Once upon a time
I had aspirations as a non-punitive mother. I longed to have a baby and once those periods finally stopped coming and I started vomiting, I spent many a long hour choosing pregnancy and parenting books in earnest London bookshops. It is not hugely surprising that this baby planning thing took place largely in my head, as the physical manifestations had me bent over a loo or a doubled plastic supermarket bag much of every morning and on lucky days in the afternoon as well. Head stuff was comparatively attractive.
Oh how I hated Gina Ford and her baby routines. I also despised the medicalised model of childbirth and enrolled myself in various classes at Janet Balaskas' Active Birth Centre in North London. That involved a fair few trains as we didn't live anywhere remotely as fashionable and potentially unmedicalised as north London. Most incredibly for me now, I even read books and articles about people who raise/d their children without saying 'no'.
Which turns out to be like being alive without breathing in my case. Often I say 'no' to my children before I even open my eyes in the morning.
So I don't whack her (or the first-born either, but as he is asleep right now, he seems pretty angelic) which I suppose is evidence of some kind of boundary on my part. I don't not whack her because of the law, for goodness sake, I decided not to whack my kids long before that because how else was I to raise pacifists who wouldn't take us all to war if I taught them to solve problems with violence?
Ah yes. I'm one of those. Insert your own words here___________.
But right now, as it is 135 minutes since I put her to bed, as I hear her banging some object like a drum against the door I have just closed to stop her running out and round the house for the 56th time this evening, right now I know for certain that those no to 'no' people are both wrong and also, if they ever read this blog in search of some procrastination fodder while they let their little darlings find themselves in their own special non-combative way, could find themselves satisfied that people who say no to their children before they even open their eyes in the morning, also don't get a decent evening's child-free rest. Or not tonight anyway.
Oh how I hated Gina Ford and her baby routines. I also despised the medicalised model of childbirth and enrolled myself in various classes at Janet Balaskas' Active Birth Centre in North London. That involved a fair few trains as we didn't live anywhere remotely as fashionable and potentially unmedicalised as north London. Most incredibly for me now, I even read books and articles about people who raise/d their children without saying 'no'.
Which turns out to be like being alive without breathing in my case. Often I say 'no' to my children before I even open my eyes in the morning.
So I don't whack her (or the first-born either, but as he is asleep right now, he seems pretty angelic) which I suppose is evidence of some kind of boundary on my part. I don't not whack her because of the law, for goodness sake, I decided not to whack my kids long before that because how else was I to raise pacifists who wouldn't take us all to war if I taught them to solve problems with violence?
Ah yes. I'm one of those. Insert your own words here___________.
But right now, as it is 135 minutes since I put her to bed, as I hear her banging some object like a drum against the door I have just closed to stop her running out and round the house for the 56th time this evening, right now I know for certain that those no to 'no' people are both wrong and also, if they ever read this blog in search of some procrastination fodder while they let their little darlings find themselves in their own special non-combative way, could find themselves satisfied that people who say no to their children before they even open their eyes in the morning, also don't get a decent evening's child-free rest. Or not tonight anyway.
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