I'm feeling slightly bruised and sensitive after my Mum's departure (soooo good to have her support for a week), so am potentially taking this to heart more than I should, but: what is the point of Elizabeth Badinter?

For those lucky enough to have escaped her, Elizabeth Badinter is a French feminist currently commanding lots of attention for two very media-friendly points of view.  Firstly, her stance on the burqa/niqab and whether it should be banned in public (EB is for a ban).  Secondly, for her assertion in her most recent book that women have turned a certain type of motherhood ( breastfeeding, puree making) into a form of oppression, and her advocacy that, in order to stay a woman first and a mother second, women should strongly consider avoiding breastfeeding and make sure they get back into the workplace as soon as possible.

I am so disappointed by this.  Yet again, we women are merrily presuming to judge what's best for all other mothers and suggesting that only one type of motherhood is valid.  For me, feminism should be about ensuring that we have choices, with emphasis on the plural.  Achieving (what to me is a very limited form of) independence should not come at the cost of ignoring what is good for the junior members of society.

Sssshhhh

I am very quiet because I have my Mum staying.  Aaaaah, bliss.  Back again when she goes.

Bodily functions

One of the hard things about dragging a small person(s) around with you is working out how to manage a toilet stop.  When I've got the pushchair with me, I don't really fancy leaving my most precious jewels in the middle of the Ladies whilst I disappear into a stall.  And if the baby is being carried at the time, it's a balancing feat that is beyond me.  

So imagine my glee to discover that Printemps (a big Parisian department store) offers a mother and baby room within their homeware store.  It's not marked on the shop signs that I could find, so I asked a salesperson who then phoned around to find out where it was - not looking very promising, eh.  Once I'd shouldered my way into a lift, elbowing aside indolent teenagers who could have used the escalator, and running over several feet, I marched around the entire floor several times looking for either the room itself or a sign.  Again, no luck, so I tackled a sales assistant who explained that the room is locked (!) and let me in.  Two table-top changing mats, a bottle warmer and a couple of chairs constituted the offering, which is great if all you need to do is feed/change the baby.  To give them their dues, the room was clean and with a great view of Paris, but it was so much less than it could have been - a sort of oversized stock cupboard with a curtain hiding some empty boxes and old stock. 

Another lift ride later I found what appears to be the only customer toilets in the store, a 'concept' bathroom charing you a euro to spend a penny.  Granted, it was clean and had funky toilet paper, and the cubicle was big enough to bring Little Son in with me.  But I was so exhausted by the whole experience that I then left without shopping.

Between the sheets

I have a guilty secret.  For the last nearly four months, I've been sharing my bed.  Yeah, mostly my husband is there too.  But the one I'm referring to is my son, who from day one has slept in my arms at night.

This feels to me like one of the last great taboos of modern motherhood (a potential subject there for another post).  I can live with the fact that I'm building up a dependance that will almost certainly be hard to break, but the guilt of feeling that I was putting his well-being at risk was immense.  My husband, understandably, is vehemently against sharing our bed with our tiny baby.  It's something that I haven't admitted to many people, and those who do know have been unanimously disapproving, albeit in a kind way.

And yet, falling asleep with him in my arms feels like the most natural thing in the world.  He seems to sleep better: when he's in his Moses Basket I hear him moving about throughout the night.  When he's with me, he sleeps peacefully and when he needs a feed all I need to do is move position slightly (in all honesty, the additional sleep is a major benefit).

So, I decided that I owed it to my little one to try and decode the conflicting messages and rumours floating about middle-class motherhood, and find out whether it was indeed dangerous to share my bed with him.  I contacted an anthropologist who specialises in research into mother-baby bed-sharing (not to be confused with co-sleeping, which apparently can just refer to having the baby in the same room).  His own research, and the work that he's done to collect existing research on the subject from around the world, suggests that in fact sharing a bed can have a benefit to both mother and child.  Most importantly, when the bed is a 'safe' environment (e.g. parents are not drinking, taking medicines, there aren't gaps between the bed and the wall etc.) bed sharing can REDUCE the risk of SIDS.

So one tired Mummy will be resting a little easier tonight....

BABIES - Official Trailer [HD]

This looks fantastic - a film about the early experiences of children in 4 different countries: Japan, Mongolia, Namibia and the U.S.

Play’s the Thing - Magazine - The Atlantic

An article about a new book that stresses the importance of play for young children: so put away those Baby Einstein videos now: Play’s the Thing - Magazine - The Atlantic

Book Club

I'm on a roll - the 3rd post of the day (and last, I promise).    I wanted to share tonight's bedtime reading with the Big Sister.

'Gros Pipi' by Emile Jadoul is a fantastic piece of propaganda, designed to make your child comfortable going to the toilet on their own in the night (and thus saving you some precious moments of sleep).  The illustrations are beautiful and simple and the story is designed to appeal to parents too.  I originally bought this to read on a Eurostar journey, not taking into account that I would end up reading it aloud in my halting French to a fascinated carriage of Franglish travellers, with my daughter squealing 'Piiiipiiiiiiiii'...

'I want my Mum' is another in the Little Princess series.  Apparently there's also a TV programme, but we haven't succumbed to that as yet.  Again, the story holds interest for the adult reading it, with a little twist at the end of the tale and some validation for Mum.  I think it sunk into my dear daughter's subconscious, as when I shut the door, she was muttering 'my mama' to herself.