Sting in the Tale

I saw Supernanny on Channel 4 last night and as I watched the clueless couple and their offspring fighting tooth and nail I got that lovely warm ‘at least I’m not that hopeless at parenting’ feeling.  I often tune in to ‘corrective’ reality TV programmes like Supernanny to make myself feel better about my parenting abilities, wrinkles, dress sense and so on.  And there are lots of you out there who do the same if the ratings are anything to go by.  For sure you can pick up the odd useful tip – God knows when Supernanny first aired ‘naughty steps’ sprang up everywhere in my neighbourhood – but mostly we watch to feel good about ourselves and either mock the poor suckers on the telly or experience the ‘there by the grace of God go I’ feeling.

Last night’s couple had two boys who were allowed to fall asleep on the sofa in front of the telly each evening. In this information abundant age it amazes me that some people simply haven’t worked out that a solid bedtime regime is good for kids, not to mention how good it is for parents who get some grown up time and with it a chance to hold onto their sanity. Do these people not talk to their own parents or friends with children for tips and handy hints?  Do they not read the exhaustive manual that came courtesy of the health centre before baby was even born covering all manner of topics from tooth care to childhood illnesses and immunisation? Of course they don’t, but just about everyone I know does.  Where do the production companies who make these programmes find their subjects, for they are nothing like anyone I’ve come across at the school gates?  And that’s the key… On the whole those who appear on reality TV programmes are nothing like those who make or watch the finished products.  Telly people even have a code when selecting participants… they are never PLUs – People Like Us. So there it is. Programmes made by the supersmug for the supersmug.  Mind you, my seven year old kicked off big time this morning and boy did I struggle to bring him under control… not feeling quite so self-satisfied now.  Must refer to that manual.

Am I the only mother to suffer from this affliction?  Getting back into some kind of shape after the birth of a baby is a priority for many women. That and getting some sleep and time to ourselves (ha ha).  But whilst we’re focussing on our tums, bums and boobs all kinds of weird things could be happening to other, often neglected, areas of our bodies.I imagine my problem is mostly confined to women who, like me, have produced more than one thumping big baby. Both sons’ birth weights topped the 8lbs mark – my first boy was closer to 9lbs and my second only missed such dizzy heights because he was whipped out two weeks early. As toddlers they were best described as ‘solid’.  Lugging them here, there and everywhere meant that there was no need to focus, exercise wise, on the upper arm area.  They were weight training in themselves.  In fact my youngest isn’t quite three so I’m still hauling him round when he decides that his (chubby) little legs cannot walk any further.  He rarely gets into his buggy these days. So what’s your problem you may be asking?  Well, the easiest way to cart a small child round is to plonk him or her on your hip and support their back with your arm.  As with other things, like handwriting, I tend to favour one side.  And though I do shift them to the opposite side on occasion this is usually only once chronic stitch has set in.  I’m right handed, or right sided, and I have noticed that my right arm, bicep to be precise, is considerably larger than my left.  I’m lop-armed. When I pointed this out to my fella he confirmed my fears, laughed and commented that I now resemble a Russian shot-putter.  Actually, it was me that made the Russian shot-putter reference but the point is he didn’t deny it. My dilemma is whether or not to try and work my left arm up to the same level of beefiness as my right for balance?  Or stick to wearing three quarter length sleeves in dark colours to disguise my problem?  Much as I admire the fabulous Mrs Ritchie I really don’t want to be as muscle bound as she is in any area of my body. And whilst I’ve been obsessing about my chunky arm my stomach has started developing too – outwards.  Yikes!