December 2023

Then: my mum holding my baby. Now: my mum stimulating my baby’s visual recognition skills

“Messy play” – or “mucking around with his Weetabix”? While the basic tenets of parenting remain the same through the ages, the phrases I come out with sometimes make my mum look at me like I’m bonkers. But think about it, a lot of the labels we use these days are a teeny bit daft.

THEN: Baby “touched things”.

NOW: Baby does “sensory play.”

THEN: Baby “picked up some food”.

NOW: Baby does “baby-led weaning”.

THEN: Baby “went back to sleep”.

NOW: Baby “self-soothes”.

THEN: Baby “bent over”.

NOW: Baby “does baby yoga”.

THEN: Baby ”heard something.”

NOW: Baby “receives auditory stimulation”.

THEN: Baby “jumped on the sofa cushions”.

NOW: Baby “does soft play”.

THEN: Baby “picked up dangerously small stuff”.

NOW: Baby “practises fine motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “shook a rattle”.

NOW: Baby “does Monkey Music”.

THEN: Baby “used crayons”.

NOW: Baby “does mark-making.”

THEN: Baby “battered a toy into submission”.

NOW: Baby “problem solves”.

THEN: Baby “whacked something that was thrust in its face”.

NOW: Baby “exhibits hand-to-eye coordination”.

THEN: Baby “pushed a car along the floor saying brrm brrm”.

NOW: Baby “practises imaginative play”.

THEN: Baby “walked”.

NOW: Baby “mastered gross motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “was naughty”.

NOW: Baby “explores boundaries”.

THEN: Baby “was told off”.

NOW: Baby “gets descriptive praise”.

THEN: Baby “watched TV”*. * For the one hour a day that there were children’s programme in the Dark Ages, as my mum never fails to stress.

NOW: Baby “rescued mummy’s mental wellbeing via the medium of Peppa”.

I’m not saying who’s right or wrong – all I know is, 24-hour Nick Junior is progress – nay, a human right – and I’m all for it – call it what you will!

I was never a competitive mother – until I won. Ahem, I mean, my son won. The triumph came as a complete surprise – and so did my reaction.  There I was, tootling along, perfectly sincere in my contention that, “I don’t care how he does at school, as long as he’s happy”. But then, my son’s name was called out, and everything changed. He had won first prize in the Easter Bonnet Parade. And I had morphed into a Tiger Mom.

Anatomy of a Tiger Mother I’ll never forget that moment. All those days we had spent creating the prize-winning (see, I can’t stop going on about it) bonnet, all those trial-and-errors we had undertaken in my first craft project since my own primary school days, had come together in this one glorious finale. The teacher announced my son’s victory, and I – to my eternal shame – jumped up, punched both fists in the air and hissed “Yessss!”. If you’re going to be a tiger mom, at least keep a muzzle on it in public. As I clapped my hands off, I went into a reverie. From here, anything was possible! I could propel him into a jazz saxophone world tour at nine! University at eleven! Olympic champion decathlete in 2024! For the last week, I’ve been fizzing with ambition for my son’s future. Perhaps you find it strange that I wouldn’t have harboured such feelings before, but the truth is, he’s SIX! I’m absolutely sure he’s capable of great things, but he’s just mastering his handwriting right now. Occasionally I have a Tiger Woods moment, and kick myself for not having already thrown him into a sporting discipline that would pay for my retirement, but in general, I’m just happy he’s gone to school in clean pants. Which is more a victory for me than for him, to be fair. It’s no surprise that the competitive mum in me has been unleashed, though. For, as all my family and friends will shudderingly confirm, I used to be a very competitive person. In everything. But I stick by my version that the only person I was really competitive with was myself – which explains why I am not in the least competitive about my children. I was so lost in wonder and happiness when expecting my first (he of Easter bonnet fame), that I didn’t even countenance getting involved in all the competitive pregnancy nonsense that I’ve observed. And when my baby came, I felt like I’d already won every competition. I had given birth to the most perfect baby in the universe. When Tiger Mothers Go Cuddly

Once Easter is over, the bonnet lies crumpled in a corner denuded of its mini chocolate eggs,and the after-glow of triumph has faded, I’m sure my inner competitive mother will go back to its deep tiger-nap. But I don’t think it’s all bad that she was awoken. Delusions of Harvard are clearly bonkers, but I’ve realised that I could, and should, aspire to help my children reach that little bit further. I will generally be cuddly and playful, but show a ruthless streak when necessary. Not so much a Tiger Mother as a…Meerkat Mum? So, how did you make this masterpiece? I hear you cry. Well, I’ll tell you, but first let me say that the school sent home a very strong message of it being about the children’s creativity (basically telling all the tiger mums to get back in their cages). So… Step 1: Decide on your concept Over to my son. As mentioned, he is six. I said, “What shall we put on your bonnet?” He said, “Lego.” OK, then. As an afterthought he added, “And a prayer.” So we had our concept sorted. Step 2: Buy everything in sight I quite literally went to town. No shop was left unturned. Obviously, we have loads of Lego, but no other kind of kit at all. Not even a bonnet. I found one of those immediately in my opportune supermarket, for £1, which I was pretty chuffed with considering what happened next. I went craft crazy! I bought ribbons, tapestry thread, needles, mini chocolate eggs, fluffy chicks in all shapes and colours, and – for the first time ever, and I was thinking of Blue Peter all the way – some double-sided sticky tape! It’s a real thing! As a child, I thought it was only something they had on TV. I still kinda believed that, till I found it in WHSmith. There all along! Step 3: Realise that nothing is sticky enough I bought these ridiculous things called glue dots. Ideal, I thought, for affixing chocolate eggs and fluffy chicks to a hat – and mess-free to boot! I should have known it was too good to be true. Useless. And have you tried double-sided sticky tape? Trying to peel it off the backing is like trying to open a tampon in a hurry – maddeningly impossible. And it was nowhere near sticky enough anyway. So for the chicks and eggs, I went for PVA glue. Great globules of it, that dripped through the holes in the bonnet onto the (uncovered – I am a craft virgin after all) table. Worked fine for the eggs, but we went back a few minutes later to find the chicks in varying stages of keel, as though they’d been at a barrel of port in our absence. But by holding them patiently on, the little ones did eventually stay stuck. The big ones, no chance.   Step 4: Sew Lego base on to bonnet Yep, the Lego base was no way going to stick with my paltry means, and although I had bought some superglue in my sticky-stuff spree, I didn’t want to wreck the base for future use. So, I sewed it on. Worked a treat. This is where my son’s brilliance really came into play. He decided to put Cranky the crane on top, so he could hold a basket with an egg in it, for Easter. Driven by a curiously immobile bunny. And he wrote his prayer all by himself (with a bit of spelling help) in beautiful handwriting. We had to Sellotape the Lego bricks together, stick the egg in the basket with glue and disassemble the top for transit to school, but we’d done it! I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but – we won! The teacher-judge said she had picked it because it was “so original”. It certainly is that. Now, I’m already thinking of how to top it next year. Not that I’m competitive or anything…

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Linking up with Mini Creations at kidGLloves

Scared of sharks? Don’t be – you’re actually more alike than you know. Forget tigers, I think you’ll find that sharks are the more apt comparison for mothers of young children. Remember sleep? Me neither. When I see the black, lifeless eye of a shark, it’s like looking in the mirror. Although, you’ll be pleased to hear, I do manage to raise a sparkle in my eye when looking at my dear children, for much of the time my eyes betray the fact that there is no one home.  Tiredness and the relentless repetitive tasks of mothering create a lacklustre look that make-up just can’t disguise.  I’m getting older and I’m three kids’ worth of knackered – and doesn’t my skin show it. Not just the lines, which are another matter, but the colour. Without lashings of fake tan and crème blush (which I keep forgetting to rub in and thus go round looking even more like a ragdoll), my complexion has a shark-like hue. The last time I sat down my bum didn’t know what had hit it. What is this? It cried. Comfort? Stillness? It couldn’t stand it. It had to get up and I haven’t stopped moving since. You could argue I’m more like a goldfish, as I basically swim in a circle from sink to table to washing machine, with obligatory darts out to do the school swim. My memory has similar capacity to the wee orange one, but I prefer to claim the analogy with the power and awesome grace of the shark. And, though I often wish I had more time for relaxation, I actually think if I stopped swimming, I’d sink. I’ll sit down when they leave home. Ferocious in Defence Of Her Young Push my child in the park and meet my teeth. No, I won’t bite you, but I will gently reprimand you behind the fixed grin of a very dangerous beast. Eyes In the Back Of Her Head Sharks’ eyes are on the sides of the head, so they can see almost as well behind them as in front. Essential while driving / cooking tea and refereeing the kids at the same time. Also for hiding Freddo frogs before the stampede arrives. More Than What’s On the Surface Just as the fin poking above the waves represents the shark, the mummy is often stereotyped, characterised, seen as just the shadow above her children. But there is a whole lot more going on under the water. Even if sometimes you’re too tired to believe it. Related animal-themed posts: The Meerkat Mum – like a Tiger Mother, but more cuddly

I was never a competitive mother – until I won. Ahem, I mean, my son won. The triumph came as a complete surprise – and so did my reaction.  There I was, tootling along, perfectly sincere in my contention that, “I don’t care how he does at school, as long as he’s happy”. But then, my son’s name was called out, and everything changed. He had won first prize in the Easter Bonnet Parade. And I had morphed into a Tiger Mom.

Anatomy of a Tiger Mother I’ll never forget that moment. All those days we had spent creating the prize-winning (see, I can’t stop going on about it) bonnet, all those trial-and-errors we had undertaken in my first craft project since my own primary school days, had come together in this one glorious finale. The teacher announced my son’s victory, and I – to my eternal shame – jumped up, punched both fists in the air and hissed “Yessss!”. If you’re going to be a tiger mom, at least keep a muzzle on it in public. As I clapped my hands off, I went into a reverie. From here, anything was possible! I could propel him into a jazz saxophone world tour at nine! University at eleven! Olympic champion decathlete in 2024! For the last week, I’ve been fizzing with ambition for my son’s future. Perhaps you find it strange that I wouldn’t have harboured such feelings before, but the truth is, he’s SIX! I’m absolutely sure he’s capable of great things, but he’s just mastering his handwriting right now. Occasionally I have a Tiger Woods moment, and kick myself for not having already thrown him into a sporting discipline that would pay for my retirement, but in general, I’m just happy he’s gone to school in clean pants. Which is more a victory for me than for him, to be fair. It’s no surprise that the competitive mum in me has been unleashed, though. For, as all my family and friends will shudderingly confirm, I used to be a very competitive person. In everything. But I stick by my version that the only person I was really competitive with was myself – which explains why I am not in the least competitive about my children. I was so lost in wonder and happiness when expecting my first (he of Easter bonnet fame), that I didn’t even countenance getting involved in all the competitive pregnancy nonsense that I’ve observed. And when my baby came, I felt like I’d already won every competition. I had given birth to the most perfect baby in the universe. When Tiger Mothers Go Cuddly

Once Easter is over, the bonnet lies crumpled in a corner denuded of its mini chocolate eggs,and the after-glow of triumph has faded, I’m sure my inner competitive mother will go back to its deep tiger-nap. But I don’t think it’s all bad that she was awoken. Delusions of Harvard are clearly bonkers, but I’ve realised that I could, and should, aspire to help my children reach that little bit further. I will generally be cuddly and playful, but show a ruthless streak when necessary. Not so much a Tiger Mother as a…Meerkat Mum? So, how did you make this masterpiece? I hear you cry. Well, I’ll tell you, but first let me say that the school sent home a very strong message of it being about the children’s creativity (basically telling all the tiger mums to get back in their cages). So… Step 1: Decide on your concept Over to my son. As mentioned, he is six. I said, “What shall we put on your bonnet?” He said, “Lego.” OK, then. As an afterthought he added, “And a prayer.” So we had our concept sorted. Step 2: Buy everything in sight I quite literally went to town. No shop was left unturned. Obviously, we have loads of Lego, but no other kind of kit at all. Not even a bonnet. I found one of those immediately in my opportune supermarket, for £1, which I was pretty chuffed with considering what happened next. I went craft crazy! I bought ribbons, tapestry thread, needles, mini chocolate eggs, fluffy chicks in all shapes and colours, and – for the first time ever, and I was thinking of Blue Peter all the way – some double-sided sticky tape! It’s a real thing! As a child, I thought it was only something they had on TV. I still kinda believed that, till I found it in WHSmith. There all along! Step 3: Realise that nothing is sticky enough I bought these ridiculous things called glue dots. Ideal, I thought, for affixing chocolate eggs and fluffy chicks to a hat – and mess-free to boot! I should have known it was too good to be true. Useless. And have you tried double-sided sticky tape? Trying to peel it off the backing is like trying to open a tampon in a hurry – maddeningly impossible. And it was nowhere near sticky enough anyway. So for the chicks and eggs, I went for PVA glue. Great globules of it, that dripped through the holes in the bonnet onto the (uncovered – I am a craft virgin after all) table. Worked fine for the eggs, but we went back a few minutes later to find the chicks in varying stages of keel, as though they’d been at a barrel of port in our absence. But by holding them patiently on, the little ones did eventually stay stuck. The big ones, no chance.   Step 4: Sew Lego base on to bonnet Yep, the Lego base was no way going to stick with my paltry means, and although I had bought some superglue in my sticky-stuff spree, I didn’t want to wreck the base for future use. So, I sewed it on. Worked a treat. This is where my son’s brilliance really came into play. He decided to put Cranky the crane on top, so he could hold a basket with an egg in it, for Easter. Driven by a curiously immobile bunny. And he wrote his prayer all by himself (with a bit of spelling help) in beautiful handwriting. We had to Sellotape the Lego bricks together, stick the egg in the basket with glue and disassemble the top for transit to school, but we’d done it! I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but – we won! The teacher-judge said she had picked it because it was “so original”. It certainly is that. Now, I’m already thinking of how to top it next year. Not that I’m competitive or anything…

Follow me on bloglovin

Linking up with Mini Creations at kidGLloves

Then: my mum holding my baby. Now: my mum stimulating my baby’s visual recognition skills

“Messy play” – or “mucking around with his Weetabix”? While the basic tenets of parenting remain the same through the ages, the phrases I come out with sometimes make my mum look at me like I’m bonkers. But think about it, a lot of the labels we use these days are a teeny bit daft.

THEN: Baby “touched things”.

NOW: Baby does “sensory play.”

THEN: Baby “picked up some food”.

NOW: Baby does “baby-led weaning”.

THEN: Baby “went back to sleep”.

NOW: Baby “self-soothes”.

THEN: Baby “bent over”.

NOW: Baby “does baby yoga”.

THEN: Baby ”heard something.”

NOW: Baby “receives auditory stimulation”.

THEN: Baby “jumped on the sofa cushions”.

NOW: Baby “does soft play”.

THEN: Baby “picked up dangerously small stuff”.

NOW: Baby “practises fine motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “shook a rattle”.

NOW: Baby “does Monkey Music”.

THEN: Baby “used crayons”.

NOW: Baby “does mark-making.”

THEN: Baby “battered a toy into submission”.

NOW: Baby “problem solves”.

THEN: Baby “whacked something that was thrust in its face”.

NOW: Baby “exhibits hand-to-eye coordination”.

THEN: Baby “pushed a car along the floor saying brrm brrm”.

NOW: Baby “practises imaginative play”.

THEN: Baby “walked”.

NOW: Baby “mastered gross motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “was naughty”.

NOW: Baby “explores boundaries”.

THEN: Baby “was told off”.

NOW: Baby “gets descriptive praise”.

THEN: Baby “watched TV”*. * For the one hour a day that there were children’s programme in the Dark Ages, as my mum never fails to stress.

NOW: Baby “rescued mummy’s mental wellbeing via the medium of Peppa”.

I’m not saying who’s right or wrong – all I know is, 24-hour Nick Junior is progress – nay, a human right – and I’m all for it – call it what you will!

Then: my mum holding my baby. Now: my mum stimulating my baby’s visual recognition skills

“Messy play” – or “mucking around with his Weetabix”? While the basic tenets of parenting remain the same through the ages, the phrases I come out with sometimes make my mum look at me like I’m bonkers. But think about it, a lot of the labels we use these days are a teeny bit daft.

THEN: Baby “touched things”.

NOW: Baby does “sensory play.”

THEN: Baby “picked up some food”.

NOW: Baby does “baby-led weaning”.

THEN: Baby “went back to sleep”.

NOW: Baby “self-soothes”.

THEN: Baby “bent over”.

NOW: Baby “does baby yoga”.

THEN: Baby ”heard something.”

NOW: Baby “receives auditory stimulation”.

THEN: Baby “jumped on the sofa cushions”.

NOW: Baby “does soft play”.

THEN: Baby “picked up dangerously small stuff”.

NOW: Baby “practises fine motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “shook a rattle”.

NOW: Baby “does Monkey Music”.

THEN: Baby “used crayons”.

NOW: Baby “does mark-making.”

THEN: Baby “battered a toy into submission”.

NOW: Baby “problem solves”.

THEN: Baby “whacked something that was thrust in its face”.

NOW: Baby “exhibits hand-to-eye coordination”.

THEN: Baby “pushed a car along the floor saying brrm brrm”.

NOW: Baby “practises imaginative play”.

THEN: Baby “walked”.

NOW: Baby “mastered gross motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “was naughty”.

NOW: Baby “explores boundaries”.

THEN: Baby “was told off”.

NOW: Baby “gets descriptive praise”.

THEN: Baby “watched TV”*. * For the one hour a day that there were children’s programme in the Dark Ages, as my mum never fails to stress.

NOW: Baby “rescued mummy’s mental wellbeing via the medium of Peppa”.

I’m not saying who’s right or wrong – all I know is, 24-hour Nick Junior is progress – nay, a human right – and I’m all for it – call it what you will!

Then: my mum holding my baby. Now: my mum stimulating my baby’s visual recognition skills

“Messy play” – or “mucking around with his Weetabix”? While the basic tenets of parenting remain the same through the ages, the phrases I come out with sometimes make my mum look at me like I’m bonkers. But think about it, a lot of the labels we use these days are a teeny bit daft.

THEN: Baby “touched things”.

NOW: Baby does “sensory play.”

THEN: Baby “picked up some food”.

NOW: Baby does “baby-led weaning”.

THEN: Baby “went back to sleep”.

NOW: Baby “self-soothes”.

THEN: Baby “bent over”.

NOW: Baby “does baby yoga”.

THEN: Baby ”heard something.”

NOW: Baby “receives auditory stimulation”.

THEN: Baby “jumped on the sofa cushions”.

NOW: Baby “does soft play”.

THEN: Baby “picked up dangerously small stuff”.

NOW: Baby “practises fine motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “shook a rattle”.

NOW: Baby “does Monkey Music”.

THEN: Baby “used crayons”.

NOW: Baby “does mark-making.”

THEN: Baby “battered a toy into submission”.

NOW: Baby “problem solves”.

THEN: Baby “whacked something that was thrust in its face”.

NOW: Baby “exhibits hand-to-eye coordination”.

THEN: Baby “pushed a car along the floor saying brrm brrm”.

NOW: Baby “practises imaginative play”.

THEN: Baby “walked”.

NOW: Baby “mastered gross motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “was naughty”.

NOW: Baby “explores boundaries”.

THEN: Baby “was told off”.

NOW: Baby “gets descriptive praise”.

THEN: Baby “watched TV”*. * For the one hour a day that there were children’s programme in the Dark Ages, as my mum never fails to stress.

NOW: Baby “rescued mummy’s mental wellbeing via the medium of Peppa”.

I’m not saying who’s right or wrong – all I know is, 24-hour Nick Junior is progress – nay, a human right – and I’m all for it – call it what you will!

Then: my mum holding my baby. Now: my mum stimulating my baby’s visual recognition skills

“Messy play” – or “mucking around with his Weetabix”? While the basic tenets of parenting remain the same through the ages, the phrases I come out with sometimes make my mum look at me like I’m bonkers. But think about it, a lot of the labels we use these days are a teeny bit daft.

THEN: Baby “touched things”.

NOW: Baby does “sensory play.”

THEN: Baby “picked up some food”.

NOW: Baby does “baby-led weaning”.

THEN: Baby “went back to sleep”.

NOW: Baby “self-soothes”.

THEN: Baby “bent over”.

NOW: Baby “does baby yoga”.

THEN: Baby ”heard something.”

NOW: Baby “receives auditory stimulation”.

THEN: Baby “jumped on the sofa cushions”.

NOW: Baby “does soft play”.

THEN: Baby “picked up dangerously small stuff”.

NOW: Baby “practises fine motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “shook a rattle”.

NOW: Baby “does Monkey Music”.

THEN: Baby “used crayons”.

NOW: Baby “does mark-making.”

THEN: Baby “battered a toy into submission”.

NOW: Baby “problem solves”.

THEN: Baby “whacked something that was thrust in its face”.

NOW: Baby “exhibits hand-to-eye coordination”.

THEN: Baby “pushed a car along the floor saying brrm brrm”.

NOW: Baby “practises imaginative play”.

THEN: Baby “walked”.

NOW: Baby “mastered gross motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “was naughty”.

NOW: Baby “explores boundaries”.

THEN: Baby “was told off”.

NOW: Baby “gets descriptive praise”.

THEN: Baby “watched TV”*. * For the one hour a day that there were children’s programme in the Dark Ages, as my mum never fails to stress.

NOW: Baby “rescued mummy’s mental wellbeing via the medium of Peppa”.

I’m not saying who’s right or wrong – all I know is, 24-hour Nick Junior is progress – nay, a human right – and I’m all for it – call it what you will!

Picture credit: The White Company (not a sponsored post)

What do you say to a new mum without giving it all away? After “congratulations!” and “she’s gorgeous!”, how do you not launch into “isn’t it awful?” A woman with a new kid needs to be treated with kid gloves. Tip: Treat her as you would a baby chick. 

Offer to make her a cup of tea / buy her a coffee and give her a glass of water. Nothing is more parching than breastfeeding, and whether you’re breast or bottle, new mums never get to enjoy a hot drink. And offer to hold the baby while she drinks it, but only if she wants you to – after giving birth to the most precious thing in the universe, new mums are surprisingly proprietorial.

Don’t expect her to be listening. Try as you might, as a new mum, focusing on actual words is almost impossible when you’re knackered and trying to deal with the baby. This may make all the rest of this post irrelevant, but just in case she is listening…

Talk gently and slowly, as if coaxing a kitten. She gets enough volume in her ears from the baby and sleep-deprivation makes us all fragile.

Tell her she looks amazing. Never mind that she’s pale as the grave, her whole butt is hanging out her maternity jeans and her hair hasn’t been washed since the birth, a compliment will give her the lift she needs, nay deserves!

Ask her about her birth story, but don’t compare. People can’t help themselves. If you were in labour for 36 hours, they were 48. If you popped yours out in the hospital carpark with little to no warning, they gave birth on the motorway. Everyone’s story is different – and sacred.

Don’t give her the fear. Parenting is done – thank God – one step at a time. The next step should be on a “need to know” only basis. Refer to your older child/ren as though they are basically bigger, sleeping-through-the-night-ier versions of their tiny bundle of cute.

Focus on the positives. The nights may be awful, but isn’t he good in the day? Her head might be a bit wonky from the delivery, but look at her beautiful eyes. Today was a bad day – but at least it’s another day done and you’re closer to Sleep-Through Land.

Don’t belittle her worries. You cannot even see the rash she is worried about, but you must agree she should ask the health visitor about it. If her baby’s last nappy was a bit loose, that is a valid concern – forget all the poonamis you’ve dealt with over the years. Her baby wakes every two hours? Oh, yours never slept at all! Just wait till they’re teething! Try and lay her worries to rest if you can, of course, but she probably won’t be appeased unless you’re a doctor.

Answer questions honestly. Ish. “When did yours sleep through?” is the classic from an exhausted new mother looking for hope. Laughing: “Oh, they’re still not!” when you have older children is not welcome. Equally, “from 3 days old” will make her want to punch you. Grabbing two handfuls of your stomach when she asks “how long did it take to lose the baby weight?” is probably less helpful than assuring her that it will happen, just not straight away…

Coo over the baby. But don’t call it big. Or small. Size is a sensitive issue. Praise every little bit of him or her, but avoid speculating over whether s/he has a “touch of the ginge”. (My eldest has fiery hair and I love it, but some people don’t thank you for ginge-spotting.) Safe areas include: eyelashes (long, curly, beautiful etc), fingers, toes, cheeks, ickle hands and diddy feet. And do her a favour and tell her the baby looks like her (even though it totally doesn’t).

Don’t offer advice. Every fibre of your body is screaming to download everything you’ve learned the long, bitter, hard way about babycare, but hold it down! Even if she asks for advice, 99% of the time she means she wants you to validate what she is doing. Do so. If she’s attachment, don’t go Gina. If she’s co-sleeping and you had yours in his own room at two weeks, let it go. Obviously, you will have gems to impart on most areas of child-rearing, but present them only when pressed, and as mere options. Don’t confuse the poor lass.

Be alert to postnatal depression symptoms. But don’t put ideas in her head. If she’s a bit tearful from a bad night, suggesting she might have PND might send her into a whole spiral of unneeded anxiety. But, of course, if you do suspect she is not herself and may be suffering, gently suggest she talk to her doctor.

Don’t take the shine off. Yes, she should see what they’re like at eight, yelling at you and hitting their siblings. But not right now. However jaded you are about the whole parenting thing, don’t let it show.

Don’t miss the opportunity to hold that teeny tiny baby! They grow so fast…But don’t say that either: remember how each day felt like a year when you were awake for 22 hours of it?

Most of all…

Give her a big hug and tell her she’s doing an amazing job!

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Then: my mum holding my baby. Now: my mum stimulating my baby’s visual recognition skills

“Messy play” – or “mucking around with his Weetabix”? While the basic tenets of parenting remain the same through the ages, the phrases I come out with sometimes make my mum look at me like I’m bonkers. But think about it, a lot of the labels we use these days are a teeny bit daft.

THEN: Baby “touched things”.

NOW: Baby does “sensory play.”

THEN: Baby “picked up some food”.

NOW: Baby does “baby-led weaning”.

THEN: Baby “went back to sleep”.

NOW: Baby “self-soothes”.

THEN: Baby “bent over”.

NOW: Baby “does baby yoga”.

THEN: Baby ”heard something.”

NOW: Baby “receives auditory stimulation”.

THEN: Baby “jumped on the sofa cushions”.

NOW: Baby “does soft play”.

THEN: Baby “picked up dangerously small stuff”.

NOW: Baby “practises fine motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “shook a rattle”.

NOW: Baby “does Monkey Music”.

THEN: Baby “used crayons”.

NOW: Baby “does mark-making.”

THEN: Baby “battered a toy into submission”.

NOW: Baby “problem solves”.

THEN: Baby “whacked something that was thrust in its face”.

NOW: Baby “exhibits hand-to-eye coordination”.

THEN: Baby “pushed a car along the floor saying brrm brrm”.

NOW: Baby “practises imaginative play”.

THEN: Baby “walked”.

NOW: Baby “mastered gross motor skills”.

THEN: Baby “was naughty”.

NOW: Baby “explores boundaries”.

THEN: Baby “was told off”.

NOW: Baby “gets descriptive praise”.

THEN: Baby “watched TV”*. * For the one hour a day that there were children’s programme in the Dark Ages, as my mum never fails to stress.

NOW: Baby “rescued mummy’s mental wellbeing via the medium of Peppa”.

I’m not saying who’s right or wrong – all I know is, 24-hour Nick Junior is progress – nay, a human right – and I’m all for it – call it what you will!