Nod, smile, and back the pram away slowly

Having a kid is like buying a car. No matter what you do, everyone has an opinion about how you could have done better.

Dad baby relaxing

There are certain times in a man’s life when it’s okay to want to punch someone in the face.

99.9 per cent of the time, it’s not okay to actually do it, but… it’s okay – and entirely understandable – to want to.

When I was a teenager, it was either while I was playing footy, or I was being bullied.

When I was in my twenties, it was either because I was drunk, or because I was drunk.

In my thirties, it was because I’d had my first child, and every single person on the planet that I interacted with magically became a parenting expert, and weighed in with completely unsolicited advice on ‘how to be a better dad’.

That ranged from kindly strangers pointing out that my son was “upside down”, and “clearly in distress”, through to close family members telling me “he’s got colic” because he was crying inconsolably, when in reality it was 8:00pm, waaay past bedtime, and we were trapped in a restaurant while everyone spent 25 minutes debating over whether we should all have a coffee before getting the bill.

To be frank – even I was close to crying inconsolably when that happened. All I wanted was to get Blake home for a quick “for the love of all that’s holy, please stop crying” late-night session on the boob so we could all get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

The thing I learned at this stage of being a dad is this: everyone, always, thinks they know better than you how to look after your baby. Which is about as big a bunch of bullshit as you’ll ever hear from Canberra during Question Time in Parliament.

“Everyone, always, thinks they know better than you how to look after your baby.”

I clearly remember the first time I got schooled by a stranger, who was judging my ability to dad.

I had managed to land a job where I could “work from home” on Fridays, and be a one-day-a-week stay at home father. Score!

I can safely say (and, if my former boss ever reads this, I feel vaguely sorry…) that I got zero work done on Fridays – because they were spent flying solo with a cranky little midget who barely stopped crying, shitting or fussing until mum came home from work.

But when I figured out that he enjoyed popping down the street to Burwood Westfield in the pram, life got easier. I got to get out of the house, he stopped crying, I could get a decent cup of coffee to help stop my eyeballs hanging out of my head because of the fatigue… it was a Good Thing.

Until the inevitable happened. One morning, Blake lost his mind during the fourth or fifth lap of the second floor of the shopping centre. And that kid had a set of lungs on him that would give Bjork a run for her money.

Bjork

When he got going, shop assistants would leave their posts and come searching to see what the fuss was about. Within about two minutes, I’d be swarmed by obviously well-meaning mothers, old people and security staff, either offering pearls of wisdom on how to make it all okay, or pointing me towards the exits because of the noise.

They heard a baby crying, they saw a dad on his own with a two-month-old, and they assumed I was an idiot.

Brilliant.

Not drowning, just waving…

Having a baby in distress when you’re on your own is, weirdly enough, like telling a group of people you’re having trouble with your laptop – which generally results in three popular responses:

A: “Did you turn it off and turn it on again?”

B: “Shake the mouse… that worked when my computer froze up.”

C: “Maybe you should call the manufacturer and see if it’s still under warranty.”

Applying that logic to a newborn doesn’t work. Turning it off generally results in it not being able to turn back on, shaking them is definitely a “Bad Idea” and “Frowned Upon”, and when I spoke to my wife about “returning Blake to the factory”, I got a very stern talking to about how her womb was currently “closed for business”.

So yeah – you end up kind-of stuck, in a situation where your baby sounds like it’s calling for vengeance from the gods of Valhalla, which is like switching on a magnet for people with opinions on how to make it stop.

They’re trying to help. Probably.

I know, all of these people simply wanted to help out – and I know the reasons why they all, collectively, decided to stick their oar in when I really, really didn’t need it.

It’s because dads on their own with newborns fall into one of three categories, in other people’s minds.

First is the bumbling idiot. It’s something that TV has driven into people’s brains since the 1950s – and it’s taken a long, long time to even begin to shake that perception from people’s minds. We have Homer Simpson to blame for a lot of that.

Second is the SuperDad – that one guy whose kids never cry, who seems calm and serene, and can wander a suburban shopping centre like a god among men. (It’s okay to feel resentment towards these guys now and then… honest…)

Last is pretty much most of us. The dads who know what we’re doing, but when something goes truly pear-shaped – even if it’s just for a minute or two – we forget what we’re meant to do… and we’re too proud to ask for help.

In my experience, my little man Blake would lose his shit for a number of reasons. He’d either coughed in his rompers, needed a feed, couldn’t get to sleep, felt a bit crook, or simply wanted a change of scenery.

The sniff test will tell you if it’s option A. A gentle shushing and the offer of a bottle will determine if it’s option B. If that doesn’t work, then it’s time for plan C – head home,  because he’s probably beyond tired, or he just wants some tummy time somewhere more familiar.

It’s okay to be gracious in defeat

At the end of the day, being offered unsolicited advice on how to be a good dad is something that you’ll have to get used to. Believe me – it will happen time and time again.

Unless it’s a stranger butting in by saying “your baby looks awfully blue”, or “why is the pram empty?”, you can comfortably ignore whatever piece of wisdom you’re being offered.

But when you do find you are genuinely out of your depth, don’t be afraid to swallow your pride and ask for a bit of help – even if it’s from a stranger. It takes a village to raise a child, etc etc…

The rest of the time, you’re going to have to just deal with the fact that it’s aggravating, and move on.

As much as it demeans dads when people think we’re idiots – and they do, and they will – I’d rather get home without confrontation. Your child is more important than an argument… and assaulting a pensioner will never end well.