I Come Bearing Lasagne

The boundaries you should set—and respect for others—when you become a parent

I tried. I really did.

Last week’s post from the archive was meant to be a one-off; a tactic deployed to give me more time to write a fresh new issue for you all.

Alas, I have failed in my endeavour. A mixture of work and time off work doing fun stuff has inhibited my ability to finish what I’ve started. Therefore I come to you today bearing not lasagne, but an essay about lasagne.

I’m sharing this issue in particular because soon I’ll be making some lasagnes myself to give away. Some friends of ours are expecting a baby very soon, and I remember how heartwarming and cared for I felt whenever someone would bring us freshly-prepared food when we were deep in the trenches of early newborn life. I vowed to return the favour to anyone I could.

The essay is more than just about lasagne (mental note: start a news newsletter exclusively about lasagne). It’s about the boundaries that new parents should set with neighbours, friends and even close family.

As of Tuesday, I’ll be a member of Team No Sleep once again, and the proud father of a second baby girl.

I’ve been a little bit nervous about how our family dynamic will change, but a lot less trepidatious than I was the first time. The experience of having done it once before really helps—as I’ve spoken about before, there’s unfortunately nothing that can really replicate on-the-job training when it comes to caring for a newborn baby.

One of the things that I learned a lot about the first time, and that we as a couple have been very clear about this time around is our boundaries as a family during the first few weeks after baby arrives¹.

Only close family (our own parents and siblings) will be allowed to come over and see the baby, and that’s with a lot of prior warning, and with us texting them just before they leave to say it’s still OK. Even when they do come, if they’re not providing a meals on wheels service—ideally a lasagne² or five—or doing some tidying around the house, or at the very least entertaining our three-year-old for a few hours when she’s not in nursery, then they’re not coming over just to sit and drink tea with us whilst we’re desperately clinging to our sanity.

“That’s right Colin and Marion from number 24, you keep on walking. Don’t you even think of knocking.”

I’m not even thinking about asking the extended family over, and to be honest I don’t think I ever will. They’ll see her when they see her. I have no desire to host people for the sake of it.

It’s so empowering for us both as a family unit and personally to be comfortable and secure in setting these boundaries and sticking to them (only time will truly tell, but I’m confident). I’ve alluded to being a people-pleaser before, so being able to subvert that in this scenario has been really important for my own self development.

But I’ll be honest - there’s no way I would have been this confident and forthright in my convictions to hold these boundaries for us unless I’d let myself be walked all over in the past; unless I’d made the mistakes already and knew what it felt like to be trodden on. And that’s exactly what happened with our first. Like with everything to do with parenting, you don’t learn the lesson until it’s happened to you, and it’s too late.

It all started in the hospital. As soon as visiting hours in the recovery ward began, I was away from the bedside, away from my post-fifty-seven-hour-labour wife and newborn daughter, negotiating with the midwives to let my parents and sister up onto the ward to visit for half the visiting time, then handing them leaving just as my wife’s parents, brother and his girlfriend came to use up the other half. I didn’t have any brainpower to be dealing with logistics like this, but that’s what I was made to feel like I should be doing.

The close family visits continued after we returned home, which were fine. Our parents were both helpful and brought us food and treats, which were a big help.

But then the wider mob started showing up in dribs and drabs, all within the first week of being home. A couple of my wife’s cousins would text asking if it was ok to come over. Not knowing any better, we said yes. They each stayed for an hour. One even told my wife “bloody hell, you’re still massive!”, as if they thought the muscle and skin that’s been slowly expanding over the course of nine months just fucking disappears the moment the baby pops out. We should have said no, but we didn’t know we could.

Then a day or so later there’s a ring at the door. I check out doorbell camera to see who it is. It’s two more members of our wider family, turning up unannounced - literally doorstepping us. My wife’s just come off the back of a massive cluster-feeding session and is exhausted. But do we do the logical thing and turn them away? Of course not - we let them it, because it’s too awkward to tell them to come back another day

We give each other glances as if to say let’s get these two out of here as soon as possible. We try to guard the living room, but they shuffle on past us. We stay standing up, but one of them plops himself happily onto the sofa, shimmying out of his coat, making himself nice and fucking comfy.

They stay for an hour and a half. When they’d left, my wife is in tears as she calls her parents to find out what the hell’s just happened. Turns out her dad has given them our address, without a thought to say “hey, maybe ask them before you pop over?”

Credit to my mother-in-law; she gave him as much of an earful as my wife did.

As time went on the acute problem of home visitors seeped away as the novelty for family of seeing a teeny-tiny baby wore off as she got less teeny-tiny. But an inherent lack of empathy for our situation as new parents permeated into other aspects of our interactions with them. Family meals out would always get booked at times of the evening that weren’t conducive to a very small child’s fledgling schedule. But of course, we couldn’t say no. It didn’t enter our sleep-deprived minds to do so.

Then it all came to a head. Then came the Sip and See.

Whether it was us or my wife’s parents who initially suggested it, I can’t really remember. Either way, it was an awful idea that should have been shot down at launch. But I just remember the phrase “it’ll let everyone have a chance to see the baby all at once” being bandied about a lot.

As you can imagine, it was a fucking nightmare. I remember sitting there, fuelled by a plate of beige food, a glass of Prosecco and about four hours of sleep in the past week, expected to make smalltalk with the entirety of my wife’s extended family; Uncles, grandparents, cousins - you name it. There were nearly thirty people crammed into my in-law’s house in total. All invited over to pass their germs on to our pristine little baby as they handed her around, all getting their grubby hands on her for their photo and cuddle.

Truthfully, we didn’t realise how bad it was until a couple of months later. We looked back at some of the photos from the event, and we were horrified at what we saw. We looked like warmed-up corpses, propped up Weekend at Bernie’s-style for the entertainment of the masses.

My wife burst into tears, in grief for what our past selves had been subjected to. I didn’t feel much better about it, either. Not only did I feel sad for my past self for having felt as though I needed to do all that, but that I wasn’t able to advocate for myself, or my family. I guess I felt as though indulging family and going on tour with our newborn daughter was expected of us; like it was the ‘done thing’.

I am here to tell any new or expectant parents right now, that there is no ‘done thing’. There is your ‘thing’, and that’s it. But it’s hard not to get swept up in the madness of it all.

There’s so many guides online on how to deal with after-birth visitors, all giving sage pieces of advice. But do we feel like we’re able to follow them, in the heat of the moment? We certainly didn’t, and I know I’m not an isolated case either.

I spoke to some of my friends about their experiences with this kind of thing; here are some anecdotal examples from our conversations:

“We literally got home from the hospital after three days of intense labour, where our baby almost died, and sat on the sofa are my mum, dad, sister and her boyfriend. They’ve got a spare key for emergencies, but they thought they’d just let themselves in to greet us home. We were in no fit state to be entertaining people - we just wanted to get in our own little bubble and process what had just happened. They stayed for three and a half hours. I just thought it was normal at the time and went along with it, but later I realised it was out of order. I told them a few years later how shitty it was but they didn’t seem to understand why, even then.”

“We were renting off my in-laws at the time, so they just treating it like they could pop over at whatever time they wanted to see the baby. There were no boundaries whatsoever. My wife tried to speak to them about it, but they just brushed it off like “but I want to see my grandson, what’s wrong with that?” We had to put a latch on the door in the end and make up some excuse about my wife feeling safer in case she fell asleep during the day, but we shouldn’t have had to do that. We should have just said no.”

“Whenever my mum and sister would come and visit in those early days, they’d always just be in it for themselves, not to help us in any way. Once I asked them if they would bring some food - they brought sandwiches for themselves and nothing for us. Another time, my wife had literally just got the baby to sleep, and they both showed up unannounced with one of my sister’s friends in tow. My mum came straight in and started nudging the baby to wake up, and picking him up.”

The only option if your family has keys to your house and has the temerity to use them other than in an emergency

You might have had a similar experience or story to the ones above and thought “ah, that’s just what families are like” or “it wasn’t that bad.”

Maybe it wasn’t for you, and that’s fine. But the fact that yet more articles exist on setting boundaries after having a baby, surely means that more people than just me and some friends have found this kind of behaviour to be detrimental to our post-natal mental health.

As I already mentioned, this time around we’ve felt much more comfortable being able to set those boundaries for ourselves. But that first time around, you’re so vulnerable and raw to the world once you emerge through those hospital doors, holding the car seat containing the most precious thing in the world to you. You’re still in emotional shock - no wonder so many parents need articles like those above to help them set boundaries. Because without them, they don’t.

But what if the parent doesn’t even know to look for advice like this? What else can be done? I’ll tell you what I wished had happened for us - I wish someone had set the boundaries for us when we didn’t know how.

That sounds like I’m passing the buck. But just think back to those first weeks after having your first child - they’re like a blur, right? You don’t know right from left, up or down, and you’re putting your car keys in the fridge because you’re so tired. How the hell do you think new parents can fight through that kind of fatigue to have what can be quite difficult conversations with parents, family and friends? It’s so much more likely that they’re just going to say yes to whatever whims they have, just to not rock the boat.

That’s where the parents - or someone, anyone! - needs to step in. At least for us, I wish they’d been the advocate that I wasn’t able to be at that time in my life. I wish they’d said “don’t do a Sip and See, it’s fucking stupid and it’ll be bad for you and the baby” (it was bad for the baby - she ended up in hospital twice with nasty bugs she’d no doubt picked up from the two-dozen people kissing her that day). I wish they’d told us to tell any unannounced visits to sling their hook.

But they didn’t. They’ve been great with childcare and stuff like that since, but I can’t help but feel a bit of resentment that they didn’t hold that boundary for us that first time around, especially when I see them doing it for the other new parents popping up in the extended family now.

Ultimately, all I can do is affect the future. So that’s why I’ve made sure to be the advocate that I wasn’t able to be before. And it’s why that no matter what, I promise my daughters that I will be their advocate if I ever become a grandparent.

And when I go over to meet my grandchild for the first time, I’ll come bearing lasagne.

Tell me your stories

I think everyone has examples of when family or friends have overstepped the line when it comes to the post-natal period. Have you got any stories along these lines that you want to get off your chest? Or how about some occasions where you were able to hold that boundary?

Previously on Some Other Dad

1. Baby number two may very well have arrived as you read this! (Note from the future: said baby is now 20 months old)

2. You have no idea how long I spent double-checking whether “lasagne” or “lasagna” is the correct spelling. This article was what eventually made me stop furiously Googling it. Sorry America.