Staying consistent from the start

Some people are inconsistent in how they treat their children, cycling through disciplinarian, cosseting, bribing, despairing and other modes. With Sonny in his tenth month and increasingly forging a (at times frustrating) personality of his own, we hope in our dealings with him to set a course - and then stick to it.

There'll be our baby-carrier experience to remind us to be constant.

At the moment, Mum is preparing to junk our current model in favour of an alternative we had tried out in Abu Dhabi (from which we have just returned). The newly-favoured 'Ergo' carrier, which Pa's sister-in-law had championed, provides a more secure ride for the little fella, is easier on the back of the adult and is less of a bother to buckle up boot.

The thing is, we already own four other carriers of various descriptions and types, some gifts and others purchased. Each proved to have its own fatal flaws, from an excessive number of clasps or straps to undue strain being placed on some body part or the other of the carrying parent. Mum is trying to sell some off some of the discards on the Internet, to prevent our little flat from taking on the appearance of a showroom.

Of course, with such an item, cycling through an ever-changing selection of products is unlikely to have any deleterious effects on Sonny. It's hard to see him suffering any psychic shock, for instance, or developing "Carrier Uncertainty Syndrome". Yet if we were to prove as change-prone when it comes to setting ground rules for the little fella, things could get pretty problematic. It is widely accepted that parents should provide an environment that is settled and secure, and this extends to the do's and don'ts that will shape the child's earliest acquisition of habits and dispositions. Constant variation, and the jumble of mixed signals that it will engender, may disrupt the laying-down of this essential foundation.

Of course, we're not advocating that parents stubbornly stick, come what may, to a regulatory regime that they have come to consider flawed. Yet it may be that, broadly speaking, the fact that a rule has been laid down is a point in favour of retaining it, or at least of not modifying it too soon (If 9pm is bedtime, then it shouldn't be 10pm the next week, and 8.45pm the week after, even if there may be no overwhelming reason why any of these times should be independently preferred over any other). We wouldn't want Sonny to conclude that what his parents' decrees can be easily revised, especially with a few well-timed tantrums.

Some folks would argue that children aren't such dark plotters as all that. But the little devils are certainly shrewd enough to begin to try to get their own way from a very early age (just as Sonny already knows who to appeal first if he wants something, and who is more likely to be extra-accommodating). And as the the child grows older and the sorts of issues he will encounter become increasingly complex, the parents certainly will not want to be viewed as indecisive and "unreliable".

Who would want to carry that sort of label?

It's hard to keep our blog 'fresh and exciting'

A couple of months ago, these blog posts would be dashed off with little difficulty. After all, we were building up a store of Sonny-related recollections into which we might dip in time to come, and there was always some startling new baby-linked insight or triviality to record.

Recently, however, a certain dozy conversation has been recurring between Mum and Pa. It goes like this:

Pa: Do you have any ideas for a post?
Mum: Hmm, how about [comes up with a suggestion]?
Pa: Nope, we wrote about that one month, four days and three hours ago.
Mum: Really? Okay... [thinks and produces another suggestion].
Pa: Well, that was sort of already addressed in Post No. LXVII, Paragraph 124.
Mum: Are you sure? Well, all right, how about [another assay]? I'm sure we've not touched on this!
Pa: The thing, we've already had 6.2 posts in which we dealt with similar issues. We mustn't repeat ourselves...
Mum: [goes grimly quiet and bustles around with chores. 10 minutes go by]
Pa: So, do you have any ideas for a post?

To be fair, there are still days when an incident so fresh and unexpected happens that it lodges in both our minds as an obvious topic; there are still days when the words flow like a bubbly stream. But there have been more episodes recently of staring into space, fingers poised over the keyboard as we wonder if, somehow, being with Sonny has become a little less remarkable. There have been hundreds upon hundreds of crying jags, diaper dramas and test of wills that don't merit a mention in these records (as one might deem this blog to be). What we are encountering is thematic repetition, and it's rather frightening for a writer who wants to keep things original. We've mined that vein, we tell ourselves, chiselling away through our most recent harvest of experiences, surely there's another seam that has never appeared in these chronicles.

Except there seem to be fewer of them. We don't realistically expect the lode of parenting to be ever exhausted. But could it be, however, that the utter freshness of completely new types of experience can be more rapidly encompassed and catalogued, so that future instalments become refinements and enlargements rather than all-new explorations?

We're figuring there's another, rather more plausible, possibility (leaving aside the likelihood that we've simply become more dulled by the passing months and are missing out on authorial possibilities). It might simply be that a child goes through not one long slope's worth growing-up, but successive stages of development, with each stage providing new sets of surprises for a dogged chronicler to delve through. As one stage is tailing off and a new one is just getting going, it would be entirely unsurprising that the already-mentioned thematic repetition is felt. Indeed, it would only be a symptom that we are merely concluding the earliest stages of the great adventure, so to speak, with an unending progression of stages to come.

Meanwhile, however, anyone have an idea for a post?

How to inherit a nose nightmare

Parents always hope their children will inherit their best characteristics. For our part, we aren't conceited enough to think that Sonny stands to gain much from us, but we can certainly wish that he is spared some of our worse features. Which is why Pa had a mild fit when he first met Ivy the Fan.

Ivy is a purple and plastic, battery-powered fan that comes with a clip to be fastened to the hood of Sonny's stroller. Mum's idea was to provide some better-quality air circulation for when the little fella is on the move. Pa, however, has a great physical weakness: His nose. It has a tendency to commence sniffling with a vengeance once the air currents around it get too robust. Once an old-style tropical fan or (horrors) modern air-conditioning is added into the mix, Pa's nose can be reliably expected to sound off, then begin overflowing embarrassingly.

It remains to see whether indiscriminate exposure to aggressive drafts will firmly implant in Sonny's nose the great weakness with his father's. The medical case for such a worry could well be highly suspect, but Pa's struggles over the years with his nose has left him jumpy: At various times, doctors have fingered a crooked bone, iffy sinuses and a lack of fitness. So, with Sonny, Pa is always ensuring that the little fella is sufficiently wrapped up, out of any stiff drafts and with socks or long pants deployed if the air-conditioning is on.

For all that, Sonny's nose is showing ominous signs of being an eeny-meeny clone of his father's. He is often to be found snuffling energetically, though it doesn't seem to sour his mood or cramp his style. With no sign that he has recognised a potential enemy, he spends quite a bit of time staring at Ivy the fan when it's switched on, though it's probably because of the little lights that come on as the blades whirl. Careful observation has revealed no link between Ivy's use and any accelerated nose activity.

Still, perhaps having to come to terms with an inherited affliction like a chronically overflowing nose will help build Sonny's character. A grain of sand in an oyster is what brings about a pearl, as they say. Though a pearl doesn't sniffle.

Over-dependence a creeping danger

When Sonny is a few years older, we'll be sure to get him to watch Wall-E, the shiny new movie from animation specialists Pixar. Its hero is a spunky robot who labours to crush-and-stack the mountains of trash still clogging a deserted Earth. The love interest is a drone deployed in search of biological life.

So far so bizarre. And the humans? Well, they are marooned in gigantic cruise ships in space and have grown monstrously fat from being flown everywhere on floating chairs, their every whim catered to by droids. There is an intriguing subtext of servitude and class subjection in this depiction of robot life - potentially the most original facet of this movie - but of course, it never gets developed. Still, Wall-E brims with many clever ideas, with nods to movies as diverse as Star Wars and old musicals.

We'd want Sonny to become familiar with Wall-E primarily so he can absorb the thought that too much convenience can lead to mental imprisonment. That's one theme that is dwelt on in the film: The human beings are so dependent on technology that they they speak to screens rather than to each other and find the concept of literally standing on their own feet (never mind walk) utterly novel. We are half-way there today, what with the Internet, and videoconferencing, and the Sedgeway. Things will only deteriorate (or progress) further. Of course, all of these tools are useful in their own way (we recently blogged on the importance of employing the right child-rearing resources, in 'Madame Duck-chopper and her trusty blade'). But by small degrees we can become so accustomed to the use of certain supports that they become crutches. If and when they are not suddenly not available, we are crippled.

And there's more to it than that. Sometimes, excessive reliance on certain aids can lead to us to fail to develop other, perhaps related skills. Already, today's Internet crowd have little conception of the importance of decent handwriting, since more or more of what they do - at school, at work and in what passes for correspondence - is keyed into some computer or other. With the widespread use of calculators, it is often alleged that the mental agility of students in performing calculations in their heads has declined precipitously. Or to take the most obvious example of all, a child who always relies on his parents to solve his problems for him will never gain the broader habit of independence. Watching Wall-E with Sonny would be a safeguard against our own best parental instincts, taken too far.

Sadly, the $2 crystal ball that passes for our predictive powers can't tell us what other dangers await as we migrate more and more of our lives onto computers. Thomas Payne, we are told, warned us that the price of freedom was eternal vigilance. He meant this in the stirring context of political liberty and the glories of democracy. But it's just as true a sentiment when applied to our daily acquisition of skills and abilities.

Money-mindedness should know its place

In one of our very earliest posts (click here to read it), we reported opening a bank account so that cash gifts from friends or relatives that are meant for Sonny could be hoarded. Thing is, we used an account in our own names. It seemed fairer that Sonny get an account of his very own - so today, Pa toddled over to the bank.

Of course, it'll be years before the little fella will grasp the concepts that underlie the banking system. Or savings. Or, indeed, money itself. He's operating for now on the ultimate in socialised living: All of his needs are provided without anything being demanded of him in return. Still, the conventional advice we receive is to get our young 'un hooked on saving as soon as possible, so he begins to appreciate the value of dollars and cents at the earliest possible juncture.

One wonders, however, whether this risks creating a monster of sorts. It might be argued that, even more central to life than always husbanding your resources and making sure you're not expending them needlessly should be an instinct to give selflessly of yourself. That is to say, shouldn't we be geared towards helping others without thought of reward, rather than learn to help only within the prior context of a 'prudence' that teeters towards becoming a calculating meanness? Embedding an awareness of 'dollar value' too early on would seem the ideal route towards distorting the wellsprings of generosity.

None of this, it ought to go without saying, is to denigrate the importance of spending within one's means, being sensible financially and so forth. What is at issue is only the relative importance of such concepts within a young child's core understanding of how the world works, and ought to work. It is widely accepted that, for most people, what we imbibe when very young becomes the deepest part of who we are.

So we're not going to ply Sonny with messages, subtle, crude or subliminal, to save and be cost-conscious just yet. In a society so utterly money-driven, there'll be plenty of time for such lessons.

A burglar as a pillar of society?

Parents these days are fond of saying things like, "It doesn't matter what our children grow up to become, so long as they are happy". That's unfortunate, if not downright dishonest.

When we consider Sonny's future, and the chilling moment when he will turn around and tell us, "You know, I want to be a...", it strikes us that we don't want him to be happy doing just any old thing. For instance, even if he loved being a cat burglar, we wouldn't be cheering him on - and not just because he might be caught and sent up the river. Even if he possessed the ring of Gyges, which would render him invisible, we'd still want him to do something that he could be truly proud of, in the sense that he would be doing some good.

Of course, even high school debaters would be able to put up a case for how virtually any job "could do some good". A really competent cat burglar, for instance, if he never stole too much, would alert his victims to flaws in their security systems, which they could patch up. They would then be proof against really nasty thieves who might empty their homes, ravage their womenfolk and even track in mud.

Mainly, therefore, it's about getting the broad strokes of Sonny's character right, so that, whatever his proclivities turn out to be, they will always be corralled and ruled by honour, goodwill and a wish not to do harm. We're not sure that this would rule out all that many jobs, really, since it so often does come down to what someone's intentions are. Think insurance agents, door-to-door salesmen or even soldiers. There are folks who think that such professions are two steps away from being despicable, yet those who take up these tasks could be venal or beneficent, protective or vicious, warm-hearted or calculating...

But what, then, about being happy? Well, it's precisely up to the parent to ensure their child ends up being happy about doing the right sort of things. For example, there is a place for passion, or even aggression - but when one encourages this excessively throughout childhood, without strengthening contrary emotional tendencies, one is surely closing off avenues of happiness in the future. It is true that many of a child's traits are genetically programmed into him, and will rise to the surface despite parental neglect or outright discouragement. But that's no excuse for not doing what we can - before the matter is completely out of the parent's hands.

Now, to get back to the useful cat burglar...

Growing-up lessons from Batman

Pa had a day off yesterday, and since Sonny was at the infant care centre and Mum only returns to work next Tuesday, we caught the new Batman movie, The Dark Knight. Comic-book epic it may be, but it also made us really think about how a person's childhood can shape him.

The film's hero has a cool black Batmobile that is black and sleek, and packs a turbocharged wallop. It's a perfect metaphor for director Christopher Nolan's vehicle, which is grim, stylish and zips along smartly. Both movie and Batmobile are cleverly engineered (Nolan crams in plenty of social commentary along with wham-bang action), yet suffer what seem to be fatal crashes midway - thematic and fiery respectively. However, they emerge, stripped-down, and roar on to a satisfying finish.

There's been much publicity about how well the late Heath Ledger realises his villainous Joker. Still, the movie pivots around the ominous Batman, who never speaks above a growl and thinks he can best serve society by prowling the night in sable armour, terrifying the underworld. As anyone who knows the Batman back story can tell you, he's a billionaire who lost his parents when very young, after the wealthy couple were gunned down by a crook in an alley.

Despite his bereavement, and thanks to his being raised by a implausibly wise butler, the hero emerges with many of the aspects of a well-balanced personality intact: He has a sense of right and wrong, retains the benefits of a good education (including nonpareil fighting skills), is polite to women and can all in all pass for 'normal' at first glance. But, of course, he's actually scarred for life, his darker insecurities and rage expressed as the actions of a larger-than-life vigilante.

Strip away the fictive elements, and we have a story of someone who was deprived of being raised by his parents. These days, of course, millions of real-life children have to do with just one parent, or a cobbled-together family life at best. Many of those who have gone through this will tell you that, though they may have 'come out all right', they longed for the sense of security and completeness that an intact family unit confers. It would have made a difference to their lives, though they may not have ended up vigilantes or master criminals: Certainly, it would have enhanced their psychic defences and given them a better shot at happiness.

There will always people for whom adversity provides the very tools for their achieving glory. Napoleon might not have been the mighty conqueror he became had he not been laughably short, some have argued. But for the great majority of us, contentment and success are cast in more modest terms. We don't expect Sonny to achieve greatness - indeed, the sacrifices required to reach superlative heights might not be worthwhile - but we would be satisfied if we can provide the groundings for a decent life. In the Batman movie, one tragic character is a crusading prosecutor who falls from grace after tragedy strikes.

Perhaps if he had enjoyed a better childhood, things could have turned out different.

How big a deal is a name?

For those who invest much effort into choosing a name for their child, Indiana Jones may serve as a warning as they agonise over a patron saint, cast horoscopes or analyse the number of brush strokes required.

Us? Keen to embrace the great corporate trend of our time, we had outsourced. A committee comprising Pa's mother and Mum's aunt offered up candidates - and we quickly settled on one with decent symbolic heft (to translate from the Chinese, it means 'heaven's blessing') and a certain musicality to the ear.

Good enough, we felt, but you may disagree. Feeding Sonny, moulding his character and all that jazz may seem like a big deal today, you concede. But a few decades on, it might well be the name we gift him, and which he bears, that is the most tangible mark of our devotion.

But, as we were saying, don't forget Indiana Jones. Referring, in case you've been living under a rock, to the fictional swashbuckling archaeologist who has featured in four movies - with the most recent, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, currently playing in cinemas. Jones (played with deadpan elan by Harrison Ford) was named Henry, after his father - but preferred to annex the moniker assigned to the family dog. Indiana.

Skipping nimbly over the vast potential for over-psychologising here, the bald point is obvious: Children don't necessarily hold on to the names selected for them. They might go the official route by deed poll, or they may just adopt alternate first names for everyday use. Perhaps on a whim, or out of religious fervour - it hardly matters. Parents might simply be best off not getting too hung up on the name of their dreams.

Eventually, the child gets to cast a deciding vote. Or veto.

We need Freud down here

The gnawing in the chest begins amidst utter darkness.

It's gentle at first, then fiercer and fiercer, like a ravenous rat. The pain level shoots up. Finally, there's a flash of light and the vicious nibbler is revealed... to be our son!

And that's about when his father wakes up from his bizarre dream, one that seems especially suited to half-baked coffeeshop psychoanalysis. Perhaps Pa fears that the child he must devote so much energy to will eventually turn around and betray him. Or, more implausibly, might he be haunted subconsciously by a sense of inferiority over being unable to breastfeed? The location of the gnawing might be instructive, after all, along with the way it grows in intensity, like that of a suckling child unable to draw milk.

This is rather fun, so let's consider Mum's dream too (yes, we both had dreams on the same day). In hers, she meets a lineup of young babies, some of whom are mysteriously mature and can even speak. She is drawn to one adorable orphan in particular. In short order, however, he starts work at a haberdasher's!

Surely, the 'orphan' is Sonny, the child whose fate is linked to Mum's - but who will, all too soon, grow up, get a job and move out of his parents' orbit. Why a haberdasher's? Perhaps Mum simply has a deeply-buried dislike of people selling bits of clothing.

All right, maybe a dream is sometimes just a dream. In any case, we don't think we're seen the last of these child-centred fantasies, if so you choose to term them. Guess when there's an addition to the family, even dreamtime is never quite the same again.

The face factor

There's a boxing match raging in our household right now. Our baby is right in the middle of it, but it's his mother who's coolly outpointing his father.

Thing is, neither of us actually lands any punches. That duty goes to the folks, from visitors to relatives, who gleefully comment unprompted on the issue at hand: Who does Sonny more resemble, Mum or Pa?

On that score, the latter has been reeling from blow after blow, as Sonny's chin, eyes, nose and even his limbs have been consistently allotted to Mum's column. She's hardly had to absorb even weak jabs, excepting two persons who were probably trying to be even-handed at the expense of truth. Indeed, the most vicious roundhouse punch so far has been dealt by Pa's own mother, who opined that Sonny lacked any similarity to him whatsoever.

Admittedly, there are more important things in life, but why care at all? Well, apart from bragging rights per se, there's something primeval about wanting to leaving the world a legacy - and a child imprinted with the features of his parent is right up there in that category. At least, for those of us who haven't libraries to our name.

The good news, for Pa, is that the punch-up should continue for years, as Sonny's appearance changes and modulates and presents new facets to compare. And there's still the slugfest to come when we parcel out actual character traits (laziness, athleticism and the like).

Someone sound the bell for Round Two.