Anyone thumbing through the press or flicking through the TV channels would be forgiven for thinking that everyone is cool, unconventional, wild and errr, cool. Gorgeous, perma-tanned, lithe, uber- groomed people, usually called something like Lhyle, or Saylorre confidently sip Champagne in VIP boxes and look on as longer limbed, thinner, gorgeous people, with even more unpronouncable names like Xsseus and Qristill wear impractical clothes and stride like pre-teens on stilts down a "runway". As an aside why do clothes designers look like they have personally shopped at British Heart Foundation? And celebrity hair stylists look as if the clothes designers did their hair? Builders houses syndrome I expect...
I digress...
When children feature in this chic, movie star, jet set lifestyle they are wonderfully co-ordinated, darling little jewels adorning the great and the good. Beautiful, intelligent little accessories sitting poised and confident in designer styled houses, or emerging from London townhouses in the latest buggy de-jour, into a waiting car (probably laid on by some production company or other) to be whisked off with the Nanny to a waiting jet, private of course dahling and shuttled to wherever their 5 star parents have managed to assemble the world's press by frolicking semi-naked on an exotic beach with each other, or for maximum impact, with someone elses parents. All of this is achieved by working for three minutes a week publicising the latest diet which has spiritually changed their life. In this modern world you can be a slim, successful, hi-flying, sexy, jet-set parent and pursue whatever career you care to turn your hand to. I think Madonna has a lot to answer for and not just ra-ra skirts and mesh tops in the eighties. BTW, Madonna, if you're reading this, stop wearing the Burberry flat cap you look like an unconvincing extra from Steptoe and Son.
To be conventional and "normal" in this hi-gloss, digitally enhanced world is geeky, nerdy, L7 man, something reserved only for authority figures and your parents. Nights must be late, mornings must be non-existant, music must be played at I.Q. reducing levels and you must have an annual subscription to The Priory. Rebel, throw off the shackles of oppressive bosses, "Hang" with your homies, dude, you're no wage slave. Sunglasses must be grafted onto movie star looks, if you don't have looks to die for then a fortnight in a Lithuanian clinic, drinking mud and subjecting yourself to treatments which may contravene the EU Human Rights Act with a little nipping and tucking or a lot of it, depending if you are in your twenties or not to help rid yourself of any unsightly folds, creases or wrinkles that unsportingly refuse to respond to botox.
The less-than-Hollywood, work-a-day reality is of course life is not one long round of celebrity packed film premiers, facelifts and chariddy shag-athons. We need to work, we need to earn, we need money, we need to bring home the bacon, or indeed, quorn. Unfortunately no one has explained the economics of the situation to junior, don't bother trying either, they are too busy drinking milk or dribbling. Whatever your personal situation; married, co-habiting, single or lottery winner, certain fiscal arrangements need to be addressed and planned for however balanced against that are the nurturing needs of the new born and in this media saturated world you would be forgiven for thinking that stay-at-home parents are a decreasing minority and that women really can and do have it all and men are the equivalent of walking sperm ATM machines with wallets.
Having been privvy to the secret world of parenting for nearly a year now I am amazed at how many two parent families I have met who have ignored the have-it-all pan-sexual propaganda and divided their share of responsibilites along gender lines. Dad goes out to the office to earn and Mum stays at home and does all the work. Not everyone has this arrangement, but definitely a majority of the couples I have met. It's the same here at chez Morrison, even though my working hours are unconventional and I can be out 'till 3 or 4 am or away for a few days. Everyday Jemma is maintaining the rhythym of the household, rather like a watchman, winding the clock keeping it running, maintaining, overseeing, in charge and I must state publically that without her contribution I could not have achieved all that I have done.
Would I swap places with Jemma? This is something which Trisha asked me (sorry for dragging you on there Jem!) and at the time my mouth said, "yes I would", but my head said "and stop having fun? Babies are boring, cute, but boring".
I now know that I would prefer to stay at home, spending time with Jaya and Jemma is much more fun than repeating "Right Kerfuffle" over and over to a bunch of moronic drunken idiots at 1 in the morning in a nightclub in Solihull who have fallen hook, line and sinker for the media saturated over hyped top-of-the-pops world view.
Babies are not boring, far from it, they are like the best gadget in the world, every day they do something new, achieve a new milestone, imitate you but look cuter doing it. Being a contributor to that process, you have a chance to mould, shape and create a human being, now that is truly cool and you don't need to change the batteries, set it to a Drum and Bass sound track or have a Burberry account to do any of it.
Would I swap places now? Yes, but like Gordon Brown and the Euro there would have to be the right economic conditions to do so, but Jemma will still look better in a dress and makeup than I do...
