What You Didn’t Expect
What You Didn't Expect
Originally published on Trespass
I was 19-years old and he had the most amazing blue eyes I had ever seen. Oh my god, he was dreamy! He didn’t say much, but it was okay, I managed to do the talking for both of us. Every single one of his features were just perfect and he smelled divine. Immediately, I was head over heels in love and planning the rest of our life together; where we would go, what we would do, what we would see. Ours was a love fated to last forever. And then…he threw up on me.
My son is eight years old now and I told him I was writing about him this week. Why?, he asked me, and I said, it’s because he is the one thing I love more than anything. That’s a bit disgusting Mum, he replied. He asked if I’d use his real name in the article, and I said no, not if you don’t want me to, and he told me he’d like to be known as Darth Vader.
So Darth Vader has taught me the meaning of unconditional love. Basically, when someone can vomit on you ad nauseam (literally) and you still think they are the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen, well, you’ve got it bad. But what you don’t learn when you’re reading all of those ‘What to Expect While You’re Expecting’ books, are the truly unexpected surprises that parenthood brings.
Perhaps parenthood is something lurking in the future for you, Trespass readers, or maybe you’ve just taken the plunge. Either way it’s something new that our generation should take the time to put our own spin on. Recently my Gen-Y friends have started having a sprinkle of babies here and there and since I’ve been doing this motherhood gig for a while now, they sometimes ask my advice. The truth is there is no formula for parenthood. There is such a wealth of information out there and it’s all so conflicting that it feels like everyone has their fingers in your baby pie, which feels just as violating as it sounds! Strangers will accost you in the street and tell you what you’re doing wrong. Parenting books will list every single worst-case scenario so suddenly, staying inside and swaddling your child in bubble wrap seems like a great idea. And then there’s the endless celebrity yummy-mummy brigade with their flat stomachs and shiny hair not encrusted with someone else’s breakfast. More often than not, we will feel like we are failing at parenthood even if we’re getting it right for the most part. An entire mythology and industry has been built around what you should and shouldn’t be doing as a parent, and I want to debunk the hell out of it.
The Greatest Love of All
It is true that you will love your children more than you could ever imagine. They will push your heart to leaping, stratospheric places you never knew possible. People will say things like, “I never knew what love was until I became a parent” etc. Sure. But here’s something we never ever talk about. Sometimes you won’t like your children. At all. With the very best also comes the very worst. They also take you to your darkest, most hideous places where you turn into an unrecognisable evil dragon creature. And that’s okay. I know that I personally have felt so much irrational guilt because I have sometimes found myself acting like a fire-breathing monster. “Good mothers aren’t supposed to breathe fire!” I’ve thought, kicking myself for failing at parenting again. But why feel guilty? There is no such thing as failing at parenting if you have happy and safe, and well-loved kids. As long as your children don’t have third-degree burns after throwing a few flames, it’s okay. They’ll love you unconditionally too, let’s not forget. Darth Vader tests my patience at times, but nothing compares to when he wraps his arms around me and gives me a squishy hug.
The Greatest Love
Yummy Mummies for Dummies
Since I was very young when I had Darth Vader, people always said things like, “You’re young, all the baby weight will fall right off you”. Well, hello, eight years later I’m still waiting for the last of it to disappear! But that doesn’t matter either, does it? Increasingly, there has been a real pressure on new mothers to look better than they did pre-birth, just like the glossy photos of new celebrity mums leaving hospitals looking like they’ve been at an urban spa instead of a bloody 24-hour gruelling labour. On top of that, new mothers are also supposed to, overnight, become the epitome of a woman once they push their little tyke out. We’re supposed to suddenly understand things, ranging from how to be a wise nurturing maternal figure, whether cloth or disposable nappies are best, or which schools we’re going to send our kids to. You grow up as a parent as your child does, and it’s alright if we haven’t got all the answers straight away. And don’t kill yourself if you don’t look like a supermodel. I honestly believe I look so much better post Darth Vader than I did before him - stretch marks and all. We don’t need to get mumsy and buy mum jeans either, it’s all about taking who you are already and adding a small dribbling creature to your outfit.
Oh no, my life is over!
I waddled around Sydney University with water retention, had morning sickness mid-tutorial, and never got drunk. I honestly thought I was just another statistic; nineteen, barefoot and pregnant, and that my life was over. In fact, I was so embarrassed about being pigeon-holed as a teenage mother that once Darth Vader was born, I sometimes kept him a secret from new acquaintances (shame on me). I did that because I didn’t want them to see me as any less smart/assertive/free, or think that my life was actually over - how very wrong I was!
Someone once said to me that children are the ones that come into your life, they don’t need to totally take over yours. Yes, for a while, they demand a lot from you, but there is no reason for you to give up on your dreams and ambitions. In 2006, Darth Vader and I moved from Sydney to Paris and we truly have a magical life. I’m happy and pursuing goals I had always set for myself, and Darth Vader has a strange little idyllic French childhood playing under the Eiffel Tower at recess. Your life will not be over when you become a parent, even if you don’t move to Paris. There’s no reason for you to let go of who you are or think that this is the end of your social life. And it’s better for your kids if you never ever stop striving for the things that you want. I know a lot of new dads and mums who worry that children equals being tied down. But children are more like helium balloons - they’ll lift you up and make you see everything from a perspective you hadn’t seen before.
Required Reading?
Nuture Shock
There is a plethora of data about how to be a parent out there; your own parents, books, websites, old ladies on the street who want to tell you what they think. This is great. Make informed decisions and read widely and listen to what people tell you. But also remember that parenthood isn’t about cramming for an exam, and getting it right or wrong. Nobody is grading you. Your children will have personalities of their own and you will know them better than anyone. What they need and what they get is in your hands, but don’t feel pressured to do things “by the book”. Our generation will really take our own spin on parenting and we will make it our own. We are and will be bringing up children in a new era where we (and they) have access to so much information at our fingertips.
I recently read a book called Nurtureshock: New Thinking About Children, which basically outlines ways in which traditional parenting guides have created a mythology about childhood development that is actually backfiring. Things that seem instinctive might actually not be the best things to do for our kids. Praising children and calling them clever doesn’t create more confident kids, in fact, it has the reverse effect - praising their efforts is apparently much better for their self-esteem. There are chapters on the importance of sleep, why kids lie, and how “Baby Einstein” DVDs etc. aren’t really increasing baby brain capacities at all. I’d recommend this book to any parent, old or new, but like anything in the realm of parenthood, take it with a pinch of salt. It’s all about keeping your mind open, finding out as much as you can, and making your own choices.
Darth Vader truly is the love of my life and the most rewarding, complicated (and longest!) relationship I’ve ever had. We have grown up together and are still growing. I learn something new about him every day and he is always learning about me too. And sometimes when I feel like I’ve been fumbling around in the dark not knowing what the hell I am doing, Darth Vader does something remarkable, like builds Lego meant for 14 year olds or learns a poem by Victor Hugo off by heart - and that makes me feel like I’m not in the dark at all. Parenting is challenging, complex, stressful and full of small pressures but honestly, it’s not so bad. Just don’t let yourself get lost amongst the toys, Wiggles DVDs and tiny pairs of socks. Your kids want to know you as much as you want to know them.
Carte Blanche
Sydney Opera House
And so here I am back in Paris after a lovely little trip back home to Australia. See how pretty January in Sydney can be? Sure, there is a disparity of forty degrees or so in temperature and I am back to wearing three pairs of socks under boots instead of bare feet in Havaianas with patriotic little Australian flags on them, but it is nice to be back in my other home. A small glimpse of The Eiffel Tower as I walk down the street is exciting once more. I’ve just about beat the jetlag and the French even had a grève and giant manifestation yesterday to welcome me back. Thanks France!
Next week I begin something rather insane. I will be making a weekly commute to London to attend the Faber Academy. Every Wednesday until the end of July (and the last Saturday of each month), I will be making my way into the Faber Offices in Bloomsbury to work on my novel. Finally! Some mentorship! Some structure! Some discipline! Some native English speakers! Hurrah! Behold my use of exclamation marks here, clearly I can hardly contain my excitement! But the promise of rubbing shoulders with talented writers and poet laureates and attending boozy book launches isn’t all that I am thrilled about. There is another imminent achievement that awaits.
The Eurostar Carte Blanche.
I am but 200 points away. And with two Eurostar trips per week I will be getting my hands on this much desired little card in the very near future. What is it, you ask? Well to be honest, I’m not entirely sure. I suppose it’s just a card. I don’t even think that it is white. But it will give me access to the hallowed Eurostar business lounge! Now I am not sure what goes on in there exactly but I suspect it is business. Very important business conducted by (in the words of the Eurostar website) “the privileged few”. Hello elitism. You called?
Even as a little girl I have had dreams of belonging to some elitist group, something like The Masonic Society, The Bloomsbury Set, a small street gang of intimidating thugs. All I want is to belong, but also to have others wish to belong and be denied! If the Eurostar Carte Blanche set will have me, then so be it. I even have an elaborate plan. Upon receiving my membership into this secret society, I will spend all of my spare time in the Eurostar business lounge. Even when I have no trains to catch. It’s going to become my local hangout. Laptop in tow I will find myself a spot of my own and appear to be involved in some sort of very serious business.
Others around me will notice and say “Oh, what very serious business are you conducting there?”.
“Classified.” I shall say, very mysteriously, possibly wearing some sort of mysterious hat. Yes, indoors, it doesn’t matter, this is business.
“Yes, I am also conducting very serious business,” they will reply, and then offer to buy me a gin and tonic or possibly another beverage that is slightly more business and mysterious. Perhaps a martini. Nothing says business like vermouth. And so begins my proverbial debutante ball into the world of “the privileged few”. I may take a couple as lovers, on the sly of course, there is no mystery in being overt about these things, but these dalliances shall be documented many years later in the detailed biography of The Eurostar Carte Blanche Set. A seamless plan!
It all begins on Wednesday! Exclamation mark!
New Years Resolutions and Home
Sydney Festival First Night 2009
In the very early hours of New Years Day, after accidentally catching the RER E instead of RER B en route to a party and ending up in an exciting place rather outside of Paris called Creil, where I got stranded until 5am and drank so much I threw up in a bar beside some friendly North African old men, I decided it was time to make a new years resolution. This is not something I regularly do come the first day of the year but as I walked around the empty streets of Creil with my friend and battled frostbite, I knew it was time to grab this shiny year full of promise by the reigns and give it all I’ve got. No, I didn’t resolve to stop drinking so much that I vomit on my shoes, or even to look at train numbers before jumping on board. No weight loss or huge self improvement. My New Years resolution was to blog.
For me, this is something easier said than done. I love reading blogs and I love writing and I love the internet and I love taking photos and I love everything Web 2.0 - Flickr, Twitter, Facebook, RSS feeds. Basically, I am primed for the entire concept. I even used to blog more than a decade ago. But with that pesky novel hanging over my head I seem to always forget about extra-curricular writing. What’s the point of having a brand new shiny website with nothing in it though?
Almost three weeks into 2009, I haven’t yet kept my word and developed a serious blogging habit, (I haven’t actually answered any of my emails either… sorry!) but there has been an excellent reason for this. I have been visiting the homeland. Australia. Perhaps this isn’t any excuse because people far and wide seem to able able to maintain a blog while they are sailing the high seas or trekking in Nepal, but when I come home I’m so wrapped up in the people that I love that I neglect all things internet. When I arrived home in Sydney, I spent the first 48 hours just chatting away with my wonderful Dad. I visited my Grandma. I caught up with many many friends. I played lawn bowls (I now know how I will be spending my twilight years, I was a natural). I went to the Sydney Festival First Night and the Grace Jones Concert at the Enmore Theatre. I ate lots of lovely Asian food and went for a few swims. Right now I am in Melbourne and I will be returning to Paris very soon. And when I do, I promise it will be ready, steady, blog. In the meantime, I’m just going to play with my friends and family and try desperately hard to think of interesting things to say.
Luckily a picture says a thousand words so I have a couple to make up for the last three weeks…
Antonia’s Paris
The Seine from St Michel Notre Dame
Antonia’s Paris - My Guide to the City
Ah, Paris. Before I moved here in mid 2006, everyone said to me “Wow, Antonia! Paris! You lucky thing! I’ve always wanted to live there!” but strangely Paris was never a place I had always dreamed of living. I had never had grand fantasies of the romantic Paris myth, of walking around the streets clutching baguettes, being charmed by dashing French men and oozing culture and sophistication. Or wearing chic avant-garde fashion, smoking, talking about philosophy and politics in cafés and generally pretending to be Simone de Beauvoir. But the stars aligned in such a way that here I am, and right now I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Paris is my home. [See More...]
Antonia Hayes is an Australian writer, photographer and mother of one who woke up one morning somewhere in between The Eiffel Tower and Invalides unsure how she ended up there but decided to stay anyway. Originally from Sydney, she has been living in Paris since 2006 but still can't remember which one is the Left Bank and which is the Right Bank. Antonia is currently working on her first novel and is pretty sure she lives on the Left Bank.