Mum Diary: I've lost my brain-to-mouth filter!

I was halfway through an anecdote about feeding Baby Olly, when I noticed the look of horror on my companion's face. He was the husband of a friend and a fellow parent, and we’d been companionably swapping stories about our toddlers and babies while drinking coffee at another child’s birthday party.

For a moment, I was confused. Why did he look so pained? And then it came to me in a blinding flash of inspiration: I was talking about my nipples. This was the definition of TMI, how had I not realised?

 
To put this into context, it’s a subject close to my heart these days. Baby Olly went from no teeth to four teeth in the space of four weeks. That meant sleepless nights and inconsolable crying. It meant late-night trips to the chemist for baby painkiller, jokingly referred to in our house as the ‘chemical cosh’. It meant my mother steadfastly claiming that ‘the only symptom of teething is teeth’ whenever I suggested that Olly was in pain (she doesn’t believe in teething symptoms, even when the red-cheeked baby is pulling at his ear and gnawing on a celery stick in between sobs). And on top of all that, it meant that my nine-month old baby was desperate to chew on something to relieve the pain. Since we’re still breastfeeding, that meant I have been coming in for a fair amount of biting.

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Even so, you’d think that I would have more sense that to go chatting about this issue to friends, especially male friends that I don’t really know that well.

But ever since the birth of my firstborn Harry, my conversation filter seems to have deserted me, as if it left my body along with the baby. At first, it was because people were asking about the birth. Apparently you’re allowed to talk about that in extraordinary detail because friends and family kept asking.

After that, I spent quite a lot of time anxiously discussing disgusting things with friends and health visitors. Was this poo normal? How much vomit is too much vomit? When will that black stumpy thing on his naval drop off? OMG did she REALLY eat the placenta?

Of course, I emerged from that particularly graphic phase of motherhood but before I could regain my sense of what was normal in conversation, I had to start explaining various bodily functions to my toddler. Then I had another baby and the whole process started again.

In fact, it’s not surprising that I don’t have a brain-to-mouth filter anymore, it’s a wonder I don’t walk down the street like some poor Tourette’s sufferer, only shouting about nappy rash, toddler diarrhoea and pink, gungy eyes instead.

Mind you, even if I had a better brain-to-mouth filter, Harry doesn’t. We’re currently getting round to potty training Harry, which means lots of public conversations like: “Do you need a wee-wee, darling? Are you sure?” This cannot be quietly whispered because that makes Harry feel like there’s something embarrassing about the whole affair and that’s a sure-fire way to make him refuse to go. Instead, I have to jovially ask him if he’s ready for a wee in the perky, upbeat voice of a CBeebies presenter. I can’t deny that we get looks.

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There are some great children’s books out there designed to reassure kids that using the loo is perfectly normal, but they can be embarrassing too – Harry has no qualms about quoting them in public. Books like ‘Everyone Poops’, ‘Peek-a-Poo’ and the alarming ‘The Story of the Little Mole Who Knew it Was None of His Business’. Seriously, look up that last one – the artwork is worth seeing. It’s the story of a mole trying to discover who has pooed on his head and toddlers absolutely love it.

As for my poor friend, I should clearly have just acknowledged that I was oversharing, apologised and laughed it off. Instead, I trailed off, looking worried and we stood uncomfortably for a moment drinking our coffee. In a way, it was a relief when our toddlers accidentally banged heads and we had to rush to their rescue – at least it put an end to the conversation.