I'm a lesbian parenting guru. It's official.
A friend of a friend invites me out to lunch and tells me that her partner's expecting a baby in December. She's got lots of questions for me and I, feeling rather chuffed to be asked, do my best to provide experienced answers.
'What sort of buggy should they buy?' she asks. 'Is it advisable to attempt to fly to New Zealand with a six month old? We have an enormous 4x4 style buggy because it came secondhand from a friend, and have never embarked on even a short hop flight with E, so my answers are somewhat vague.
But then she asks one question where I think I know the answer straightaway. Until I realise a few days later that I don't.
We talked about how each couple had decided who would be the biological mother and who would play the supporting role. It turns out we'd each made this decision in very different ways and for different reasons. 'So, are you jealous?' my lunch companion asked.
I'd never wanted to be the biological mother. For me, the wonder of watching a baby emerge squashed and squalling into the world is much preferable to the pain of pushing that same baby out.
I know that however exhausting and frantic it proved trying to balance my worktime with time looking after E during those first few months, I find doing both is enriching. I'm secretly glad to escape the world of toddler groups and competitive baby-rearing and find refuge in my adults-only office.
So am I jealous? No way.
Then on Saturday, on my watch and as R slept, E rolled herself off the bed. Crash.
How she screamed. How I trembled. How we both went running to mummy to make everything all right.
And it turns out I am jealous after all. Not of R's status as biological mother, but of her confidence. She checks E for damage with no sign of panic, believing that no real harm's been done, and soon I can see that E begins to believe this too and her crying stops.
Similarly, when E won't sleep, R believes that sleep will come. Her confidence means there's no need for emergency pram-pushing round the block, just patience and calm.
That's not to say that R never gets cross or fraught or anxious. But something about having spent virtually every hour with E since she was born gives her a confidence that I am only gradually learning.
It's clear that I'm a long way off being a lesbian parenting guru. I'm not sure how much wisdom I might have to share with other people, but at least I've learnt something new about myself this week. And that's a pretty good place to start.
A friend of a friend invites me out to lunch and tells me that her partner's expecting a baby in December. She's got lots of questions for me and I, feeling rather chuffed to be asked, do my best to provide experienced answers.
'What sort of buggy should they buy?' she asks. 'Is it advisable to attempt to fly to New Zealand with a six month old? We have an enormous 4x4 style buggy because it came secondhand from a friend, and have never embarked on even a short hop flight with E, so my answers are somewhat vague.
But then she asks one question where I think I know the answer straightaway. Until I realise a few days later that I don't.
We talked about how each couple had decided who would be the biological mother and who would play the supporting role. It turns out we'd each made this decision in very different ways and for different reasons. 'So, are you jealous?' my lunch companion asked.
I'd never wanted to be the biological mother. For me, the wonder of watching a baby emerge squashed and squalling into the world is much preferable to the pain of pushing that same baby out.
I know that however exhausting and frantic it proved trying to balance my worktime with time looking after E during those first few months, I find doing both is enriching. I'm secretly glad to escape the world of toddler groups and competitive baby-rearing and find refuge in my adults-only office.
So am I jealous? No way.
Then on Saturday, on my watch and as R slept, E rolled herself off the bed. Crash.
How she screamed. How I trembled. How we both went running to mummy to make everything all right.
And it turns out I am jealous after all. Not of R's status as biological mother, but of her confidence. She checks E for damage with no sign of panic, believing that no real harm's been done, and soon I can see that E begins to believe this too and her crying stops.
Similarly, when E won't sleep, R believes that sleep will come. Her confidence means there's no need for emergency pram-pushing round the block, just patience and calm.
That's not to say that R never gets cross or fraught or anxious. But something about having spent virtually every hour with E since she was born gives her a confidence that I am only gradually learning.
It's clear that I'm a long way off being a lesbian parenting guru. I'm not sure how much wisdom I might have to share with other people, but at least I've learnt something new about myself this week. And that's a pretty good place to start.
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