The trouble with hats by Trish Smith

My mother was the mother that all new mums went to for advice. She had her children when she was in her early twenties, and many of her friends waited until they were in their mid-thirties before they had children, presumably because they knew a certain 13 year old who would be more than happy to babysit for $2 an hour. My mother was the one to call when you didn't know how many blankets to put on the baby at night time, or which washing powder was most effective in removing offensive stains from cloth nappies. By the time my mum was approaching fifty, she was about ready to dish advice out to the next New Mother, and so I happily obliged with a couple of grand-daughters. On went the Earth Mother hat, and she was again ready, willing and able to impart some sage advice. Oh, so willing.

One of my best friends from high school, now all grown up with a baby of her own, was taking her daughter for a stroll in the pram. She was approached by a grumpy old lady who angrily asked why her child wasn't wearing a hat. "Can't you feel how cold it is? Why don't you have a hat on that child? Can't you see how cold she must be?"

If it had been me, I would have mumbled some sort of apology for being a sub-standard parent, for neglecting my child. I may even have expressed gratitude for her good advice before rushing into the nearest army disposals store for a standard issue beanie.

But my friend had the perfect comeback, and I implore all new mothers to have this comeback ready in your holster for that day when you are confronted with such a situation. It goes something like this: "Oh, thank goodness I have finally found you! I have been searching ALL DAY for this child's mother and FINALLY I have FOUND YOU! Because surely you are this child's mother since CLEARLY you know FAR MORE about her than I DO!" and while saying this, start shoving the pram in her general direction until she turns and runs away.

We have all had days when we have been caught red-handed being a sub-standard parent. I wont tell you about the time six week old Caitlin went eleven days without a bath. Yes, you read that correctly. Eleven. (Don't ask). Or the time I left the front door and the front gate open and Maddie toddled out to the driveway, apparently to count the cars as the peak hour traffic streamed past our house. I have lost sleep over the bad job I have occasionally done as a mother. At one point my self-doubt got so bad that I enrolled in a parenting class. It was Parent Effectiveness Training. And really, it was just a relief to be able to put a name to it, to be able to say "Hello, my name is Trish, and I am an Ineffective Parent" because acknowledging there is a problem is the first vital step to solving it.

The things is, the theraputic approach of the Parent Effectiveness technique only worked on one of my kids. If Maddie was having a tantrum, I could squat down to her level, look her in the eye and say "gosh, you really are very angry, aren't you? You are really having a hard time with that gumboot, and you are really angry that you can't get it onto your foot. Perhaps I can help you out, do you think that's a good idea?" and the tantrum would evaporate and she would look at me with eyes that clearly said "Oh thank God, finally someone who understands my pain, recognises the inherent challenges in being a two year old and who can offer a constructive, results-based approach to solving my problems!"

Caitlin, on the other hand, would more than likely have slapped me about the face with the gumboot before running outside to determine what quantity of water should be added to the dirt to create the most satisfyingly sticky mud to squish between her toes.

Some kids just don't like hats. There's one of these babies in every playgroup, you've probably met them. Their mother puts a beautiful pale pink beret on the bare head of her daughter, only to see the baby rip the hat off and throw it to the ground as if to say "mummy, beret's are SO last year!" Hat goes on, hat comes off. Hat goes on, hat comes off. So mummy walks her hatless baby home from playgroup, only to be confronted by a grumpy woman who either can't remember what it was like to have one of those sorts of babies, or who has never had a baby and so can't possibly understand the hat-on/hat-off conundrum.

Which brings me back to my mother. There are days when I can see her struggling to keep her advice to herself. In the corner of her eye, there it is, the slightest hint that she can remember what it was like back then, and has an idea about how to get the baby to eat the pumpkin, but she holds back. There's empathy in her discretion. An unspoken understanding that she knows it's hard being a mum, but that sometimes you don't need advice, you just need a bit of space. She had four kids, I had two, so I have a lot to learn from her, and often I ask for help. But sometimes it's the withholding of advice that is most useful, because those are the times I learn the most about being a mother, when I have to figure it out for myself.

Trish

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