I know it sounds quite barmy

You arrived helped by an army

Looking pink as a salami

And you smelled like pastrami

And because you are from me

It makes so much sense, see

(Well, they did butcher me)

A quick birth for one person might be a blessing, but for another could be a massive shock to the system. A planned natural birth that needed intervention could be just as dramatic as a planned C section that ended in a home birth. A rude midwife who left you feeling uncared for – anything could leave you feeling scarred. Even with the most uncomplicated birth, there will always be a recovery process that might not just be physical.

For us women, used to feeling in control of our lives, the lack of control involved in birth can in itself be hard to accept afterwards. And, for many, that lack of control might extend to unexpected or unwanted medical interventions. With less than half of births in the UK in 2011/12 being ‘unassisted’ (potentially with pain relief including epidural but no induction, instruments, C section and so on), and the C section rate at a quarter of all births (nearly 15% of those emergency C sections), the drama and urgency of modern birth can stay with us for days, months, or years afterwards.

And what does ‘stay with us’ mean? It might be a sense of regret that something didn’t happen the way you’d hoped. It could be a sudden, heart panging memory while you’re falling asleep. Or it could be flashbacks that leave you feeling that you’re back there going through it all over again. The Birth Trauma Association estimates that, while 10,000 women a year in the UK experience Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after birth, as many as 200,000 more women feel traumatised (but may not meet the criteria for PTSD).

The way we deal with our feelings after birth can also have an impact on how much it affects us later. Although many women compare birth stories, and even ‘compete’ over how difficult birth was, these experiences can be presented as a badge of honour – so the real, stomach churning feelings underneath get swept aside. For birth partners too, who have seen you at your most vulnerable, feelings of helplessness and guilt can remain. But in the weeks after birth, when your new baby is taking up all your attention and there are far too many new things to get used to, it is easier to push down the upsetting memories. Particularly when everyone around you is telling you how lucky you are to have your healthy baby, feeling anything less than overjoyed simply doesn’t seem allowed. Sleep deprivation, a lack of time to yourself, certainly a lack of time as a couple – all mean the already hazy memories get hazier and you both just soldier on.

The trouble is, traumatic memories have a habit of jumping up and biting us on the bum just when we’re least expecting them. Even when any physical damage has healed, the psychological wounds remain as raw as ever. They could be as obvious as nightmares, or as subtle as a feeling of guilt when you look at your child. They could reappear as feeling sick when you catch a certain smell, or bursting into floods of tears at hearing about someone else’s birth.  But, because they are so raw and mixed up, it can feel easier to push them away again and try and forget about them. Until the next time One Born Every Minute is on, or you have to pass a hospital.

So why is it that difficult memories are so bloody persistent? Well, here’s one theory. When we process normal memories, we use a little seahorse shaped part of our brain called the hippocampus. This takes into account our new experiences, what we’re thinking at the time, their context, who, what, where, when, all of it. It takes that new experience and files it away in the appropriate place. So that after work drink with your mates which turned into an epic all-nighter gets filed under ‘great nights out’, and that crinkly nosed toothless smile from your 4 month old gets filed under ‘amazing baby smiles’. And the filing system is constantly getting updated and memories re-filed, so ‘great nights out’ turns into ‘madness in my youth’ and ‘amazing baby smiles’ turns into ‘amazing moments with my daughter’. So we can think of the hippocampus as a wise old administrator, efficiently keeping our memories tidy.

The trouble is, when something really rather bad happens, that wise old administrator decides to hightail it outta there. Plus, in order to cope with what’s happening, we might simply stop paying attention – let our mind go on holiday while our body is going through it. That leaves the amygdala to jump in. And if the hippocampus is a wise old administrator, the amygdala is a screaming toddler hyped up on too much fizzy pop, hairing around in a blind panic. And that’s where your memories remain, locked in the amygdala. So, when you watch One Born Every Minute, rather than a nice neatly filed memory getting taken out and examined, a great, big siren goes off, along with all the feelings and worries you had when it was stored. And because that feels so painful, it gets shoved away again – back to the panicky amygdala, un-updated and un-filed, waiting for the next reminder.

You know what I’m going to say, don’t you. Painful as it sounds, at some point, you might want to dig it up again. Of course the feelings might fade over time, and talking about your experience in itself will mean it can be updated with new information and begin to get filed a bit more neatly. But it can be worthwhile to make sure the amygdala isn’t hanging on to anything – particularly if you find it is affecting you in any way. You’ve got to be honest with yourself here. Is that a factor in your wish to avoid having any more kids? Or the reason you take a route home that doesn’t go past the hospital? Or maybe it’s more that you go over and over it in your mind when you’re doing the washing up, even months later. Or still feel furious/sad/guilty/ashamed when you think of it. It could be anything that you know might be stopping you from really filing it away.

For those who feel that the birth is affecting them on a daily basis, it might be a good idea to do this process with a professional. If you do feel that thinking, talking or writing about your birth raises your anxiety to levels you find hard to cope with, or begin to feel you’re back there – it can be helpful to use your five senses to remind yourself of where you are, and that you are safe. Paying attention to your feet on the floor for example, or looking in the mirror can pull you back into the present if necessary.

So how do you dig it up again, without just going over the same old crappy experience and potentially feeling worse? The key is thinking about what it meant to you (not to your husband who is just pleased you got out of it ok, or to your mother who tells you it was worse for her, or to your friend whose baby ended up in NICU but seems to be fine). What you’ve attributed to your experience might surprise you – it might not be anger that you needed surgical intervention, but shame that you felt violated by a particular internal exam. Then have a think about what that means to you (‘I missed out on precious bonding experiences with my baby’), or about you (‘I failed as a woman’), or about your baby (‘He put me through all that’). You’ll know you’ve hit the nail on the head when you find a big lump in your throat, or the tears start flowing.

It can be difficult to just sit and think something through, especially when birth can be a long and surreal experience. So you might want to write out your birth story, when you feel ready to, and with someone else if you are worried about how it will feel. Again, pay attention to the bits that make you feel emotional. What are you attributing here – are you making any value judgements (I should have done this, they should have done that)? Then have a think about how you felt at the time that might be leaving you feeling so emotional now – a loss of control, feeling scared, feeling afraid for your life or your baby’s life, feeling disappointed – it all counts.

You might also want to encourage your birth partner to write down their memories too. Not only could it be cathartic for them, reading their experience could be a first step in creating a new narrative for you too.

Then, when you’ve had a good cry/hug/glass of wine/bar of chocolate, have a read through it all again. Having someone kind to hand can help too. And, with all the knowledge you have now about how you are now, how your baby is now, why you made the decisions you made (if you felt that you made them) – tell your story again. Pick up those bits that made your heart hurt and think about new ways of interpreting them. Maybe ‘I failed’ turns into ‘I didn’t have the support I needed’. Or ‘They violated me’ becomes ‘They needed to act quickly and couldn’t consider my feelings’. Or ‘I didn’t try hard enough’ starts to look like ‘I did the best I could’.  Or ‘I could have lost my baby’ is replaced with ‘I now know my baby is healthy and safe’. Do this as many times as you need to, and rewrite it if you want with the new appraisals that you’ve made. What you’re doing is pulling that information away from the hyper toddler and, with the help of the wise old administrator, filing it neatly away. So it can join all the other times you had contact with medics, the times you coped well in times of stress, and the history of your life as a mum so far. And all the other examples of actually being pretty damn strong when all is said and done.

(This approach is based on Trauma Focused Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, which you can read about here. If you want to take it a step further, have a look at the Compassionate Mind approach, which has been put into a programme on Netmums )

Maybe it’s just me but I can’t seem to turn my head nowadays without coming across a new baby expert, a new parenting book, a new piece of parenting advice or a new TV show fixing the nation’s parenting problems. And I don’t think it is just me, judging from these blogs by the BabyCalm founder and the Analytical Armadillo, a lactation consultant, responding to the surge in ‘Baby trainers’.

But what is a baby expert? Why do we turn to them so readily? And why do they cause such enormous amounts of controversy?

At best, expressing an allegiance to a particular ‘school’ of parenting can lead to an implied criticism of other parenting choices (‘You don’t do Gina? Why don’t you do Gina? Do you think there’s something wrong with Gina?’) At worst, both ends of the parenting spectrum, from parent-led to child-led, have been accused of causing lasting emotional harm. In short, if you leave your child to cry themselves to sleep, that’s child abuse.  If you breastfeed your child past 6 months, that’s child abuse too.

So what do they tell us, these baby experts? Well a quick scan through advice from some of the ‘top’ experts around at the moment is enough to send you running under the covers of the nearest swaddle blanket. While Gina warns against too many cuddles, urging you to question whether it is you or your baby who wants to be held – Dr Sears (the ‘father’ of attachment parenting) advocates basically cuddling your baby all the time, by carrying them in a sling. And while the Baby Whisperer, Tracy Hogg, would call getting your baby to sleep by cuddling, rocking or feeding them ‘accidental parenting’, the Baby ‘Calmer’, Sarah Ockwell-Smith would see these as natural, essential soothing behaviours.

No wonder then that Angela Davis of Warwick University, in analysing parenting manuals of the last 50 years, found that ‘experts still cannot agree on the best way to approach motherhood, and all this conflicting advice just leaves women feeling confused and disillusioned’.

So why do we turn to them when they just leave us confused?

Because it’s bloody hard being a parent. All of a sudden you’re faced with a little package of flesh and bone which seems to contain only unbridled emotion. Those newborn mewls sound like blaring foghorns, getting through to your very core and leaving you adrenaline-pumped and helpless. There is no middle ground with a baby, who can go from content and sleepy to shaking with rage in a nano-second. Yet motherhood is supposed to be natural, so when things don’t come easily of course we look around for advice. And with shelves full of parenting manuals all promising quick fix solutions…. why wouldn’t you give them a shot? All of a sudden here’s a promise of having a bit of control over all the chaos. Those pockets of time that run from nappy change to feed to nap to nappy change in a seemingly endless loop become E.A.S.Y. – and with a bit of time to yourself thrown in there too. But what if actually there is no solution, because there isn’t really a problem?  What if the problem is actually the two of you needing to get to know each other, you having to learn an entirely new role, new timetable, new state of mind? With a new job, you’d have an induction period – what if you’re still in your induction into parenthood? What if actually the solution is you can’t control this little creature, and instead you need to learn about negotiating each other’s needs? Well, they wouldn’t sell many books if that was the solution, would they?

Because often we’re entering into parenthood straight from the workplace, and in our achievement-focused, success-driven age, we are focused on getting it right. Following a programme, whether that’s one of scheduled naps and timetabled activities, or one of baby-wearing and co-sleeping, gives us a neat little ‘to do’ list we can tick off. As long as we’re doing x, y and z, we’re doing a good job. But sometimes we can be so focused on ‘getting it right’ that we end up feeling like total, abject failures when the plan just doesn’t work. When the baby doesn’t sleep through after three nights, despite the two of you being in tears for hours. When, on putting them down in their crib at the perfect point of deep relaxation, they don’t roll over and go to sleep, they ping awake and start laughing at you. Or when, despite carrying your baby 24 hours a day, they actually still cry. And going back to the book, what are we told? That your baby’s sleep problems, crying, eating habits are your fault for creating bad habits. So instead of feeling we’re getting it right, we end up feeling we’re getting it wrong. All. The. Time.

Because maybe we’re not meant to parent alone, maybe we’re meant to parent as part of a community of grannies, aunties and kindly neighbours. So we look around for a different kind of community, and find ourselves drawn to labels – so we’re not just a parent, we’re an ‘attachment parent’, and we don’t just have a baby, we have a ‘Gina baby’.

And because maybe, at a time when ‘just’ being a Mum isn’t enough, following a parenting manual gives us something else to focus on, a marker of success. And, dare I say it, a way to justify our choices because, in our unbaby-friendly world, it can feel too difficult to own what we’re doing. So, instead of just being the Mum we want to be, we back up our choices with the words of others who have a bit of research to back them up.

But do they actually have research to back them up? When you look at their credentials, often you find advice that is based on a lot of anecdotal evidence – the babies they’ve worked with over the years. Thankfully there is a newer breed who actually backs up their advice with scientific fact. Of course science isn’t everything, and generalised advice cannot suit every baby (and of course, your baby will always, always be the exception to the rule). But some of these experts deem it appropriate to actually contradict scientific evidence, pooh-poohing such silly things as SIDS guidelines, the NHS advice on starting solids and the WHO breastfeeding guidelines. And some of the advice is downright dangerous and openly abusive (including using a rod to discipline – and that’s from a book that’s sold more than 670,000 copies).

So why don’t we turn to those who have devoted their careers to studying infant development, parenting outcomes and perinatal mental health? Well, probably because they’re not found at the front of the book shop, they’re found in the basement. Their books aren’t marketed, they don’t appear on breakfast TV and they haven’t got a spin-off show on solving sleep problems. And, I’ll admit it, in a sleep-addled state with reading time reduced to ten minute bursts, I know I’d rather look at this than this. But these are the books which don’t talk about changing the baby, they talk about such outlandish solutions as increased parental support, evidence-based interventions, and the influence of cultural, social and relationship factors on families. Madness.

It’s probably worth an aside here just to mention where most baby training advice comes from. The roots of much of the advice around at the moment is in behaviourism – which was first brought to the world in 1913 by J.B. Watson, and was the ruling paradigm in psychology research until the 1970s. To massively oversimplify a century of research, the central tenet of behaviourism is that internal processes (thoughts, feelings, and suchlike) are not important in understanding and changing human behaviour. Instead, our behaviour is reduced to a response to an environmental stimulus.

The clearest example is conditioning. In classical conditioning, two stimuli are paired together to create a response. The best known example (alongside Pavlov’s dogs), was the Little Albert experiment conducted by Watson in 1920. By creating a loud, frightening noise whenever Albert (a 9 month old boy – yep, 9 months old) was presented with objects such as a white rat and a rabbit, Watson was able to condition him to fear the objects even when the noise was not made. He used this experiment to show that emotional responses could be conditioned in humans, as well as animals.  

In operant conditioning (Skinner, 1948 – who conducted most of his experiments on rats), suggests that behaviour is modified by the consequences of that behaviour – whether it is positively or negatively reinforced. Simply put, we will increase behaviour that gives us rewards, and decrease behaviour that gives us no reward, or leads to punishment.

Now, it’s easy to see how readily this applies to babies (and people in general). When a baby coos at us and we smile back, there’s positive reinforcement right there, leaving that baby much more likely to coo again. And there’s no denying that behaviourism is an incredibly useful concept, bringing scientific rigour to psychology, and showing us one root of social behaviour. And, like I said before, it gives quick results. So, by all means, use behavioural techniques. Use a lullaby to make a sleep association. Put a star on a chart when those teeth get brushed. Ignore that nose picking.

But the trouble with behaviourism when applied to babies (and people in general) is that I’d like to think we’re not just defined by our behaviour. You can just look at a newborn to see how much of his or her behaviour is instinctive, not environmental, such as the rather amazing way a newborn can find its way to the breast if left to its own devices. And what behaviourism leaves out is pretty important – the impact of conditioned responses on those pesky thoughts and feelings. Because we’re not a black box, in fact as neuroscience is proving, these things have a feedback loop. It’s not just that response affects behaviour, but that response affects brain affects behaviour affects response….

So we have to ask what is the consequence of extinguishing unwanted behaviour, when that behaviour might actually be pretty necessary later in life? What happens to a baby that cries at 2am, and isn’t responded to because it’s the wrong time? Well, no reward, so the behaviour will be extinguished. Well done Skinner, but learning not to ask for help isn’t so helpful when you’re 17 (here are a few other consequences if you’re interested).

I stress again that behaviourism has its place, but it has been used in a number of ways we would now see as highly unethical, such as behaviour therapy to ‘cure’ homosexuality. Are we using it now to ‘cure’ what is essentially just being a baby?

On the other side of the spectrum to behaviourist methods, is the growth in ‘natural’ parenting – attachment parenting, gentle parenting, peaceful parenting etc etc. I’ve talked before about attachment theory, on which attachment parenting is (very loosely) based. William Sears and his wife Martha have written extensively on parenting to foster a secure attachment. They propose eight ‘principles’ for parenting, including using nurturing touch (largely interpreted as babywearing and frequent contact) and ensuring safe sleep (responding to babies’ cues throughout the night, and often promoting co-sleeping). Natural parenting methods often hark back to more instinctive parenting – and this is exactly where they meet the most criticism (and there is a lot of it! Here’s some right here, which I chose for the beautiful title ‘Babies are Assholes’). It’s pretty hard to relate to the ways of the Yequana tribe when you’re late for a meeting, your baby is screaming in the carseat, your car won’t start and you’ve just noticed you’ve got yoghurt on your tights. Attachment parenting has also been criticised for being overly demanding on parents, contributing to a “culture of total motherhood” (Judith Warner, Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety), unfeminist and to blame for creating needy little tyrants. Like the baby training methods, it too is largely unresearched (at the moment) and, while based on attachment theory, its principles do not actually correspond to attachment research.

But of course, looking at both ends of the spectrum, it’s inevitable that trouble will brew when any advice is followed to the letter. Of course it’s harmful to a baby to be left to alone to cry until they make themselves vomit because they’re supposed to be sleeping. Of course it’s exhausting for mothers to attend to their child’s every single need, carry them constantly and never take them off the breast. But when we look at what the baby experts are actually suggesting, often it’s a bit less black and white than that. All Gina is really doing is encouraging routine. All Dr Sears is really doing is encouraging responsiveness. So why follow them to the letter?

We’re back to instincts again – and I’m not talking about the instincts of a South American tribe, I’m talking about your instincts. In a way, it’s your instincts which might lead you to choose between a Gina and a Dr Sears. Aaaaaages ago, I talked about Joan Raphael Leff’s model of facilitator mums (who adapt to their baby) and regulator mums (who adapt the baby to them) (we could talk about this in attachment terms too…but I’ll save that for another time). You can see why a regulator mum might be attracted to Gina, and a facilitator mum might be attracted to Dr Sears. And you can also see why this might lead to those mummy wars we’re always reading about – because regulator mums think facilitator mums are barmy for responding to their baby’s every sniffle, while facilitator mums can’t understand why regulators aren’t picking up their crying baby. And you can also see why the middle ground of reciprocator mums (who negotiate her own needs and the baby’s) is perhaps the least stressful for all concerned.

Too often we push down our instincts, and instead ask ‘what does the book say?’ (or at least Nick Clegg does). But your gut will tell you more about your baby than any book. At this point I should say something about how you’re the expert in your baby. But actually, while they may need a bit of guidance now and again, your baby is the expert. We are only the students – and we are always, always learning.

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And still you feed on

There’s dinner to be made

But you want to be swayed

There’s telly to see

You won’t let go of me

There are sisters to call

You curl up in a ball

There are parents to Skype

You grouch and you gripe

There are husbands to see

You crawl back to me

There are books to write

Are you asleep? Not quite

There are problems to solve

Round the bed you revolve

There are worlds to change

(I’m becoming deranged)

Oh- at last there’s a snore!

I’ll stay one moment more

Watching that tiny, wise face, it is hard to believe that there was once a time when we thought of babies as ‘blank slates’ – little packages of nothingness ready to soak up experience only from birth. We now know that babies are learning almost from the moment of conception (as I touched upon here), using the information they receive in the womb to adapt to the world they are being born into.

Not only that, but the growing body of epigenetic research is proving the nature vs nurture debate is much more complicated than we ever thought, and changing the way we think about health and personality. This has shown us that the interaction between genes and environment is twofold – not only that the environment can influence the way genes are ‘switched on’ (or not), but also that our grandparents’ and even greatgrandparents’ environment may influence us now. (Here is a rather scary study linking asthma to grandparents’ nicotine ingestion….in rats, and here is a great article about epigenetic research findings – especially the last section). (Oh, and here is one to add to guilt about chocolate eating during pregnancy, as it turns out diet even before pregnancy can impact on our kids. Great).

And let’s add to that all that your baby brings to the equation. We talk a lot nowadays about parenting, but what about temperament? Spend time with enough newborns and it becomes clear that, far from being blank slates, these little bundles are a myriad of differing desires, emotions and expressions. While one baby can happily pass an hour staring at a shadow on a wall, another may go through the whole gamut of experience from exuberant joy to existential crisis in the same time. Thomas, Chess and Birch’s classic study, published in 1968, identified nine ‘characteristics’ of temperament, each of which exists on a continuum. While there is still disagreement about the amount and description of temperamental characteristics, and some researchers suggest its still just all about nurture (let’s go back to womb environment for one explanation), it’s worthwhile taking a look and thinking about where your baby might fit on such a continuum (have a look on p4 here). With dimensions including regularity (how much or little a child has a natural routine) and sensory threshold (how sensitive a child is to stimuli like noise, taste, touch), if nothing else it can be reassuring to see how little control we may have over our babies’ sleeping, eating and mood.

So behind that peachy smooth skin, along with the usual blood and organs and the like, is a veritable jumble of DNA, genetic history, social experience, temperamental characteristics, and oh so much more.

And yet.

When that tiny mouth emits a tiny squawk, it can be hard to remember that this really is a little person with a mind of their own. It can be easy to change a nappy without making eye contact (let alone thinking about whether that mat is a bit cold on their skin), to pass them around like a grizzly parcel, to tune out cries that have been going on a bit too long for your liking. But now we’re back to the nurture thing, because although your baby is bringing a whole host of things to your relationship, it’s up to you (and those around you) to determine how those things are managed, shaped and, well, nurtured. While later on your baby will become more and more able to communicate their experience, even now there are a whole range of tiny cues that can let you know when they are happy or sad, overstimulated or bored. And, yes, the way you respond to those experiences now will influence how, and whether, they learn to communicate them.

In talking about temperament, an important phrase is ‘goodness of fit’. That is, the compatibility of your child’s temperament to the family environment they land in. You can go back to that continuum of temperamental characteristics and have a think about where you sit to get some idea of this compatibility (a bit like those starsign romance predictions, is your baby the stormy Scorpio to your orderly Virgo?). Thomas, Chess and Birch summarised their findings by describing babies as easy, difficult or slow-to-warm-up – but actually one person’s ‘difficult’ may be another’s ‘exciting’. Thinking about where you and your baby might converge, and collide, can give you some clues about why you might find certain aspects of parenting particularly challenging. And that can make it that little bit easier to think about how to smooth the way for the aspects of your baby’s temperament which might cause them distress. For example, knowing that your baby seems particularly sensitive to noise may make the difference between you enjoying that Sunday pub lunch after a gradual entry, and you standing outside with a howling bag of nerves.

Anything else that could make it easier to read these little mysteries? In my last post, I talked about attachment and the importance of a ‘primary caregiver’. To take it a step further, attachment research since then, in looking at what determines a secure attachment, has focused on parental responses. It may seem obvious but actually just responding is a pretty good first step, and one which is often discouraged in our culture with its fear of ‘spoiling’ a baby. You can see how distressing it can be for a baby to be faced with a blank response by watching the still-face experiment.

But, it’s not just responding that’s important (“What? You mean a clean nappy and a full belly really isn’t enough??!”). The quality and type of response is important too. Here’s a bit of theory. The fantastically named DeWolff and van IJzendoorn (1997), collated 66 studies and found that sensitivity (responding efficiently to a baby’s signals) was an important (although not exclusive) precursor to secure attachment.  More recently, researchers have also explored particular types of response which might promote a secure attachment, such as the level of engagement a parent shows in an interaction with their baby, and the insight a parent might have into their baby’s inner world.

But the one I like the most, coined by Elizabeth Meins, is mind-mindedness. She found that babies with mothers who were able to make accurate interpretations of their infants’ mental states were more likely to be securely attached. In other words, getting right into the messy little head of your baby can only bring you closer. The importance of parental mind-mindedness in helping children understand both their own minds and the minds of others has influenced a whole body of psychological research and practice (you can read more if you fancy Googling Peter Fonagy and Mary Target, or you can have a scan through this).

And, going back to the nature/nurture thing, what’s even more incredible is that those responses can hugely influence the way our babies develop. Let’s take the concept of mirroring. You know that little thing you do when your baby starts to grizzle and you frown, turn down your mouth, hunch your shoulders? Or you catch a smile starting at your baby’s lips and realise you are grinning ear to ear and waggling your head around? Well, not only are you letting your baby know you understand how he or she feels, you’re also laying down the groundwork for them to understand and regulate their own emotions. And not only that, but those responses can even affect the way your baby’s brain develops. I know you’ve probably had enough theory by now but Sue Gerhardt’s ‘Why Love Matters’ and Margot Sunderland’s ‘The Science of Parenting’ are both fascinating books exploring just this.

So now you’re supposed to not only feed, clothe, clean and soothe your baby, you’ve also got to assess their temperament, read their cues accurately, get into their heads and influence their frigging BRAINS???!

Well, the beauty of it is you’re most likely doing it all already. Have a think about it next time you’re having a chat with your baby. How do you know they are ready to chat, want a bit more or have had enough? And take a deep breath and tune into that invisible cord we talked about last time. It isn’t long since you and your baby were physically connected, and when you quiet all the voices telling you differently, it’s not so hard to get into the mind of that wise little soul. Of course you’ll get it wrong sometimes. I mean, you’re not a bloody mind reader.

We talk about separation anxiety appearing around 8 or 9 months of age, when babies begin to recognise and show a preference towards what is familiar (including you!) and become distressed at situations that appear unusual. As they learn about object permanence – realising that things and people can continue to exist even when they’re out of sight – babies also realise that they can be left. But worrying about separation starts much earlier than that, whether it’s your anxiety that your baby won’t cope without you, your baby’s fear of being left, or your guilt at wanting some time apart.

Separation between mother and child is a hot topic as ideas around separation have influenced the whole field of parent-infant psychology. Attachment theory describes ‘the bond that ties’ an infant to its mother, and the necessity of this proximity for the infant’s survival. Since its inception in the 1950s, attachment theory has become a key concept both in understanding child development and in describing and understanding the nature of our relationships throughout the lifespan. In fact John Bowlby, the father of attachment theory, began his exploration into the importance of the maternal relationship after discovering that emotional disturbances in later childhood could be traced back to being separated or deprived of a mother (or mother substitute), leading to his ‘maternal deprivation hypothesis’. You can read more about the roots of attachment theory here and attachment theory is well described on Wikipedia.

Subsequent research has considered the nature and length of significant separations. The pattern of attachment an infant has (the way in which the infant relates to his or her mother or other caregiver) continues to be assessed by examining their response to separation and subsequent reunion. (This is known as the Strange Situation, developed by Mary Ainsworth).

So what does this have to do with you? Attachment theory reflects the fundamental importance of developing one special relationship with a ‘primary caregiver’. In other words, it underlines how important you really are. “You” might be dad, granny, auntie, family friend but these days the primary caregiver role still usually falls to mum*. This is an importance you may already feel but which isn’t always apparent in a world which sometimes encourages mothers to act as though parenting is just another job to them, rather than a transformative, highly emotional experience.

This developing attachment relationship is seen as going through stages, from lacking in any personal preference as a newborn (at this point your baby doesn’t even know it exists as an individual let alone that you are an individual too!), through development of a strong attachment to one figure and finally allowing multiple attachments to form. The relationship with a primary caregiver is seen as acting as a blueprint for other relationships throughout the individual’s life, and it is when this is interrupted that difficulties can arise. This primary caregiver acts as a ‘secure base’ for the child, from which he or she can begin to explore the world around, initially alongside the caregiver and, later, further afield -  having internalised an idea of a trusted caregiver.

Ummm, what?

Well, let’s put it this way. All those times you say ‘Sssh, it’s ok’ to your screaming newborn, your tantruming toddler, your frustrated child and your heartbroken teenager – mean that they can say ‘ssssh, it’s ok’ to themselves when they’ve flown the nest and you’re miles away.

Of course, the idea of a primary caregiver fit neatly into the society in which Bowlby, and later Ainsworth, were living. In the 50s and 60s children were more likely to be raised by one consistent caregiver, usually the mother, or a grandmother. Even where nannies and nursemaids were used, they were more likely to stay within a family to raise a whole generation of children. Nowadays, when both parents often work, families often live miles apart and a single consistent carer is unaffordable, the idea of a ‘primary caregiver’  may seem unmanageable. Our expectations of what it means to be a mother have also changed, alongside a shift which has led to independence being valued over community.

So, separation will almost inevitably happen with your child. It is important that it happens in a way and at a time that suits both you and your baby. This will depend on your own needs, as well as external circumstances such as returning to work, and your baby’s age and temperament. How your baby copes will also be influenced by who looks after him or her. Where possible, it is helpful to choose someone (or someones) as close as possible to a ‘secure base’ – who will be sensitive to the needs of your baby, respond to his or her wishes and can build a stable relationship with them. Remember that every time you leave your baby, even just to go out of the room, they also learn that you will return. Letting them know that you’re leaving, even if they don’t yet have the language to understand, will help them to realise that separations also lead to reunions.

But what if you don’t want to leave? Or, what if actually you really, really want to leave but just don’t feel your baby would cope without you? What if you do leave, but feel like your leg is missing? Essentially, what if it feels like that umbilical cord is still attached?

Whether or not you are able to stay with (or leave) your baby as much as you’d like, the importance of the primary caregiver – the secure base – is one to remember. When your baby relaxes into your arms, that’s a sign that you’re important. When they reserve their best smiles for you, that’s another sign. When they give everyone else their best smiles and you get the meltdown later on – well, that’s a sign too because they know you’re the one to make it all better. I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty. Or scared. Rather, to feel proud. For a few months at least, and to someone very special, you really are the centre of the universe.

*There are pages and pages to write on this fact. On whether parenthood should be a shared responsibility so women are not held back in their careers. Or whether this just creates more pressure on women who may want to focus on their family. Not to mention whether either parent staying at home is even affordable. And then there’s that teeny little detai that we are, actually, all different and may, actually, want different things.

Don’t get me started.

Things To Say to New Mums

How are you getting on?

What’s changed since I last saw you and the baby?

Where’s the Hoover kept?

What do you want for dinner?

What can I do to help?

Let me know if you want a bit of time to yourself, I’m happy to watch the baby for an hour or so

Here – I’ve brought a little something just for you

Wow, aren’t you a natural!

I LOVE the name you’ve chosen

I’ll just pop in with some food then be on my way

Trust your instincts, you know your baby better than anyone

(If breastfeeding) How’s it going – it can be hard work! (Come armed with the National Breastfeeding Helpline for bonus points – 0300 100 0212)

Oh look how adoringly he looks at you

She looks just like you

You’re such a good mum

You’re obviously doing a brilliant job

That’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen

Being a mum IS a job and a very productive one!

Can I get you a cup of tea?

Nap when your baby naps….and I’ll sort out the housework

It’s normal

It will pass

Things Never to Say to New Mums

Blimey you look tired

Ah, enjoy every minute (what if they’re not??!)

You’re looking too skinny

You’re still carrying the extra weight, then?

Don’t you think it would be better if….

So, why did you choose THAT name?

She cries a lot doesn’t she?

He’s definitely hungry/tired/windy

Oh don’t worry, she’ll soon fill out/slim down

You’re breastfeeding? Isn’t that a bit…

You’re bottlefeeding? But what about…..

You’d feel better if you put a bit of make up on

We’ll just drop in for the day. With our kids. And pets….

You’re creating a rod for your own back with that rocking/nursing/cuddling

In my day, we did things like this

Is that normal?

Oh, you must be struggling.

She looks just like your great uncle George

My baby slept through from 2 weeks

How long will it take for your tummy to get back to normal?

Nap when your baby naps. Can I have a cup of tea?

Should you really be doing…

Never….

You musn’t….

You should…

Cocooned in the crook of my arm

Examine your crinkly lids

Alien feet

Rosebud lips

“Why don’t you put her down dear?

Get some rest yourself?’

But, for now, I’m going to let myself love you

I rock your tense, taut body

Contained in the curve of my neck

Soothe your screaming lips

Flushed brow

Powerful lungs

“You’ll create a rod for your back dear

Just let her cry it out”

But, for now, I’m going to let myself love you

I nurse your drowsy body

Cushioned on my lap

Stroke your growing hair

Chubby feet

Busy hands

“She needs to learn to self-soothe dear

Just leave her in her cot”

But, for now, I’m going to let myself love you

I gaze at your soft, still body

Nestled on my chest

Meet your watchful eyes

Smell milky breath

Porridgey skin

“You’ll make her too clingy dear

Pop her in her swing”

But, for now, I’m going to let myself love you

I lie next to your snoring body

One hand on my arm

Watch your rising chest

Far flung leg

Flickering lids

“She’ll never leave your bed dear

Put her in her own room”

But, for now, I’m going to let myself love you

I rush to your screeching body

Toppled on the floor

Kiss your bonked head

Tear filled eyes

Dribbling nose

“You’ll make her into a sap dear,

Leave her, she’s alright”

But, for now, I’m going to let myself love you

I sit by your wriggly body

Crawling across the rug

Fetch rolled-away toys

Bang cups

Share smiles

“Children should be seen and not heard dear,

Ignore her, she’s got to learn”

But, for now, I’m going to let myself love you.

Because now you’re too big to lie on the chest that once cushioned your head.

That used to rest on my shoulder.

That now peers around instead.

Because now you’re too heavy to rock in my arms that cradled your body tight.

That used to find comfort in me.

That now sleeps through the night.

And soon you’ll be crawling away from me. Walking out of my door.

Running into your own life.

Seeing the world, and more.

So I hold your sleeping body

Stretched out on my lap

Kiss your sweaty brow

Toothy mouth

Long lean limbs

“You are the bows from which your children

As living arrows are sent forth”

So, for now, I’m going to let myself love you.

Not only is this important for you, but it’s pretty much essential for your baby. The whole idea of primary maternal preoccupation ensures that you are highly attuned to your baby’s needs, to promote their survival and ease their arrival into the noisy, bright and chaotic world. While you’re going through the biggest transition of your life, your baby is too. Literally. Just imagine lying in a flotation tank, comfortably suspended (ok, a little squashed) in a perfect balance of no hunger, no cold, just the familiar rhythm of a heartbeat, muffled noises and gentle rocking. And then the door opens and instead of being wrapped in a big fluffy dressing gown and handed a steaming cup of cocoa, a torch is shoved into your eyes, trance music is blasted into your ears and twenty people all poke at you wanting your attention. And you’re starving, and cold, and maybe you’ve pooed your pants. And you can’t do a damn thing about it because you can’t move. Wouldn’t you feel like crying?

Dr Harvey Karp, author of ‘The Happiest Baby on the Block’ has called the first three months of a baby’s life ‘The Fourth Trimester’ and suggests that parents treat themselves as a ‘walking uterus’. Your baby’s underdeveloped body echoes this. Born with a brain less than a third of the size of an adult brain (possibly as a more developed brain would mean a head that couldn’t fit through the bipedal pelvis), much of your child’s development will take place in the first year. His or her brain will grow by around 35% and, from about two months before birth, trillions of connections are made (and made and made and made – in fact, many more than we need, which is why some are ‘pruned’ from about 11 years of age to make your brain a very efficient organ indeed). In a sense, then, your baby is born as a parched sponge, soaking up every bit of information that comes its way. But also about as useful.

Emulating life in the womb for this frazzled, overwhelmed and overstimulated creature is one of the kindest things you can do for your newborn. For him or her, the only thing that has remained the same in the journey from the womb is you. If your only job for the next few weeks is gently helping your baby make the transformation from crinkly peanut to plump infant, it will set you both up for the coming months. Your newborn learns that the world isn’t such a scary place after all with you by their side, and you learn that you’re able to understand and soothe this little ball of mysteries.

Sounds easy, right?

The thing is, with all that growth going on in there, trying to make sense of noise and movement and sight when you don’t even know what’s a noise and what’s a movement… that little sponge can get very upset sometimes. Not even upset, but experience a ‘feeling storm’ of confused senses and emotions which results in an almighty howl. To you, it can seem like your newborn has two settings – life is ok, and EVERYTHING IS AWFUL!!!! And all of your energy can go into keeping things ok, only for it all to be ABSOLUTELY AWFUL!!!! again. And you can manage to get it back to being ok, but then you’ve got to carry on keeping it ok, you can’t go for a fag break, or a cup of tea break, you’ve just got to try and maintain this fragile equilibrium.

So what do you do? The temptation is to try and restore some sort of order. You’re not going to be one of those weary mums with a puke stained jumper and hair that hasn’t been washed in days. Right? But yet you have one of those tricky babies who won’t be put down, who is hungry yet again and will only sleep on you. You could, of course, keep trying, and eventually it’ll work. But remember that thing about the walking uterus? There’s a reason your baby doesn’t want to be put down – or be anywhere that isn’t warm, soft and with a heartbeat. And, sorry to say, but trying to encourage newborns to sleep anywhere else can increase stress for them – and for you when they wake up after ten minutes.

So why not just hold them? It’s all warm and snuggly, you get to smell that milky breath and they get exactly what they want. And what’s so bad about sitting on the sofa with a sleeping baby, perhaps watching a film or reading a book. Ok, it helps to get a glass of water first, a handy remote control and make sure you’ve been to the loo.

But what about the washing up? And the hoovering? And there’s the food shopping to do, and I need to get dressed. Plus if I keep holding him all the time, won’t he get dependent on that? And if I cuddle her to sleep, she’ll never sleep alone will she? Not to mention I’m exhausted and I need a bit of time out.

If we accept that babies are needy, and that they turn to us (and those around us) to meet their needs, how can we make that acceptable for us?

Usually at this point I would say something like, you’ve got to do what’s right for you and your family. And, of course, you do. But there’s something to be said for the fact that we in the West are very unusual in our insistence on getting babies to do things on their own as soon as they’re out of the womb. And sometimes it’s worth questioning all the voices which encourage you to do things one way – and listen to the little sponge who’s asking for something a little different.

So how do we meet that need to be close when, let’s face it, there are showers to be had and lunches to make? Let’s start with the practicalities. Parents (and grandparents, siblings and childminders) swear by slings to enable baby to get all the warmth and cosiness he or she needs while enabling you to have both hands free. Not only are there a whole host of benefits for the baby, but most slings cost a fraction of the price of a pram. There are a few things to consider though, not least the type of sling and position your baby is carried in (in short, facing you, with the chin away from the chest and with legs held in a ‘froggy’ position is best for baby).

Although ‘babywearing’ has become increasingly popular – and perhaps easy to dismiss as another parenting fad –this single behaviour can have an enormous impact. Way back in 1990, researchers found that carrying a baby in a soft carrier versus a separate seat promoted secure attachment, Let’s be clear here, this alone can have a positive impact on your relationship – who can argue with that?

There are other ‘behaviours’ too which can help your baby continue to feel connected. Staying with them during sleep ensures you are close at hand when they invariably wake up, maximises sleep for you and has the added bonus of making you feel like a pack of tangled up lions. And yes, I should say something here about safe sleeping practices but you are an intelligent human being who doesn’t want to squash your baby so let’s take that as a given. Plus, planned co-sleeping is hugely preferable to dozing off on the sofa. Feeding on demand rather than to a schedule also helps your baby feel that their needs will be met as they arise. If you’re breastfeeding, the emphasis here is on demand (which is actually pretty normal). In fact, these two practices are also closely linked. Sleeping with your baby has also been found to increase the likelihood that you will continue to breastfeed and, for the record, has actually been associated with a decreased risk of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

And just to deal with the age old ‘but won’t all that make my baby really clingy’ argument – the beauty of the development of a secure attachment (more on attachment in another post) is that it will enable your baby to feel confident in exploring the world. So, less clingy (or, at least, it says so here and here). Ultimately, what all of these practices do is make it easier for you (or your partner) to respond to your infant, ensuring that all those new big terrifying sensations are dampened down and soothed away.

Of course these things may not be for you, and how quickly the transition is made from being held in utero to being a separate being ex utero will vary from family to family. And of course, I’m not saying that not doing these things will mean you’re going to f*&k up your kids (just as doing these things doesn’t guarantee you’re not!) But practicalities aside, what’s really important is that the only way you can really ‘hold’ your baby is if you feel held yourself. How do you meet those demands on less sleep than you’ve ever had and when you can barely remember your own name? Only if you hold yourself in your mind,  by thinking about what you need to make this experience a pleasure rather than a stress. This might also mean reducing all the other demands you feel you have. By doing so, you might find that you have been working hard to meet demands that aren’t really there. People really won’t mind getting their own cup of tea when they come to visit, and you really don’t have to reply to all of those congratulations texts. Of course, sometimes the demands are urgent. But, as you’ll know when you’ve heard that piercing, angst ridden cry – nothing is as urgent as a newborn who needs attention.

It helps if you have others who can hold you too. Whether this means having someone on hand to pass you a glass of water when your little sponge has fallen asleep on you again, or to be the warm heartbeat while you have that shower, or even just to remind you that you’re still you and ask how you’re feeling. Or, sometimes, to really, truly hold you so you can have that warm heartbeat yourself.

Because of the myth of an instant love when you clock your child for the first time, these initial moments can already lead to feelings of guilt and inadequacy. Why didn’t your heart burst at the seams when you first saw your baby? Well, you’ve just been through the most physically exhausting feat, your life has changed completely, you are holding in your arms the most precious thing you’ve ever known – it’s a lot to take in! Like any relationship, it will develop over time and in the weeks and months to come you’ll get to know each other and slowly fall more and more deeply in love with one another.

Entering into motherhood can feel a lot like being ripped in two – between the individual that you once were and the mother you are growing into.  You might feel completely obsessed with your new baby, but unable to talk about it because it feels so unusual. Or you might be panic stricken at the enormous sense of responsibility you now hold. From having been a well functioning member of society, suddenly your universe revolves around a miniscule bundle, the sofa and bed. A day is no longer a day but broken into segments of feeding, sleeping and pooing. At the back of your mind you may remember the person you were before, and marvel that she ever existed without this baby. It may feel as though a bubble begins to form around you and your baby, sometimes a sanctuary from the world outside but at others a place of immense loneliness that nobody can truly enter with you. It can become difficult to focus on any conversation, your partner can feel lightyears away and you may oscillate between a gentle serenity and manic terror.

This pinpoint focus is actually a crucial step in becoming a mother, which the psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott termed ‘primary maternal preoccupation’. At this stage, your newborn doesn’t yet know they are a separate being, and is turning to you to regulate every experience – whether that’s hunger, pain, discomfort, wetness, cold or, at times, abject misery.  Your preoccupation with him or her allows you to tune in to every need, physical and emotional, in order to ensure a sense of safety in this brand new environment. Winnicott also said ‘there is no such thing as a baby’ – implying that a baby cannot exist without a mother (or another consistent caregiver).

If you can allow yourself to enter into the bubble, you can enter a world where everything feels deliciously different. Time is altered, hours can go by when you feel you’ve done nothing but gaze at your child, or you can be shocked that only minutes have passed since the last feed. You enter into a new state, neither asleep nor awake, just existing together in an unfamiliar symbiosis.

Whether or not you are able to enter into the bubble depends on many things – your own parenting history, your external circumstances, and the support of those around you. If you have to return to work, it can feel too difficult to enter such an intense relationship as it will be too heart wrenching to leave. Instead, your bubble may quickly expand to include other caregivers. Your own history can also influence whether or not you are able to submerge yourself in this bubble. Another psychoanalyst, Joan Raphael Leff, talks about a model of mothering which explores how focused you are on your babies’ needs versus your own needs. She describes three types of mother, although we will shift between these at different times. The Facilitator adapts to her baby, the Regulator expects the baby to adapt to her, while Reciprocators stand in the middle. A Facilitator, therefore, may find these initial days thrilling – all she has to do is nurture her baby, and cast off her own needs or desires. As her baby grows in independence and needs her less, she may miss the intense neediness and mourn for those newborn days. A Regulator, however, may feel terrified at the idea of submerging herself in another’s dependency. The change may feel too different from that which was before.

Our society too promotes a more ‘Regulator’ type of approach to mothering. We are impatient to put our babies into routines, to manage them like we have learned to manage our busy lives, to continue our separate lives and deny their importance to us. Shops are full of devices which allow us to distance ourselves from the business of mothering, from prams which rock themselves to bears with heartbeats. Others are full of ‘shoulds’ about how you ‘shouldn’t nurse him to sleep, you’ll create a rod for your own back’ and that you ‘shouldn’t pick her up every time she cries, you’ll teach her to seek attention’. It can feel easier to follow these than to exist in the uncertain state of learning to look after somebody you don’t really know yet.

Of course, using a swing to calm your baby while you have a much-needed cup of tea may, at times, be necessary for your sanity. But trying too much to fit your new baby into the life you had before can only lead to resentment when they inevitably don’t sleep when they’re supposed to, cry for ‘no reason’ and…well, need you just to be there. Allowing yourself to immerse in it all for a little while, letting yourself drift into chaos just for a few weeks, will also mean that you can give yourself time to settle into becoming a mum. This is a new job that you are creating moment by moment, which no-one else can really tell you how to do. Although full of advice, nobody knows your baby like you do. And while you might seek that one amazing fix-all tip which will make everything feel manageable again – and might even find it – it’ll only last for a week or two before your baby changes again.

Enjoy the bubble.  Relish the chaos. It won’t last for long. You’ll get your brain back. Rock your baby if you want to, lose yourself for hours in that little sleeping face and rest assured life will return to normal – if a new kind of normal. And don’t worry about making a rod for your own back. After nine months of carting that big bump around, you’ve got a very strong back.