What Does Robin Say?

This is a photo of just some of my pregnancy and parenting books. I knew that there was no such thing as an instruction manual for babies but that didn’t stop me from trying to find one. I bought a few that were recommended by friends and some that sounded like they were going to tell me what I wanted to hear. Others promised happy babies and a full night’s sleep, every night. There are countless books out there selling philosophies for anxious parents to hang their hopes on, and no matter what you believe you will find one that suits your lifestyle. I have friends who swear by attachment parenting and baby-led routines, while others are convinced that strict eat/play/sleep by the clock and controlled crying worked for them. Our problem wasn’t finding a book to meet our needs: it was convincing our child to comply. For the first few months J was a terrible napper. He would nap for 20 minutes at a time most days and would be overtired and overstimulated at the end of the day, leading to a meltdown in the early evening. I read books like The Baby Whisperer Solves All Your Problems (what a promise!) and BabyWise, hoping to find something that would at least give us some guidance. I quickly learned that most of the strategies relied on babies being compliant and willing to lie in their cots, contentedly drifting off to sleep on their own. My baby wasn't like that and I kept finding myself looking for the chapter titled "What to Do When All Else Fails." Others suggested practising good sleeping habits and teaching independence from day one. Of course for this to work a newborn needs to be willing to be taught, and parents need to be committed to making it work. Again, this wasn't going to happen. From his very first night in the big wide world J wanted to be held, and he was very assertive about it. That night my husband slept sitting up in an armchair with J on his chest. Any attempt to lie him down resulted in a screaming fit, and we'd have to start pacing the floor to settle him down all over again. Once we got him home we convinced him to sleep in a moses basket but he needed to be nursed to sleep first. We were doing this several times a day and I was desperate for help, but any book that suggested I let him “cry it out” was instantly put back on the shelf. There were nights when I was on my own and J was colicky and there was absolutely nothing I could do to console him when I had to leave him in his cot and walk away. I fell apart a few times and a short time-out was best for both of us, but I never felt good about it. In the end, after much trial and error, and many sleepless nights, I came up with my own routine based on several different theories and my own intuition. I paid attention to J and followed his lead and together we worked it out. We got through the rough days by letting J nap in our arms, as it seemed to be the only way to get him to sleep for longer than 20 minutes. It was restrictive at times but I got to catch up on watching movies and reading, and it was lovely just passing the time watching him sleep. Eventually we had him self-soothing and now he has 2 decent naps a day, no crying necessary. I don’t want to sound like I know it all and have everything figured out because I don’t, and I question myself every day. I’m not sure how much of our day works out because of what I’ve consciously implemented and how much of it is just pure luck. J still doesn’t sleep through the night and it seems just when we have everything under control he hits a growth spurt and it all changes again. Some days I can’t keep up.

Another issue I have with the how-to books is the way many of them simply made me feel inadequate. They warned of the dangers of indulging my child, and lead me to believe that if I didn’t teach my child to sleep he’d end up sprouting another head or grow up to become a spoiled brat. One book refers to “accidental parenting,” where parents think they’re doing the right thing but they’re really making life difficult for themselves. It’s tough enough being a parent as it is without being told by an “expert” that you’re doing it all wrong! Once I realised my baby was never going to fit the mould these books described I put them away and followed my instincts.

One book I do rely on is Robin Barker’s Baby Love. Robin is an Australian mothercraft guru and her book is the bible for many new parents.  It is so popular that several bookstores were out of stock when I was trying to buy it (Aussie girls, I found it at Big W for $10 less than it was anywhere else!). I could’ve bought the Americanised version in Hong Kong but I didn’t want to be reading terms like Mommy, pacifier and diaper every time we had an issue! Without dictating a regime or criticising parental errors Robin clearly and concisely explains many aspects of a baby’s first year; the problems you might encounter and ways to fix them. 24 hours after bringing our brand new baby boy home from the hospital he was screaming the house down and leaving pink stains in his nappy. “What does Robin say?” I cried anxiously, and sure enough she had an answer, which was later confirmed by our doctor. My milk hadn’t come through and the poor little guy was dehydrated. Robin was my constant companion in those early days while I struggled to build up my supply and mix breastfeeding with formula. We’ve referred to her for everything from teething and nappy rash to weaning and crawling. She has only let me down once and I feel disloyal for admitting it, but no relationship is ever without its faults. Robin believes that teething causes no discomfort and that all the “signs”, like ear pulling, mouthing, and diarrhoea, that people associate with teething, are just old wives tales. My son would beg to differ. His bottom teeth have been threatening to appear for weeks now and one is just coming through as we speak. He has been cranky and clearly in pain, putting everything in his mouth and yes, he has diarrhoea. I hope it’s just coincidence, mainly because I don’t want him to go through all this for every single tooth, but I’d really like for Robin to be right. My instincts also tell me that he is not well, and I’d much rather be proven right and know I can rely on those instead of some book.

Head Case - Part 1

Tonight’s post, as you can probably guess, is going to be in two parts. I realised as I was writing that it was going to be quiet long, so to spare you a whole lot of reading in one hit I’ve broken it up. The little man is not in the best of moods today and wasn’t at all interested in breakfast or his morning nap. I took him to the osteopath yesterday and grumpiness after a visit is not uncommon apparently. For those of you that don’t know the history, allow me to explain why we’re seeing an osteopath. In the late stages of my pregnancy J was lodged firmly in my pelvis for about three weeks. It was rather uncomfortable for me as you can imagine and left him with a bit of a cone-head after he made his grand entrance (or exit?). This gradually subsided but he was left with a rotated sphenoid bone in his skull. In other words, he had a flat area on one side of his forehead, and on the opposite side at the back of his head he had a lump. We were told not to worry; it would correct itself. It didn’t.

Our GP (a woman so wonderful, she deserves her own website) referred us to a physiotherapist in Central who “specialised” in baby’s heads. Some professionals believe that a misshapen skull can impact on certain nerves in the brain and spinal cord and this can contribute to colic, reflux, sleep problems etc. We’d experienced all of those, and wondered if his endless bouts of crying in the early days were his way of telling us he had a headache. We were desperate to give anything a try. The physio we saw, let’s call her S, was nice enough and seemed to know what she was doing. J was always very chilled out after his sessions but after about 6 visits we hadn’t seen any improvement in any of his symptoms. S admitted that she’d reached the limits of her abilities and recommended a session with her boss, the head of the practice; we’ll call her C. I was excited to meet the woman who had developed the baby head-shaping method. It seemed we would finally be meeting someone who could help our little man. I could not have been more wrong. She started later than our designated appointment time and was instantly attacking me: I should’ve brought him in sooner. Why didn’t I have physio while I was pregnant to prevent this from happening? Why was he on formula? He was “clearly” allergic to something in my breastmilk, why hadn’t we been tested for sensitivities (more on that fascinating process later)? I had a valid response to all of these attacks but was left feeling very defensive and this did not bode well for the rest of the session. She told me it was probably too late to start treatment, and when I suggested we leave she quickly offered to try something. J picked up on my anxiety and was restless and a bit cranky. Every time he started to complain C would throw her hands in the air and say “I can’t work on him while he’s like this, you need to settle him down.” She didn’t interact with him at all and didn’t seem to have a natural way with children. At times she waved her hands over his head as if performing what I can only imagine was Reiki, and before I left she explained that I needed to think positively when looking at J’s head, as my negative energy was preventing him from healing. I’m a firm believer in the power of positive thinking and I do believe there is a place for alternative therapies, but I don’t believe that moving the air above my son’s head and telling me to project positivity will improve the shape of his skull in any way. Any negativity I was feeling was purely a product of being in that room, it had nothing to do with my beautiful son and his wonky forehead. She then concluded the session early and charged me $1800 HKD for the privilege! We decided to let J grow for a while after this experience, and take a wait-and-see approach.

It was tough trying to decide whether or not to take any action in the first place. It was his head after all, and I was so concerned that we might do long-term damage. More concerning was the idea that the bones were pressing on his brain or that he’d have all sorts of issues in the future with his eyesight, sinuses or worse. It didn’t help that a few of the professionals we spoke to thought we were only worried about how he looked. They just didn’t understand that it wasn’t aesthetics we were concerned with. When talking about it with friends most of them have said that they have never noticed J’s head. I guess it was because he had always been that way, but I definitely noticed every time I looked at him. I know I could not have helped it but I have always felt responsible. I know some people thought we were a bit mad seeking treatment for something that most doctors believe children grow out of. At the end of the day we decided to persist, knowing that we’d never forgive ourselves if we ignored it and he didn’t grow out of it.

Help Me Help You

When we first moved to Hong Kong we never imagined that we would hire a domestic helper. It’s not all that common in Australia (at least amongst the people we know) to hire someone else to do your housework. It seemed an unnecessary luxury. However, after a year here, realising how easy and inexpensive it was to have someone come in once a week, and sick of arguing about whose turn it was to do the vacuuming, we relented. Hiring a full-time helper can be a lucky dip. I’ve heard many horror stories about helpers stealing from their employers or sleeping with their husbands. Sometimes personalities clash and it just doesn’t work out, but whatever happens it can be a time-consuming, expensive and emotional process. At the end of the day you're inviting a virtual stranger into your home and trusting them with the most precious people in your world.

Fortunately, we hit the jackpot with our helper, L. She started off part-time but when we found out I was pregnant we convinced ourselves that we had to have someone full-time once the baby arrived, knowing that without family anywhere nearby we would struggle. I have a lot of respect for mothers who manage without a helper and appreciate how hard it must be; especially for those living here away from the support of family and friends. I have friends back in Australia who are quite envious of our position and, while I struggle to justify it sometimes, I know how lucky we are. We were fortunate enough to be able to employ L full-time when her contract finished, and she started with us 8 weeks before our son arrived. I had a list a mile long of things for her to do to get the house ready for the baby, expecting it to take her several weeks. She finished most of it in two days. She’s efficient and intelligent and always happy. She follows my instructions to the letter (to the point where she pulls me up if I veer from the schedule at all) and most importantly, she adores my son; she has become a member of our family. It wasn’t always a perfect relationship and having someone else in my home all day every day was a big challenge. There was a time when I contemplated asking her to leave, simply because I wanted my space back and to have my baby to myself. Then when J was 9 weeks old I got sick and my husband had to go away. L moved in for 4 days and got up to do the night feeds, walked the dog and kept the house clean without complaint or hesitation, while I slept and got better. I realised how necessary she had become to our ability to function as a family.

We still have occasional misunderstandings, mainly due to the language barrier and my inability to express myself clearly, but it is a much more harmonious home these days. Something I have struggled with lately is a little bit of jealousy over the relationship between our helper and our son. He is so excited every day when she arrives and often complains when she leaves the room. She has a way of getting him to eat his vegetables when I constantly fail, and she manages to entertain him AND keep the house clean and tidy. One day last week I was feeding him when L arrived for the day and J just about jumped out of my arms. I was heartbroken and moaned to my husband, “I never get that response.” D told me I should be grateful that we have someone who J loves so much. When I thought about it rationally I had to admit that D was right; it would be much harder to leave him with someone he didn’t really care for. Still battling my green-eyed monster I was secretly overjoyed yesterday when the tables were turned. J and I had spent the whole day together and I handed to him to L when we got home and headed upstairs. I rushed back down excitedly when J started to wail and I found him holding his little arms out for his mummy. I felt terribly guilty that I was so thrilled that my son was upset by my absence, but secretly I also felt validated. I remember in the first few weeks of his life, when we were up for hours every night feeding and attempting to soothe our colicky baby, there were times when I wondered if he was happy. He hadn’t smiled and barely registered my presence; I was basically a walking milk bar. I so longed for some response: a sign that we were doing the right thing and that this little guy knew we were his parents. We were overjoyed when he started smiling and I felt for the first time that it had all been worth it.

I guess, without realising it, I have still been basing my success as a parent on J’s response to me. I don’t expect thanks for the hours I spend cooking and pureeing food, for getting up in the middle of the night, for changing pooey nappies, I do it all out of love, but a cuddle and a smile from him says, “You’re appreciated.” When someone else is getting the smiles and cuddles I feel a bit deflated, is that wrong? I have no doubt that this is something I will grapple with for a while, but in the meantime someone else is cleaning my toilet, so I won’t complain too loudly.