output, much of which is either mediocre, straightforward rubbish, or plain safe (particularly Radio 4, which, as a friend put it nicely, is arid). From time to time, though, the corporation produces a work of genius, and Planet Earth is thus. The 12 March footage of snow leopards, and the subsequent documentary on how they filmed these sequences, is stunning. The educational value is immense, I am certain. I shall not grumble about the licence fee again.

Monday, March 06, 2006

Baby + 123

I am writing this after a long weekend in North Norfolk with some of our very best friends.

I have fond memories of this region, having spent some time in the area with my parents, sister and wider family in the early 1990s. I recall a place of long beaches which merge almost covertly with the surrounding farmland. It was therefore good to return and see those same beaches, and be reminded that this is frontier country, where the land does its best to keep back the North Sea, but where that struggle always seems finely balanced.

We walked two of the beaches - Holkham and Brancaster - on successive days, in the teeth of biting winds. Our daughter braved the elements too, in her pram, protected by the plastic rain screen. She also spent an afternoon in the Hoste Arms, watching the assembled male group work its way through some excellent ales. Thanks to the trip, we now have a great photograph of her grinning at the camera from a perch on a sofa.

Tonight and tomorrow evening I am in sole charge as Mrs M is out and about. This is, I believe, the first time that I have been master of ceremonies for consecutive evenings. I am afraid that the first night has not gone spectacularly well, with junior launching into a barrage of screams that threatened to open up the floor beneath us. Had I been better prepared I may have been able to contain these outbursts. Regrettably, though, I wandered into my responsibilities without taking some basic steps: I failed to sterilise a dummy; identify the night time clothes; run a bath; find towels etc. This caused me to charge around the flat in an attempt to bring forth order from chaos.

Mercifully, the good Lord, or UEFA at least, has decided that Chelsea will play Barcelona on my second night of daddy night care. As such, I cannot afford to be ill-prepared or else the ineluctable timetable leading to the 7.45 kick-off will be wrecked. I shall prepare. I shall prepare. I shall prepare.

By way of aside, I would invite any passing biologists to commit to writing a study on the role of smiles in evolution. I never fail to be moved by my daughter's broad grin, and even after the most ferocious exercise of her vocal chords, all is immediately forgiven when she smiles. Clearly this is vital to the bonding process between parent and child. These genes are mighty clever...

Do monkeys smile?