by Ursula Bloom
My mother used to say that I had never caused her to shed a tear. How she could ever bamboozle herself like that I don’t know. But she did.
It is a way that parents have.
Your children will cause you a great many tears, but a great many smiles. You will have to spend far more money on them than you ever imagine, and life will not be a bed of roses in bringing them up. A bachelor’s children are always well-behaved, but you try the real thing a little later on. The real thing can be the devil.
At the same time life is imperfect if you do not experience the joys of fatherhood, and if you deliberately stop the carrying on of the race.
And if you have one child, it is unfair not to have two. The only child is lonely ‒ you must know this yourself ‒ and however hard you try to avoid this, and however many other children you get in to play with him, it is never the same thing. So pray for twins! They are the solution to the problem.
You have got to appreciate the fact that during the first four months the average woman is usually beset by lots of petty little ills, about which a doctor seems unable to do much. All nothing, but they can be most inconvenient and trying, and make your lives a burden to you. She may turn irritable, mainly because in her heart she is so scared and needs comforting and propping up through her ordeal, and also because she feels queer and ailing and naturally does not like it.
Physically there is amazingly little that you can do to help your wife under these circumstances; she may be ‘tetchy’, she may be difficult, she may even take a dislike to you which you find hard to understand and even harder to bear. But realize that it is a passing affair, and that quite soon she will be herself again, and try to keep up some semblance of noticing nothing, and treating her as though everything were quite normal. You can help her very much indeed by remaining calm when she panics; by keeping your temper, and by amusing her so that you do not let her mind dwell on it more than possible. Take her ‘out of herself’.
Keep her happy.
I am sure that happy surroundings make a great difference to the unborn. We know very little about the effect of environment to the embryo, it is extraordinary how little we have gathered about this most important point. There are old-wives’ stories about it, which the modern gynaecologist thrusts from him, but living in the village at home, and seeing strange things happen, I have come to the conclusion that it is not wise to thrust these things into the outer darkness; it is far wiser to be very careful indeed.
Our doctor at home ‒ a very modern man and an F.R.C.S. ‒ told me one day that he thought sometimes these village folk knew more of birth than he did. He said, ‘There is no medical evidence for the support of their theories, in fact there seems to be every logical reason for discarding them, yet at the same time I have seen them come true’.
For that reason I would impress upon you that it is wisest to give your wife happiness during these critical months when a new life is coming into being.
One day she will feel the change within her which is supposed to signify the coming to life of the unborn. It moves. It flutters for the first time. Technically the body moves upwards to where it has more space, but when it stirs itself for that first time you usually reckon it to be five months to the actual birth. It is safer to reckon time from this moment than from the hour when you first suspected that the future had something attractive to offer you.
Before this period has been reached, encourage your wife to go out and buy herself some clothes ‘to get up into’ after she has had the baby. The buying of new clothes is stimulating to almost every woman. And if she leaves this till much later she will find that she has difficulty with fittings and that she may have to postpone the buying until after the event is over. A new frock in the wardrobe, something that she can look forward to wearing, will make all the difference to her feelings at a time when life is dejected and she is experiencing a surfeit of that ‘off-colour’ tendency.
During the whole time try to guard against fussiness, because that is fatal, and does no good at all. Guard against changing her into an invalid; let her have exercise but not tiring exercise, let her follow her pursuits as much as she can. Nothing should be too good or too happy for her, because that goodness and happiness may penetrate in some remote way to the brain of her baby.
There will be arrangements to be made.
Have the baby born at home. If you put her into a nursing home she is entirely away from you, and all manner of complications may ensue. It is so infuriating for the husband to visit the home, find that she is miserable, and be powerless to get her out and away. If you have a row, there is always the feeling that the nurses may vent their spite on her after you have gone. If you say nothing, then they may go on being irritating. You are caught either way, and it is not worth while.
Provided that a woman has efficient servants, so that she will not be disturbed by the fact that the place is not being dusted, or that the laundry isn’t being checked, home is the place to have your baby.
And they can be born at home quite easily, in spite of the doctor shaking his head, and nurses getting uppish.
Everything should be done for your wife’s peace of mind, and for her ultimate happiness, and in my opinion women are a great deal happier with their husbands near them than they are in some remote nursing home, where they feel to be shut away from the world.
You arrange with an efficient nurse several months ahead. You are probably worried about what to do on the subject of doctors. In my opinion a specialist is quite the best way out. You would employ only a specialist if it were a case of an operation, and yet you think that the G.P. can manage on this ‘very ordinary’ affair of birth. Don’t be silly. Two lives are at stake. So much of your wife’s future health depends on how she is handled during this particular period. It is imperative that she should have first-class advice, and it is not so much more expensive. You never know when things may go wrong, and local practitioners are far too fond of trying to manage things for themselves, and only calling in outside help in case of an emergency.
Had I not insisted on a specialist, I doubt if you would ever have been born alive.
I hope this is incentive enough; if it is not, I do urge you most strongly to employ the very best man that you can afford. This is one of the few occasions in life when it is even wise to draw on capital if needs be, for two people are requiring it. It is your duty to give these two people the best possible chance that you can afford.
You can help your wife very much through the preceding months, by your courage and your kindness, but when the actual hour comes, I am afraid that there is very little that you can do. And I predict that you will suffer. Probably the fact that you are conscious of your own uselessness makes it all the worse. Naturally you would give your very heart to spare her, and yet you know that it is the one thing that you cannot do.
Yet there is much that you can have seen to in the beginning which will have comforted her considerably.
First of all set her mind at ease by seeing that in your medicine-chest there is a bottle of chloroform. Don’t be like your father and say, ‘My mother never needed it; after all it is only nature’. A woman needs help of this kind. She needs the comfort of the knowledge that this help is at hand. She will probably be afraid that the doctor may forget the anaesthetic; show her that, should he forget, you have been prepared, because from this she will gain a great confidence.
And don’t run away with the belief that it will be the quickest thing ever, or hope for miracles. Birth is seldom speedy. I don’t know why it was arranged like this, for it seems to be cruel enough even if it were only a matter of minutes, and when it comes to hours of increasing pain it is something that sets you wondering.
You can stipulate for one of the treatments of the hyoscine and morphine or omnipon kind. You yourself were a Twilight-Sleep baby. Twilight Sleep is a treatment by injection, and it is a deadener of pain, though not entirely so. I believe that its real effect is to disconnect the memory, so though the pain is ex
perienced, no memory of it remains. It is not dangerous, but it does necessitate close watching. A patient under Twilight Sleep will talk quite rationally, but will remember nothing that she has been told while under the drug, unless you recall her memory afterwards. If you recall any incident of the period, then she will remember much that it is unwise for her to remember. So do be careful that you never recall her mind.
There comes the time when little more can be done by you, and when you are sitting alone, or not alone, I hope. Pray Heaven that there may be some pal who will stop with you through this most difficult time. Take my advice, try not to worry too much. Do occupy yourself.
Go downstairs and have a really stiff brandy. It is one of the times when I would suggest that you get yourself well primed for the joyous moment when you will be ready to welcome her back to a new world, and one which will from now on always be twice as interesting to her.
Don’t hover about on the stairs, unable to keep away from her door. Don’t be impatient. People who are semi-conscious, as she will be, often make a noise, and you may believe that she is suffering badly, when in truth she does not know what is going on. It is far, far better that you should not hear, seeing that you cannot help, and have no means of verifying how much she is bearing.
Birth and death, and life and love, are all so mysteriously wonderful, and they come hand in hand, but they will not be hurried. Patience is, I know, the most difficult thing to command in such a moment, but it is the thing that you must hold fast. Occupy yourself with anything that you can.
And when you see your child, please try not to be too disappointed. All newly born infants are inclined to look peculiar. They are either very red, or very yellow, and I don’t know which is worse. You looked like an apoplectic old gentleman just approaching his most devastating fit. All babies pull horrible faces. All of them grin fiendishly, and don’t run away with the idea that this is pleasure at seeing their fond father looking at them, because it is common or garden wind. All babies seem to be limp, and terribly helpless, but the way they grow out of it is marvellous. Leave them for a few weeks in the charge of people who are used to the extremely young, and don’t bother them too much with your presence.
Parents are the worst nurses at first, because they will not realize that a newly-born baby is much more clever than they suppose. It will scream like mad when left with anyone who can be persuaded to pick it up and nurse it, but it will save its breath if in the charge of a stern nurse who knows that it is merely ‘trying it on’.
Don’t tell me that they can’t think.
Wait for a few weeks to notice your child more closely. Let it get used to being in this world, used to living life, used to itself, before you force your attentions upon it. Though of course I know that he or she is going to be the most marvellous child ever.
They always are.
Particularly the first ones.
It is strange how seven odd pounds of unlovely baby flesh, with everything against it, can still manage an entire family, and hold it hypnotized as under a spell.
But do remember on your child’s birthday that you owe it a debt that you have got to pay. You took on the responsibility of bringing it into the world, and you must fulfil that responsibility to the last letter. You must educate it, train it, teach it to live life, and yet not force your own personality too strongly upon it. You are giving a citizen to the world, you are producing a new life.
The soul of the nation goes forward on the feet of its little children; your children, my son, and my grandchildren.
Ever your loving
Mother.
FUSSY FATHER
Frinton-on-Sea.
December 1921.
HELLO MY SON,
You won’t want this letter for countless years, but you will want it some time, because every married man does, so here goes. Straight from the shoulder, my lad, and no mistake about it.
You are being a fussy father!
Nobody else will ever have the courage to tell you this, and if by any strange chance they do, you will not believe them. You probably won’t believe me. You will think that I am merely a cruel and heartless woman, and that it is extraordinary that a woman who could be so bold could ever have brought you up, but the fact remains that I am probably right, and you are probably wrong.
To become a father (or a mother) is to get a new angle on life. You wonder how you had never noticed before what marvellous things babies are. You stare in amazement at a few pounds of really not very attractive baby flesh, and you see it through the rosiest glasses ever.
You have a son. You know quite well that he really is a marvellous boy ‒ far more intelligent than the child next door, who is a few months older, and really rather a dud. You suffer tortures whenever he gets a cold in his head; you talk darkly of infant mortality being what it is, and you wonder whether Nurse knows as much as her credentials have led you to believe. Also you demur as to your wife’s inexperience with infants, and come to the conclusion that it is highly dangerous.
Everybody has got to have a first baby, and it is amazing the number of first babies who manage to survive the ordeal.
This may be cruel of me, but it is true.
Inexperience is something that baby is going to make the most of. Believe me, he is quite aware that not only Mother does not know, but that Father does not know either. He won’t try his tricks on the Nurse, because within a few hours of his birth he will have arrived at the conclusion that she is a callous mortal and not worth tackling, but he is going to do his damnedest by both of you. And from what one can see, he is succeeding pretty well.
The baby has got the laugh of you every time, only you will have struck one of those more serious moods, and will not be able to see the humour behind all this.
Being a father is awfully serious work. Being a fussy one is even more dire.
Babies are uncommonly strong little people, for all that they look so frail and worried, and cry so pathetically. They are a great deal stronger than they look, or they would never survive the fussiness of fathers and mothers as they do. Try to bear in mind this horribly truthful statement, that other children have had colds in the head, thrush, whitemouth, gastric troubles, and all the rest of the bothers. Other babies have lost weight and yet have managed to survive it. They may be small, but they are tough.
Your baby isn’t?
I don’t suppose your baby is any less tough than hundreds of others. I’ve seen tinies you would not have believed could have lived another hour, in the village at home, and to-day they are walloping great six-footers, and none the worse for their youthful experiences.
Delicate children grow into the strongest adults. It sounds idiotic, but it is true.
Now look here, fussy father, listen for a moment to me, and do try to believe that I know what I am talking about. I have always adored babies, I have always understood that they were a darned sight cuter than other people thought, and that they may have tiny fingers, but they can twist ten stone of grown-upness round those fingers in an amazing way.
A baby has a mind, and a much bigger mind than you give it credit for. It can fathom what you mean before you know that you mean it yourself. From the very word ‘go’ that baby understood that it had found two charming but quite hopeless mutts who were prepared to fuss over it, and drive themselves dotty with worry over it. Too easy, said the baby to itself.
And it was right.
The baby knew that it had but to whimper pathetically and you flew to its side. ‘Part of the responsibility that you mentioned’, you remind me. Not at all. It is part of your responsibility not to spoil that child, and so unfit it for the life which it will ultimately have to live in a world which will not be so tolerant.
The child has had nothing to do but lie in a cot and centre all its powers of concentration on you and its mother. It is susceptible to your tones of voice, it knows in an instant by the sounds around it who is there, and what the reactions of that person are to its small, deter
mined self.
The baby has come into the world to bullock its way through the world, and it does it darned well. Its principle is that he who shouts the loudest gets the most.
You know by now that in the still night the baby has only got to start shouting, and although it is a matter of principle not to take it up, the time comes when you have got to do something about it. You simply cannot bear the noise any longer. You’d fight it out with a man of your own size, but you let the baby win, just because it is so uncommonly persistent about it.
And the baby will win every time if you are not careful.
It has made the most of you and its mother. It has played its cards with the foresight and care of the very young. It has a special and pitiful whimper which it knows pays when all else has failed. If you don’t believe me, listen to the baby. They all do it. They don’t try it on Nurse, because they have already found that she is a hard-hearted woman who has heard that tale before. She doesn’t think it pitiful, she just knows he’ll shut up in a moment if he is left alone. Anyway, he has got to learn his lesson. But that isn’t your angle at all.
‘It can’t be good for him to cry’, you say.
Babies have very little way of exercising themselves, and crying happens to be one of them. You can soon learn by the actual sound if anything is really the matter, or if it is a little game they are having with you. There is quite a different cry when it is pain ‒ a sharper, more distracting sound; boredom has its own yowl. Temper is something that you very quickly recognize. It is very simple for mere boredom to launch itself into indignant fury, and for the parent to confuse fury with pain; but fury is a bellow, and pain is sharp. Don’t you be had on this, because too many fathers and mothers have.
Learn the sound of your child’s cries, and what he means by them. Crying is a definite language, and if you are going to treat it as ‘just crying’, you won’t get very far with understanding your baby, though he will get a devil of a way with hoodwinking you.
