Parenting: A career choice

Today I have, again, seen someone say that no-one chooses parenting as a career, and that they've never known an intelligent person who wanted to be a full-time parent, and that parenting isn't a full-time ob after the child is [arbitrary age - in this case 6 years old].

And I've spent my free time this morning reading about home education, because I am increasingly unhappy with the idea of formal schooling.

I also wrote the following in someone else's journal:

Practically all of what I've learned in the past year is to trust myself.

If I'd insisted that I was in labour when I was in labour, for example. When I think we need to buy a [safety equipment] because Linnea is about to [suicidal thing]. That the funny breathing thing is a bit odd. The dairy thing. The potty thing. All of it - it's down to trusting that what I think is right is adequate to act on, and not referring to other, less-qualified persons for instruction.

And a big part of how I got *there* was changing from "this whole baby thing is my personal life, at which I am incompetent" to "this whole baby thing is my job, at which I am fabulously competent."

OK, *after* having a baby is a bit late to learn this, maybe, but she seems to be surviving so far.

I approached full-time parenting as a job from the start. While I was pregnant I learned to keep house - that is, I learned to keep house tidy, rather than just keep house solvent, which I've been good at for a while. Because I wouldn't let Linnea go to a childminder with a dirty house, so my house has to be clean if that's where she's going to be. I learned about breastpumps and cloth nappies, and local schools, and I went to all the antenatal classes offered and deliberately formed a social network of other mums at the classes so that I would have a social network of parents after the birth. And after she was born I kept oining and forming and researching and so on.

And I got precious little time off for illness - though I did get some, when all I had to do was be operated on or feed.

And my baby is almost 17 months old (tomorrow!) and will play alone, unsupervised, for up to an hour, sometimes. So she's not suffocated with attention. She will also play nicely with babies her own age, mobile babies much younger than she is, and children up to some arbitrary age - we haven't found a limit yet. She is wary of strangers at first but friendly once introduced. She does not demand constant constant attention, though I do have to be constantly available - always on call, if you like.

In other words, I am doing a good job and I have a great kid and she hasn't suffered in the least from not being at nursery - and I haven't suffered much from not going to a "proper job", because there's no way I'd have found one far enough away from her nursery that I could nap at lunchtime, and that's the only thing I miss about a proper job - lunchbreaks, where one is no longer on call.

She's asleep in her very own bed now. I'm knitting her coat and pottering about online. When she wakes up we're going to wash the floors and then head off to softplay, most likely. Today would be a swimming day if I didn't have a period.

11 days to the gynaecologist appointment. Ho hum.

What We Did Today

When Rob left this morning Linnea was distraught. Screaming distraught. Running to the window, climbing on the seat and looking out after him distraught. Banging on the glass crying "Daddeeeeeeeeee, Daddeeeeeeeee!!" distraught.

I think the true cause was the bowel movement of unusual intensity in her nappy at the time.

We waited around for people to show up for toddler coffee morning - I've volunteered to host it every Thursday for three months, as the arrangements were getting so flaky through lack of commitment that fewer and fewer people were volunteering to host even one.

Only one mother and toddler showed up but perhaps soon there will be more.

When Rob came home, we all went out to dinner at Sweet Masala, because we almost never do any more and the food is fabulous. And then we came home and I sat drinking fluids to make bedtime milk, and Rob and Linnea played in the library.

Linnea lay on the floor, very firmly and deliberately, demanded that Rob lie down beside her, and then talked to him about me ("Meemee!" and pointing at the room I was in and babble). She told him all about me. You see, earlier today she and I lay on the floor in the dining room, and we looked at the ceiling, and the clock (very odd at that angle), and the light fitting, and the table, and then we brought our legs up and we looked at our toes, which was the best bit. Mine had stripy socks on; hers were bare.

So she tried to show him this great game. He didn't quite grasp it but they had fun sitting there on the floor in group W.

At bedtime, he read to her in her bedroom until she got into bed and demanded to be put to sleep. Then I came up and we had a big group hug (she likes group hugs) and I nursed her to sleep and came back downstairs.

Now I have to go have a bath, wash some dishes, and go to bed. I've just eaten a big banana muffin. Linnea gets the miniature ones. It's a very satisfactory arrangement.