The first three years

A strange thought occurred to me yesterday as I watched The [excellent] Trip to Italy, featuring Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon. Brydon was rinsing Coogan for allowing another man to go on holiday with his young children and wife, effectively taking his place as the father figure. He jibed that Coogan’s children wouldn’t recognise him as a father figure because they’re under three and wouldn’t remember him being around the house. The banter led me to ponder my own children and my childhood.

How much do you remember from when you were three? It’s generally accepted that commonly you don’t remember any experiences before three. It’s a sad thought, especially when I think how much enjoyment the first three years of my first child’s life have brought me. The idea that she won’t remember the trips to the farm, the beach, the holidays, is really strange. That the only proof she’ll have will be the photos I’ll show her.

The oldest memory I have is my fifth birthday party at a farm in Hertfordshire – I can remember my wellies, my friends, and the barn with the cows in. But I can’t even be sure those are genuine memories – how much of it is down to the photos I’ve seen?

The conclusion I’ve come to is that your subconscious contains some of your earliest memories – it holds some shapes and feelings from your first years. I think – and hope – this is where your love and bond with your parents stems from. That much is definitely true for the parents.

 

 

One Born Every Minute – the most painful thing on television?

The popularity of Channel 4’s One Born Every Minute – surely one of the great mysteries of the universe. Initially I thought it was just me who took issue with the appeal of a show which focuses on the minutae of birth. Just weeks after giving birth to our first child, my wife was glued to the action on screen as another woman went through the pain and trauma of childbirth.

Now I’m no stranger to car crash TV – I worked in newspapers for long enough to understand that there is huge demand for voyeuristic television (Big Brother was just the start). What I can’t understand is how fans of OBEM, particularly women and even more so mothers, can continue to watch. It’s too invasive (no pun intended), too graphic and too raw. There has to be a line.

It’s highly emotive television but it shouldn’t be billed as entertainment, played out with quirky backing music and black comedy from the midwives. Please understand I’m coming at this from the perspective of a new father who found the miracle of birth highly emotional, exhausting, traumatic, and yes, miraculous. I now have two daughters and their births were incredible moments in my life. But do I want to watch other people go through those emotions, the pain, and, often in this show, the grief when things go wrong? No. I didn’t like seeing my wife go through it, and watching a poor stranger in their most painful moments is not enjoyable or insightful. I really can’t understand how those women who have just been through it can still sit and watch it.

Fictional hospital drama on TV is unpalatable at the best of times, but who wants to hear about the smell of the afterbirth while having dinner? Watching people crying as they find out something’s gone wrong? Watching a woman go through a 48-hour labour on screen? It’s such a deeply private moment that this level of voyeurism goes too far.

A friend recently took to Facebook to voice his distaste at having to watch his girlfriend’s favourite show. He was promptly inundated with similar stories of anguish from others – all fathers in this case. “Why so much detail?” was the overarching sentiment. These people are not easily riled. Others feel very strongly that this is really bad tv, of the poorest taste. Tales of how others were nearly, literally, sick in front of their televisions. So is it something about being a man? Are we just not cut out for this level of detail? After all, just two generations ago if you asked my grandfathers about the afterbirth they would have thought you meant some drinks at the pub.

But it’s not really the medical detail that offends me. It’s the format. I was interested in every aspect during our prenatal classes and our antenatal care. My mother has been a midwife for 30 years. I know how important this stuff is. I also understand the value of promoting the work of midwives – I’ve seen the incredible work they do first-hand during labour, and all the extra things they do behind the scenes. But One Born Every Minute goes well beyond the realms of documentary, to something gratuitous, even exploitative. Many of the participants are from working class families and talk candidly about their experience. What value or interest does that offer viewers? Is it the same as the real-life stories I can ignore in women’s magazines?

Casualty was bad enough. What do people get from this?