Second baby slobdom
My mother-in-law came to visit last week. She smiled an indulgent granny smile as Erin, our six-month-old daughter, ground a breadstick into the carpet. Then Erin turned and grinned at her grandmother. My mother-in-law’s jaw dropped. ‘The baby’s er…’ ‘Crawling already?’ I butted in, proudly. ‘Yes, she’s coming along so…’ ‘No, not that,’ she said. ‘It’s her face.’
Mother-in-law scrabbled in her handbag, extracted a tissue and licked it. By the time she had finished her deep-cleansing exercise, I hardly recognised my own daughter. It was weird, seeing her cheeks so shiny and with no sweet potato attached. I had forgotten she was pink underneath.
Dirty child: bad mother? Not quite. The purée-smeared child is more likely to be the second (or subsequent) child. We’ve done the baby stuff before. We know that our child will not be snatched by social workers if her nose is not wiped the second it runs. And does she really need a fresh, snow-white bib every mealtime?
First time around, we ensured a steady supply of bibs of dazzling brightness. We felt immense pressure to be perfect. New parents dare not take a child out in public in mismatched socks in case word flies around the NCT group that this mother is ‘not coping well’. A friend admits: ‘When Chloe – now four – started nursery, you had to put your kid in a fashionable and spotlessly clean outfit. It was like some mini fashion parade, and if she splattered herself with paint, poor Chloe would be in tears.’
So would I. Some of those dresses set her mother back £40. But my friend has found rearing her second child (now a grubby-fingernailed two-year-old boy) a very different experience: ‘It’s unrealistic to expect him to stay smart and clean’ she says. ‘Even on the five-minute walk to playgroup, he’s bouncing in and out of hedges and prising a lump of old chewing gum off the pavement. I’ve been forced to relax my standards,’ she admits. ‘It’s a relief, actually, and much cheaper.’
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