Student Mum, Part Two

So as I said in my last post, in September this year I’ll be returning to life as a student mum. I’ve been offered a place at Chester University, to do a Masters in Drama, and it’s been a decision I’ve  uhm-ed and ah-ed over for quite a long time.

I knew that I desperately wanted to continue studying. It’s not that I’m not ready to let go of university – rather that I feel I’m not done with research and academic work yet. I have so many ideas in my head for research projects and performances, and the best place to translate those ideas into real life is university.

And besides, I’ve been a student mum before. This is no different – right?

Not exactly. Last time, I became a student mum unexpectedly. I had student parenthood thrust upon me, to (badly) paraphrase. Getting pregnant in my second year of an undergraduate degree was an accident.

This time, I am actively choosing to be a student parent. That carries with it a hefty amount of baggage.

People judge student parents. I found that out a few months ago, when I overheard a discussion in the university library. I managed to escape judgement by and large – all I had was compliments. But will it be different this time? Does it make a difference that last time, I was making the most of an unexpected situation – this time, I’m going ahead and sticking myself right in the middle of that situation?

I’m choosing not to be a stay-at-home mum. I’m choosing to “prioritise my career” – usually said in a bad way, although I can’t see how it’s bad when I’m doing it to benefit SB in the long run – and to do something that will probably come across as selfish. In some ways, it is selfish – I am going to do my Masters because it’s what I want to do – but am I a bad person for not feeling guilty about that?

I don’t think I am. I’m sure that some people will disagree, but I am learning more and more not to let other people’s opinions get to me – especially when it comes to doing something as big as a postgraduate degree.

People have been overwhelmingly positive about my decision. People have asked questions, which I’m fine with. I’m happy to be honest about financing the degree (loans) and intentions for afterwards (working in any job I can get, to pay back said loans, while I work on starting up my own company).

But still, there’s that little niggle of doubt. What if I’m doing something that’s selfish in a bad way? What if this time away from SB doesn’t pay off in the way I hope it will? What if the vocal minority are right, and I need to give up on my ambitions because I am a parent now?

I want 2016 to be a year without “what if”s – or at least, a year where “what if”s don’t rule my life any more.

In finishing my undergraduate degree, I proved to everyone else that pregnancy and parenting isn’t an obstacle to studying and achieving your ambition.

With my postgraduate degree, it’s time to prove it to myself.

Not A Crafty Mummy…

My Instagram, Pinterest and WordPress feeds are filled with fantastic craft ideas for toddlers right now. It’s the run up to Christmas, so it makes sense – handmade crafts make perfect presents, and it’s lovely to have decorations that you can look back on in years to come and think “Ahh, this was made by my child when they were two years old!”.

I love looking at these posts and pictures, don’t get me wrong – I am always in awe of people’s crafting skills and abilities, and the amazing things they can produce with a couple of potatoes and some glitter glue, but it spurs some feelings of serious inadequacy. You see, I am the opposite of a crafty mummy.

I’m not horrendous at crafting. I mean, I made SB’s Hallowe’en costume (which I need to recreate this week ready for Comic Con on Sunday…), which involved painting a babygro… but that was it, really. Daf made most of the little hat, which was by far the craftiest part of the ensemble. 

You see, Daf is amazing at arts and crafts. His drawings are incredible; he does cosplay, he loves getting paints out – he’s truly talented when it comes to anything arty. I am quite the opposite. I can draw cartoons on a good day – my picture of SB being one example of a ‘good day’ – but apart from that, hand me a tube of glitter glue and all I can make is a mess.

I’ll gladly facilitate arts and crafts sessions – I love sitting on the floor with SB, masses of A3 paper spread out before us and going crazy with our crayons. Once we have a toddler table, I’ll even stretch to PVA glue and as many lollipop sticks and cotton wool balls as her heart desires – but the problem comes when we want to attempt crafts that require an adult’s help. I may be an adult, but when it comes to arts and crafts I am totally and utterly inept.

We made SB’s Easter bonnet back in April – or rather, Daf made it, and I stuck loads of stickers all over it to decorate, and glued the eggs into the nest on top. Beyond that, however, I fear I am hopeless. For years to come, every craft project – every tissue-box-and-cardboard-roll guitar, every sock puppet, every bridge-made-of-straws (see, I’m great at ideas, just awful at the execution) will be strictly Daddy’s Domain.

Of course, I wish I could produce Pinterest-perfect potato prints and Instagram-ready cardboard masterpieces – but not being a crafty mum doesn’t make me a worse mum. Maybe one day my skills will improve, and I’ll be capable of producing epic, artful masterpieces out of pipe cleaners and fuzzy felt, but for now, SB seems pretty happy with a slightly-sketchy drawing of a Christmas tree on a big piece of printer paper for her to draw tinsel on or fire, when she gets liberal with the orange crayon – and as far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters.

Young Mums Need More PND Support

First of all, that title doesn’t tell the whole story. Everyone needs more support with postnatal depression (and postnatal anxiety, and antenatal depression and anxiety too, and all aspects of perinatal mental health, for that matter). There are certain obstacles, however, that make it harder for younger parents to access the help they need.

Let’s look at the statistics first. The Young Mums Together report put together by the Mental Health Foundation states that 53% of teenage mothers (that is, women who became mothers between the ages of 15-17) experienced post-partum depression, according to one study. As for young mothers (that is, mothers under the age of 20) – well, I’ve looked and I’ve looked, and I can’t find any statistics for this at all.

Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why tailored support is so hard to come by? Young parents exist in some kind of flux state; constantly told we are too young to have a baby, but unable to access the same support offered to our younger, teenage counterparts. Although availability varies by area, there are support groups for teenage mothers that offer emotional support and friendly faces to talk to, all of whom understand what it is like to be a teenage parent.

As a young parent, you can’t access these groups. You have to go along to the ‘normal’ parenting groups. Don’t get me wrong, it’s great to interact with parents of all ages – but it’s hard to strike up a conversation when they’re talking about enjoying their maternity leave, and you’re trying to cobble together an essay during 2am feeding sessions, or looking at having to return to your part-time job in a couple of weeks to keep money coming in. Add that to the fact that the overwhelming majority of these groups take place on weekdays, when many young parents are in work or college or university, and you’re left with a group of young parents unable to access the support and community that they need.

I know I talk a lot about the stigma young parents face, and nowhere is it more prevalent than in discussions of perinatal mental health. Many young parents are concerned that from the moment their pregnancy is announced, they’ll be on the radar of social services, purely because they are under 20. This simply isn’t true – your midwife may contact them if she has concerns or feels that you need extra support, but for the most part, your pregnancy will be treated no differently to any other woman’s of any other age.

However, because of what we’re told about social services near enough every other day – that they latch onto any opportunity to swoop in and take your baby and give it to a nice middle-class couple in their 30s – it’s not hard to see why lots of young parents are on high alert for anything that could put them on the radar of these services.

The truth is that social services will do everything in their power to keep a family together. That isn’t to say that they are faultless, and they haven’t made mistakes, but these are very few and far between, and while the media is only too happy to print stories from people who have been wronged by social services, we need to remember that we are only ever hearing half of the story.

Of course, it’s all well and good for me to say this now. In the early months after SB’s birth, I was terrified that if I gave even the first suggestion that I needed a little help or support, SB would be taken away from me. Part of that was the depression and anxiety itself talking – another part was me believing everything I’d heard about social services as evil child snatchers.

In hindsight, I realise that doctors won’t automatically refer you to social services if you tell them you’re depressed. A referral to social services doesn’t automatically mean your children will be taken away – quite the opposite, in fact. It means you’ll receive every support possible to keep your family together. It also means you can access treatment to help you get into a better frame of mind.

I cannot imagine how it must feel to have been let down by social services, but I can imagine that you would want the world to hear about the injustice. The way you voice it, however, is very important. So many people – no doubt in anger, rather than out of malice – declare that social services are kidnappers and evil and not to be trusted under any circumstances, because they’re just waiting to snatch “pretty white babies” (direct quote there) and give them to other couples.

That’s not in the job description of a social worker. It’s not like some big stock room where they look through the cupboards and think “Oh dear, we’re short on pretty white babies, we’d better go out and steal some more”, and claiming that they do work like that is damaging to other parents out there.

The media should shoulder the vast majority of the blame, however. They take any opportunity to portray social workers as villains, creating a culture of fear and mistrust surrounding the people whose job it is to support parents and keep families together. I think when we’re discussing the causes of postnatal depression and anxiety, the media have a hell of a lot to answer for – but right now, we know they’ll never change. They never do.

That’s not to say that all media outlets are responsible for this. Some are excellent at supporting young parents, like Visit From The Stork. Others aren’t targeted at parents, but they report sensibly, without the drama llama-ness and scaremongering found in – well, I’ll go ahead and say it, The Daily Mail.

PND is a major problem across all age groups, but young parents are at particular risk of feeling cut off from all services and groups designed to reduce the isolation and loneliness, and are at added risk of feeling that they can’t seek help for fear of involvement from outside agencies.

Right now, I don’t know what the solution is. Groups specifically for young parents? That requires funding and volunteers, two things that are in short supply these days. More perinatal mental health midwives? That would be a great start, but given the well-publicised issues the NHS is facing right now, I think it’s possibly dreaming a little too big.

All those of us who are young parents can do is continue to talk about our experiences, on every platform we can find, in the hope that other young parents will find it and feel a little less isolated and a little more supported. We can dispel the myths about going to the doctor and admitting that you’re struggling. We can provide listening ears and supportive words to pick people up and be by their side – virtually, if not physically.

A Degree Is No Guarantee…

… that I will be anything even remotely resembling a good example for my daughter.

It’s not much use looking at Daf either. He’s just as bad as me… possibly worse.

1. We very rarely watch Cbeebies, or any other kids’ programme. With the exception of In The Night Garden, SB just isn’t interested. The only one she really likes is Paw Patrol, which we watch on Netflix. Instead, SB is being raised on our favourite YouTubers – the likes of the Yogscast, Hat Films and various family vloggers!

2. Manners aren’t our forte. Sure, we say “please” and “thank you” and all the required social niceties, but – well, we have burping contests, for goodness’ sake. We give SB’s burps ratings (she’s managed a couple of sevens, which is good for a toddler of her stature).

3. We don’t have a dining table. We are going to get her a little toddler table and chair so she can sit and eat her dinner, but right now, we all eat dinner together. On the sofa.

4. She says “Bugger”. Considering how much we swear (including accidentally swearing around her), it’s a miracle that her first cuss word wasn’t a whole lot worse.

5. The first time she picked her nose, I was too busy laughing to tell her off.

6. We made this video, which just serves to highlight the fact that we are not mature enough to be responsible for a child.

7. You know those “All Daddy Wanted Was A Blowjob” baby vests that everyone goes into a frothing rage about because they’re so vulgar and crude and unsuitable for precious little angels? Not only did I laugh myself stupid at it, I really strongly considered buying one.

8. Today, while we were shopping, Daf and I used the trolley to glide down the aisles (well, he was gliding. I was more reminiscent of that meme of the polar bear dragging itself across the ice*). Thankfully, we did not kill anybody.

9. SB has a little toy Mario figure, complete with a moving arm. The movement of said arm is somewhat reminiscent of a certain self-pleasure-y motion. Far from being shocked and appalled and contacting the Daily Mail to come and take our ‘sadface’ pictures (a la the saga of the anal pyjamas**), we found it absolutely hilarious. So does my mom, which goes to show that just as we aren’t mature enough to be parents, she isn’t mature enough to be a grandparent.

10. One of the godparents we so lovingly selected for SB based on their qualities of trustworthiness, responsibility and all-around loveliness has told us of his plans to take her to Canal Street and Brighton as soon as possible, to “introduce her to the gay scene”. In return, we have taught her to say his name as “Uncle Gay Jay”. We’re just doing our bit to ensure she grows up accepting of everybody. (Plus, hearing her call him “Gaja” is adorable).

So there you have it. Despite having a degree and being, to all intents and purposes, all-around good eggs (well – at least we appear that way, to people who’ve never met us), I present ten pieces of evidence to the contrary. Somehow, despite all of this, we’re still doing a pretty good job raising our baby.

So if you’re feeling a little imperfect, or you’re pregnant and worrying that you’re not mature enough yet because you still giggle at anything incorporating the number ’69’ <I am glaring very hard at Daf right now>, don’t worry. You may not end up with the most conventional parenting style – but you’ll have a shit ton of fun.

*  This meme. 

** Yes, I did have to Google ‘Anal Pyjamas’ to find that news story. Yes, it was a terrifying wait for those results to load up, and no, I didn’t dare look at the Image results.

*** Isn’t that picture in the title just THE most attractive example of a couple you’ve ever seen? Wow.