Stroller-derby

I am a clever marketer's dream - have a cute logo or even a smart ad campaign and you've got my attention (actually, save time and just put your product in shiny packaging and you've got me) and brand loyalty. But I am also a poor marketer's nightmare – if I think you're trying to pull the wool over my eyes or being condescending then no matter how fantastic your product is, I won't buy it on principle.

I've been inundated with free magazines and brochures on all sorts of baby products recently and they all have the standard “when you want the best for your baby” type slogans and feature a good looking, upper middle class, white mum in her early 30s. Apart from being a massive stereotype they've done their job well, since their target market is in fact, good looking, upper middle class, white mums in their early 30s. I'm not so daft that I believe everything I'm told though, and just because a company tells me their product is “closer to nature” than the next doesn't mean it is, so I'm going to look at the ingredients list and decide for myself (I knew my units on cosmetic chemistry would come in handy one day - I know what all those big words are!). And I know that just because the baby in your ad is cute and smiling when you use “Super Fantastic Nappies” doesn't mean mine isn't going to scream down the house sometimes when I use them – but that's OK, you can gloss over some of those minor details, make it look pretty - thats advertising after all.

There is one ad though, that whenever I see it I don't know whether to laugh or cry. It's for the Steelcraft Strider Plus pram and whilst I'm sure it is a fantastic contraption, the ad features a tall, leggy model dressed in crisp white trousers, black high heels, funky necklaces and not looking a day over 25. I have a few problems believing this is an accurate depiction of a mother;

• those blindingly white pants should have some baby spew or at least a bit of smooshed banana on them

• accessories and high heels are not the first things I think of when I hear the word mother – I'm more likely to think (and wear) jeans and ballet flats. If those flats happen to match my shirt then all the better. The necklace should have some crusted up baby slobber on it too

• this pram is $700 before you even buy the infant carrier section – if you can afford such an expensive pram and your under 25 I want to know what line of work you are in, and can you get me an interview?

• but the absolute kicker? THERE IS NO BABY IN THE PRAM!

Are you sure that's not the friend of the mum just minding the pram while she puts bub in the car? Yes I know, I'm stereotyping too. I'm sure a mother can be glamorous and look like a model – I've seen the pictures of Heidi Klum strutting her stuff down the Victoria's Secret catwalk mere weeks after popping out her fourth – so I know it is possible. Do people really think if they buy this pram they will look like this highly starched goddess?

I'd much prefer the ad campaign to show a normal looking mum (you can still make her good looking, upper middle class woman in her early 30s if you must – I'll let you keep that for now), taking a real child on a shopping trip. Show me how useful this contraption is going to be - how much of my shopping can fit underneath? Can I fold it down and put it in the boot one handed because I'm busy holding a screaming toddler in the other arm? That goes for the harness too - can I do it up with one hand whilst stopping the trolley rolling away and causing car-mageddon? And most importantly, how effectively will it push people out of the way at the January sales?

My bump, my bump, my bump, my lovely baby bump

I was warned this would happen... when I was first told I just laughed, thinking that surely it was a one-off scenario that a friend had encountered and of course it wouldn't happen to me. But today, it did. I went to get in the car and the car next to me was so close (though still in its correct bay) that I couldn't fit in. Oh the humanity!

I've reached a size now where my bump is not just evident, its the first thing people notice about me. It became apparent a about a week ago when walking through a shopping centre - people were no longer looking at my face when they passed me. All eyes on the tummy. They look slightly worried too, as if they think I'm going to pop any minute “thar she blows” style.

People are fascinated by it. They all want to touch it – its seems like it is public property now. I don't mind my friends touching my belly, even without asking – it makes me feel special that they are drawn to it. But strangers on the other hand, now that is a different story. Luckily I have had only one stranger grope me – but then she made it worse by encouraging her children to do the same. I wasn't too sure what to do, she was trying to be nice... so I just put my hands protectively over my bump so that there was no space left for anyone else, stepped back slightly and changed the topic. I'm not a touchy-feely person at the best of times, I don't generally hug hello and goodbye unless I'm really close to the person and have been so for years. But with the belly it feels different somehow. Maybe because deep inside I'm an exhibitionist and know this is the last time I'll ever be the centre of attention? Because as soon as Tricky arrives I'll be relegated to the back-burner and everyone will want to see him, not me – not that I blame them. I'd prefer to see a cute little infant over a hormonal woman any day.

Hubby now can't keep his hands off the little Trickster, and is always giving my belly a rub, seeing if he can feel him move. It is still quite unusual for anyone to be able to feel Tricky move as I have an anterior placenta (meaning its on the front wall, right where you'd put your hand) and its acting like a massive shock absorber, so all the kicks and punches that feel huge to me, can barely be felt by anyone else (this is also why I failed the Malteaser challenge). Part of me feels disappointed that I can't readily share the experience with others while the other part relishes the fact that this is all mine, my little secret bonding time. Because only Hubby can keep his hands there long enough to be able to discern what is my breathing and what is Tricky... no one else is that patient or that interested.

The other thing an anterior placenta brings is the inability to distinguish Tricky's body parts. When a baby moves insides it's mother''s belly you can sometimes see a foot, an elbow etc and can confirm it with your hands, having a feel around. But for me not being able to tell is a good thing. I've seen the videos (if you want to see click here) and it kinda freaks me out! I've always referred to pregnancy as being 'in the John Hurt way' but this stuff makes it look just like the movie! For the uninitiated, the John Hurt scene from Alien is on YouTube, too – don't watch it if you don't like blood, aliens or late '70s hairstyles.

Did people rub your belly like you were a lucky Buddha statue? Did you mind?

Words of wisdom

The past few weeks I've been given lots of advice from friends who are mothers. Advice on birth, pain relief, breastfeeding, you name it. And whilst it has been mostly unsolicited (because I think if I ask too many questions they'll realise I have NO IDEA and call the authorities), it has all been welcome and genuinely helpful. Like one mother who told me if Tricky doesn't latch on properly, even though you're insanely tired and just want the feed over and done with, take him off and try again because your body will thank you for it the next day – awesome advice (thanks, Melissa).

So far the only unwanted advice has been from my own dad, who thinks he knows all there is to know about babies today because he had a hand in raising my sisters and I NEARLY THIRTY YEARS AGO, and because he watches a lot of TV. That's right, its my old nemesis Today Tonight coming to get me again! To start with I was very nice when he offered suggestions I would inform him that a lot has changed since he did this last - for instance, putting a baby to sleep on their tummy was still in vogue until the early 1990s (and even championed by the renowned Dr Benjamin Spock) because it was thought if the baby vomited it would get caught and they'd choke, whereas now there is a wealth of evidence to suggest a baby sleeping on their abdomen is at an increased risk of sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS). But shooting out statistics at him is like talking to a brick wall because “the people on Today Tonight said...”

So last week I changed tactics - it was time to play hard ball. Instead of bombarding him with facts and information from the latest antenatal class I sat there and listened intently until he finished... then laughed so hard I nearly cried! He was more than a little taken aback and asked was I OK? I put it to him simply that the people he had watched had been paid for their opinion and that I'm sure I could find another, equally qualified person willing to spout their opposite opinion to camera for some dollars too. I think it did the job - so far, no new advice has been forthcoming.

At the moment I'm still all ears when it comes to advice, which is good because I'm told it going to be coming in thick and fast as soon as Tricky arrives on the scene. Even the midwives at the hospital have differing opinions to each other so how am I meant to work out what to do? And what will I do on that day when a complete stranger comes up and starts telling me I'm doing it all wrong? I've been reading a new blog called “That baby looks cold” and even though it makes me laugh, I'm frightened! If the moodiness of pregnancy lingers I'm likely to assault someone. "Tricky do you know what happened during your first Christmas?", "Yes, Mummy went to jail!"

Did you get any strangers offering unwanted advice? Or maybe you have a concerned (read: meddling) family member that watches your every move, telling you you're doing it wrong? Leave a comment below (go on, its like therapy but cheaper).

Cute as a... um... monkey?

At a party the other night a friend was telling me about the ugliest baby he'd ever seen. So ugly was this baby that a mere description was not enough, he grabbed his phone and logged on to Facebook to share the horror. A few pictures later and we agreed that yes, this baby was not going to be in an Anne Geddes calendar any time soon... not that the parents know that. Oh no, they're blissfully unaware of the quiet whisperings of “looks like an old man” and “are you sure its human?” So naturally my next thought was “What if Tricky is ugly? Will I even know?”

I've been told the trick to know if your baby isn't calendar-cute is by the response of those seeing him for the first time. If they coo and mention his dimples, his eyes and general cuteness, then its likely they think your spawn is acceptable. If however, they instead focus on other features, chances are they think your kid is ugly: “He's so big!”, “Look how much hair”, “Such small hands” and the like are almost guaranteed to mean you've scored a fuggo. But that in itself isn't a great predictor because I know when I see a baby for the first time the first thing I think is always “Its sooo tiny! How can this be out of the womb yet?”

I know I'm getting way ahead of myself, seeing that Tricky isn't even born yet, but I'm pretty sure even if people do skirt around the cuteness factor and try to make lame comments to cover their awkwardness it won't matter – I'm unlikely to notice, it will just go over my head and I'll continue to be smitten... at least I hope so.

Research published in June last year on the PloS ONE website (an open access scientific journal – hey I never said I wasn't a nerd) suggests that whilst its been known for a long time that attractive adults are often more advantaged in life (from getting better jobs, higher pay and generally more opportunities), it apparently all starts in the cot. Pretty babies are loved more. This was only based on the results of 27 volunteers so its not exactly written in stone, but the results indicated that babies who were considered 'more attractive' were looked at more and from this they determined they were therefore loved more. What this research didn't consider was that the people looking at these babies were not their parents – I cannot imagine loving Tricky any less if he happens to come out with a cleft lip or birth marks all over him. He'll still be my little baby and therefore perfect in my eyes.

I've only had one friend tell me she didn't think her baby was cute. She was certain that when her daughter was born she must have had some genetic abnormality because she didn't look “quite right”. But what is right? Depending on how they come out they can look pretty alien! Squished heads, covered in cheesy vernix and blood, squinty eyes, even bruising from a traumatic birth mean they're not the most attractive things in the world - for the record my friend's daughter is now seven and looks like she should be in a catalogue she's that gorgeous! Babies need a few days (if not weeks) to get a bit cute in my opinion – but come and ask me on the day Tricky is born and I'll probably tell you he was instantly gorgeous.

Bonus, baby!

Hubby and I are down to living on one wage (like a lot of people I don't qualify to get maternity pay) and right now is when all the bills are coming in. We chose to go to a private obstetrician because we have health insurance and the idea of continuity of care really appealed to me. But down the business end of pregnancy that gets mighty expensive! Having to see the obstetrician fortnightly and then weekly adds up very quickly I can tell you - and this is for a complication-free pregnancy I might add, who knows how much it would skyrocket if something was going in an other than textbook fashion.

I could rush in here and say “I'm not complaining...” but we all know that would be a lie. I am complaining. I know there is nothing I can do about it, I chose to go privately – but having a little whine will make me feel a whole lot better. At least we don't live in the United States (although universal health care did just get signed in, its not up and running yet). I read the blog of a Texan woman (awesomely titled 'His boys can swim!') who did not qualify for health insurance and subsequently had to pay all her medical costs up front out of her own pocket. She kept track of every pregnancy medical bill and the grand total was over $10,000! This is before she's bought any clothes or a cot, making the $1000 challenge look almost pathetic in comparison. We get to sign a little piece of paper for most of our blood tests and get partial refunds from Medicare for every doctor's visit - until you stop to think about it, its easy to forget just how lucky we are. We don't have a perfect health care system by any measure, but right now I'm very grateful for it.

Then of course, we can add to that the Baby Bonus. According to the Family Assistance Office, the Baby Bonus is to paid to families following the birth (or adoption) of a child in recognition of the extra costs incurred by the new addition. Its means tested so the amount of money you receive depends on your income (and some other criteria), but if you were to receive the full amount it is currently a whopping $5185 paid in thirteen equal fortnightly instalments. Not bad. Not bad at all. Definitely better than a poke in the eye with wet fish, or however that saying goes. Plus there are all sorts of other payments like Family Tax Benefit A and B, the immunisation allowance – and as soon as I figure out what those things are I'm sure I'll like them too.

However if I was able to change the system in any way it would be to have those lovely fortnightly payments starting about now. Finish off the nursery, pay those bills and be a little less worried about making the mortgage payment on time... and of course the new plasma TV - practically a right of passage for new parents since the Baby Bonus was introduced.