Becoming an English Parent

I wouldn’t say that my maternal instinct was any more honed than most and so my decision to give up a flourishing career in corporate finance and become a stay at home mother came as somewhat as a surprise to me. I’m making it sound easy and natural, of which it was neither.  Twelve years later it is still neither easier nor more natural with the maternal instinct intact albeit worn and slighlty  tattered.

So where’s the news in this? Happens all the time.

I’m doing it in a foreign country and in a foreign language. Admittedly Italy is in the EU (although I have a very dear friend who, in the late ’80s, delighted in calling it the leader of the third world….) so who would have thought that the union of two old world continent cultures would have been such a minefield.

As a young, up and coming couple in the early 90’s  cultural differences added spice to our relationship. As parents these differences have seen the erection  of many an iron curtain but also plenty of glasnost too.

Hence the English Parent.

The list is long and starts with where baby sleeps once brought home from hospital, breastfeeding, mother in laws, solids, bedtime stories, controlled crying, going out in the rain, a bicycle seat……..that is just the first few months. The list isn’t just long it is still a work in progress , my pre-teen adds a new page to it every week.

Reading the list makes me laugh out loud at my neo-mother ingenuity, cry with frustration at my stupidity and chuckle over the little battles won in favour of The Wind in the Willows and going out in wellies for puddle jumping.

I’m sure that some of you will recognise yourselves.