Burden of responsibility

In the space of two hours today two totally separate events took place which put into perspective how awesome the responsibility I feel towards Alby is. 

The first took place when Alby, Dad and I were watching In the Night Garden together.  On comes Makka Pakka and at the sight of his tricycle Alby is bopping up and down and clapping his hands.  My dad and I, naturally, laughed at his silly ways and I had this very surreal moment where my brain very consciously acknowledged that the reason there was a toddler in the house was because of me, that he was nothing to do with my dad and that all responsibility for him rests, ultimately, on my shoulders.  Obviously this is something I’m generally aware of all the time but it was one of those powerful existential moments which made my eyes widen for one second, a smile for the next. 

Alby and granddad - all fun!

The second came through a conversation I was having with my mum.  I have a few left over bottles of formula which I never used on Alby.  Rather than chucking them away I asked my mum if she knew whether my ten month of nephew ever has formula and could therefore make use of them.  She informed that he did and that my sister-in-law has recently made the decision to stop expressing milk.

Now in telling my mum all of this my sister-in-law did something that I find myself doing constantly – she justified her actions.  It wasn’t enough just to say “I’ve stopped expressing” but rather she had to qualify and quantify her decision, explain her full thought process and clarify why her course of action is more suitable for her and her son than all the other alternatives.

This is something I have done with every decision I’ve ever made regarding Alby.  And not just when talking to my mother-in-law.  I do it when speaking to Mark, to my mum, to my best friends, to the  check out lady in Sainsbury’s and to the angry Parisian who thought my son should be wearing a hat (he should have been but you tell him that). 

My lovely burdens

There’s nothing new about this really – to all those people who patronizingly say to childless people “if you don’t have kids you can’t possibly understand” I say pah – in our own lives we make our own decisions with the same amount of conscious thought and effort.  I guess the difference now, which causes all the added dialogue,  is that as new parents we’re super conscious that if we get it wrong it’s not just our live that we’re effecting. We’ve had thirty odd years to get used to ourselves, to know whether something is right or wrong for us and to know how we will cope and respond if it does go wrong.  Our little charges though are still giving their age in months rather than double digit years and change so much each week that what is right one day isn’t necessarily right the next. I don’t know if the burden of responsibility is overwhelming per se, but it’s definitely in your face 24/7. And as such, when it comes to making a decision over something it isn’t just a case of chatting it through with a mate over a drink or, in more extreme cases, choosing which self-help book matches our predicament and personality, but rather sharing our actions with one and all in hope for reassurance, almost to the point of acceptance and positive encouragement, or at the very least constructive direction.