Daphne Bennett

Thanks for the overwhelmingly lovely welcome.

This is how I look like. Almost everyday.

It is nearly the end of May in Scotland but the temperature hardly gets over 15c, so summer is not really exciting. To us, it seems, unless you are really really strong, winter means big coats and boots and gloves and summer means a jumper and Converse. I can’t wear my most of my beloved dresses anymore because I need a top that allows me to pull up or down to nurse, as well as jeans to sit down on the ground so that I can see Little Bertie at the eye-level when he comes looking for me. Before I had Bertie I did not mind wearing skirts and black tights with heels but now comfort and convenience come first. I have to wear a cross-body bag because that is the only way I can carry a bag and carry a baby on my back, unfortunately. This is almost exactly how I look everyday. Boring.

Behind me is Bertie. I see many parents have great difficulties putting their toddlers in the pushchairs when they are not yet ready to leave but the parents are in a rush. I have been carrying Bertie on me since 6 weeks and I never look back. I hardly use the pushchair because I find it very bulky. I often lose control even with supermarket trollies so pushing a pram up and down the pavement is literally a nightmare to me. Many people say ‘But he is so heavy!’ (ya my boy weighs almost 30lbs now), and I will politely explain to them if you carry your baby correctly it is like a good hiking rucksack, it is heavy but it doesn’t hurt. And most of the time they nod their unconvinced head politely. Well, what works for me works on me. I am not trying to promote babywearing but you can see a big difference between putting your fighting toddler in the pram and on your back. Sometimes when he wants to stay in the park but I have other plans in mind, I have no choice but to grab him on a bench and get him on my back. He cries and fights like all toddlers do. Yet the minute he is on my back magic happens: he just holds on to me and stop protesting. And happily we go home, he doesn’t not even protest when I open the front door and put him on the sofa. Everybody is happy. Even my husband is amazed how rare Bertie throws an inconsolable tantrum (mind you, he was the kind of baby crying all the time). That is another reason I carry my child. I don’t believe in letting children cry, day or night. I don’t believe you can ‘teach him a lesson’ or ‘show him who is the boss’ by ignoring his needs. I strongly believe in addressing their needs and emotions so that they learn to understand my needs and emotions as they grow. And carrying my baby is one of the best ways minimising the hard work of being a sensible and sensitive parent to me.

I used to be a keen reader of Vogue and Harper Bazaar and spend ridiculous money on impossible shoes. Sometimes I miss dressing up without worrying about sitting on the floor and chasing after Bertie before he falls off the cliff or jumps into the river. I thought I would be one of those mummies that can still look cool and don’t look like a mummy. But that is part of growing up, isn’t it?