Baby Pictures (And Those Who Hate Them)

I might lose a few friends/followers with this one.

Social media is a big part of almost everyone’s lives these days. It’s an addiction, pure and simple. You wake up, you check your phone. On the toilet, browse through your timeline. On the train, update your status. It’s everywhere and unavoidable.

I have a child. I take a lot of pictures of him. I reckon most parents do the same. Occasionally I post the odd picture of him to Facebook or Twitter or Instagram or I stick it on this here blog. I like to show my son off if he’s doing something funny or cute but I don’t do it very often. So therefore people that complain about baby pictures though do my absolute head in.

Take Facebook. Aside from updating your status I reckon the thing most people do is share photos for their online friends to see. It’s basically what Facebook is made for. People post all manner of photos of all the various things they do in their lives, and scrolling through your own timeline you’re privy to whatever your collection of friends have decided to share, be it holiday snaps, something fun they were doing that day or, yes, baby pictures. Yet it’s only that last one that seems to get any sort of flack. I’d even go as far to say it’s the only type of picture that does.

Well, until I’ve finished this blog entry anyway.

“Ugh, so and so stuck another five pictures of his baby up today. Enough already” says a person who added 87 pictures of their most recent night out, most of which are blurry or contain at least ten near identical pictures of all their gal pals smushing their faces together. The irony apparently lost on them.*

*To clarify. I’m aware of the implied irony of this post as well, however I’m complaining about the complainers, not the pictures they put up. Mostly.

You know who you are.

You may not care about my baby pictures. That’s fine. Scroll right past them. It’s what I do with most people’s photo albums on Facebook for things that don’t interest me. I figure it’s what the majority of your Facebook friends do as well. And while you’ll never complain to the person actually putting the baby pictures up to their face, choosing instead to air a general complaint about the onslaught of baby pictures, let me hit you with this truth bomb: do you think I give a flying fuck about your poolside view, your new car or your night out? No. Not really.

If you’re making a big announcement - engagement, pregnancy etc - common decency would prompt me to write a message of congratulations, as if you’re on my friends list one assumes I like you or have some form of connection to you. And if you happen to post an interesting, cool or funny photo, or if it’s a particularly interesting, cool or funny night out, car or poolside view, I’ll ‘like’ it. But if it’s something that doesn’t really interest me, I won’t complain about it, I scroll on by.

[Right here is where I had written a theory on why I feel people don’t like baby pictures, and while I do believe it holds true to a degree, it was a little mean spirited and would almost certainly lose me some friends/followers so I deleted it. Long story short, jealousy. But that works both ways so it’s not really fair to use it against the haters of baby pics.]

Now while I understand there are people who post nearly everything their son or daughter does, up to and including pictures of their first poo in a toilet (seriously), it’s not as if parents are the only culprits. If I posted 50 photos a week of my son, I’d understand if someone told me it was excessive. No-one needs to see that many pictures of him. Frankly, no-one needs to see that many pictures of anything. I’ve written before about how Facebook is a magnet for shit you don’t care about yet look at everyday anyway, among other things, but the point is at least one person on your friends list is going to be interested in the things you post. That’s why you’re friends with them. Your family are, of course, going to be interested in pictures of your baby too and if you can make someone else on your friend list chuckle or go ‘awww’ at your picture of your child, I don’t see why you shouldn’t because a minority might sigh at ‘another baby picture.’ Fuck those people; those who’d rather expend energy complaining about it than simply scroll past and ignore it.

So next time someone moans about the amount of baby pictures someone has posted I’m going straight to their Facebook page and see how many pictures of meaningless shit they’ve posted and demand to know what the difference is.

P.S. I’m probably the worst kind of Facebook friend to have.

P.P.S. Here’s a cute picture of my son.

Daddy's Little Jedi

"And I thought they smelled bad...on the outside."

Breastfeeding Rant!

There was some research out last week about how breastfed babies are smarter. I won’t link to it, cause, well, fuck ‘em, basically.

First, some background.

We had a problem when it came to breast feeding, in that Isaac for whatever reason, just didn’t take to it. He wouldn’t latch and every attempt to do so caused a screaming match and after a few exhausting days during which my wife used the breast pump for what seemed like hours each day to get only the smallest amount of milk, we decided that bottle feeding was going to be the way to go, not through choice but through necessity of needing our son to, you know, eat. We could have kept going with the breast pump but seeing the strain it was putting on my wife (she literally had the pump clamped to her all the time whenever she wasn’t actually feeding) and how tired she was going to be if this continued, we started on the formula.

So this article has royally pissed me off.

As if there’s not enough guilting of parents who don’t breastfeed at all, we’re now told that your baby is going to suffer later in life because you didn’t – couldn’t – breastfeed.

Fuck. That.

And fuck anyone who comes to me with this news.

Stupid babies need the most attention.

There’s a culture that I’ve noticed, and I’m sure everyone else in the midst of pregnancy has too, that breastfeeding is best. That’s not the annoying part, that’s true. But the other is that if you can’t do it, or worse don’t do it, you’re a horrible mother, denying your baby of the nutrients he/she needs. I could see it in some of the (older) nurses eyes in the hospital after we noted that we were only thinking that bottle feeding might be the way to go, as we were at that stage. That look of, “well, just keep trying until the baby is absolutely starving and then we might just consider trying that heathen formula milk.” We had wanted to breastfeed, mainly because it’s natural, gives baby all they need and frankly, it’s cheaper, but were prepared to go with the flow with whatever Isaac decided. The nurses were not of this opinion. Breast is best! Breast is best! One of the nurses came in, took Isaac in her hands and practically smushed his face into my wife’s breast to try and get him to latch. Now, I’m not saying this method doesn’t work, some babies I’m sure will latch fairly quickly and there’ll be no problem. Isaac was screaming. Our baby, not even 12 hours old was being forced to do something he clearly didn’t want to. This continued over the next few days because as new parents we tended to do what we were told when it came to this sort of stuff. Still he screamed. And screamed and screamed and screamed.

Once we were home and had tried ourselves with no success we moved to formula. And he took to it with minimal fuss. Why, I have no idea, but he did and he was happy. And so were we. So to be told that by wanting our baby to have a full tummy and to give ourselves some peace of mind, we’ve doomed him for life with a lower IQ has made me very very angry.

The study itself is very vague and states that a number of other factors could also be responsible for the lower IQ, including upbringing and funnily enough, level of education.

So fuck anyone telling me that what we did for our baby was wrong.

Fuck anyone telling me that we’ve already lumbered our son with average intelligence.

And fuck the breastfeeding brigade getting up on their high horses with their “I told you so” faces.

We fed our son when he needed fed. He’s happy and healthy, and eating all the food we give to him and has done since we started weaning him before Christmas.

Rant over. 

Rascal

We have discovered our tongue.

Also, if you can guess where the quote is from, you get a point.

Sadface #wickedwednesdays

The wee man wasn't feeling the best yesterday, all tired and sad. So what did I do?

Took a picture of course.

*sniff*

And yes, I am aware that I am in dire need of a shave.

I SLEPT! I ACTUALLY SLEPT!

Isaac slept for nearly 11 hours straight last night. Which meant Jenny and I got 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Praise be to the gods.

That is all. 

This is us this morning.

A Dad's Sense of Self

Hello, my name is Jonathan and I am my own man.

Or at least I was up until seven months ago. Up until Isaac was born.

Now please don’t think for a second that I’m resentful of the fact that my son being born stymied my life so much that it’s now irreparable. That couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s just that when you become a father, a parent, everything else sort of takes a backseat. The trouble is, as I’ve found, reclaiming your sense of self. But not necessarily because it’s difficult.

I used to go to the cinema a lot before the little man was born. It wasn’t my job or anything, but I sat in a darkened room in the Odyssey Cinema complex in Belfast at least once a week and reviewed what I watched for local website Belfast Times (click here to read what I thought of movies released over half a year ago). I loved it. I love writing about films as they’re a passion of mine.

When Isaac arrived that all stopped.

Again, not bemoaning the fact that the small matter of having a young child to look after overshadowed the obviously much more important act of reviewing the talkies, but it fell by the wayside. I always assumed I would get back into it eventually (more on that later.). As I was back at work since shortly after Isaac was born, and Jenny was on maternity leave, I couldn’t afford to take the time to go to the cinema. We live around half an hour away from the Odyssey, then I’d have to park, sit through the trailers, watch a two hour plus film, then half an hour back home. For sake of argument, let’s say that’s around 4 hours. As my son’s bedtime is around 7 PM, once I’m home from work I have around 90 minutes with him. Work being kind of necessary to pay the bills, I can’t do anything about that and I try to make the most of those 90 minutes, usually by wrestling on the floor or playing peek-a-boo, a game I’m still not sure which of us gets more enjoyment from. After seven, I’m not going to trek back up to Belfast to watch a film during the week. Especially seeing as my bedtime is around 9 o’clock these days.

But the weekends? They’re my time with my boy, and as much as I would love to go to the cinema I’m not taking four hours out of my Saturday or Sunday when I could be spending it wrestling or playing peek-a-boo. It ain’t going to happen. Also, I don’t think sodding off to the cinema and leaving the wife literally ‘holding the baby’ after she’s looked after him all week on her own would go down too well. So while I have (had) lost my sense of self in a way, it’s not like I feel bad about it. My self is just different now.

Jenny, by virtue of being housebound for a lot of the week, jumps at the chance to go out on a Friday night if asked. This isn’t a regular occurrence, once a month if that, but she always asks me if she can go out. Not because I’m a domineering husband or anything (if you met me, you’d automatically know that’s not the case) and needs my permission, but I think more because she knows I don’t often go out at nights since Issac was born – not that she does either; I can count on the fingers of one hand how many evenings there’s only been one of us in the house - and wants to make sure I’m fine with staying in, not because she doesn’t think I can’t look after the wee man or because she feels guilty.

And the truth is, yeah, I am fine with it. I love it. Even though Isaac’s usually in bed by the time she leaves, I love it being just me and him. For two reasons.

1)      Jenny gets to see her friends and not have to worry about Isaac for at least a few hours in the week.

2)      I get to catch up on my TV and gaming. Score!

Our friends too understand that we’re new parents, and accommodate our changed circumstances. We’ve had our pals over to our house for dinner and drinks more often after we’ve been parents than we did before because they understand that we can’t just drop everything and head out anymore. Yes, the length between shenanigans might be longer than it was before and definitely more subdued, but you can’t have everything. They know we’re not as flexible as we once were (in more ways than one) and change their plans accordingly. And I love them for that. The same goes for our parents; every Monday my mum and dad take Isaac for the afternoon, so Jenny can go about…whatever she needs/wants to do that day. It’s usually cleaning the house. It’s invaluable, and the benefits are twofold, Isaac gets time with his grandparents and, once again, Jenny gets some me-time, even if it is spent cleaning, though she’s one of those weirdos who actually likes cleaning.

But recently, with Jenny’s maternity leave coming to an end soon, we’ve discussed a kind of reshuffle in our lives. Nothing major but enough of a change so that we get back some semblance of ourselves. For Jenny, going back to work will probably help her get back to being ‘Jenny’ and not just ‘Mummy,’ although she will obviously always be that. And for me, well, I’m getting back into the reviewing game, as well as hopefully pursuing several other avenues that interest me, but I’ll still always be Daddy. These past seven months I’ve been solely Daddy and Jenny has been solely Mummy, not forced upon us (well…) but through choice. Anytime since July I could have got back into reviewing, or gone out for the night, I just didn’t want to. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with Isaac.

I still do, but I’d like to spend some time with my hobbies. My friends.  My wife.

Myself.

He’s old enough now and we’re both confident enough in our parenting, that the other person can go out for the night (on a schoolnight???) and not have it be A Big Deal. We’re also confident enough in our choice of babysitters that we can leave Isaac with them and not have to worry. Who knows, the wife and I might even be able to go on a date(!) soon without having to bring the baby bag along too.

I can’t wait to get my sense of self back.

I love my son more than life itself but I can’t wait to get back into feeling like me again.

It’s just that feeling like ‘me’ also means feeling like a dad now.

Which is the best my self has ever been.