Baby bootcamp

‘If you knew beforehand what parenthood would be like you’d never do it!’ is an oft-heard maxim, and one Sophie White believes needs to be addressed

“Cheffing certainly prepares you for the relentlessness of it all, and the disgusting activities”

They say nothing can prepare you for parenthood. I see this as a cop-out on a mass scale, perpetrated by current parents to the future parents coming up behind them. A kind of ‘no one told me, so why should I help anybody else?’ mentality. And sure, no one wants to be the advice-giver — there’s officially nothing more boring than hearing about what sterilising apparatus someone found “incredible”. But what if we could make this parent-prep more fun?

I feel I was marginally more prepped than many when entering the Baby Fray because of my time spent working as a cook. After much consideration, I’ve decided that cheffing, nursing and veterinary are probably the careers most suited to preparing for children.

Cheffing certainly prepares you for the relentlessness of it all, and the sometimes disgusting activities — I still can’t change a toddler’s nappy without thinking of trussing a chicken — never mind the mental exhaustion of being shouted at for hours on end by a tyrannical and, often times, totally irrational boss.

Conditions in the average kitchen perfectly mirror those of parenthood. Minimal breaks, making meals endlessly but never actually eating yourself, doing eight things at once and being always covered in... something.

Of course, I’m not suggesting that we make parents-to-be work in kitchens, serving up hideous concoctions for the sake of hardening them to the realities of raising human young. I’m suggesting more of a kind of concept restaurant, which would serve brunch, and people could go there to work, and get a real taste of parenthood.

We’d instate the parent-to-be in a house filled with hidden perils, such as stray Lego and bananas pushed through keyholes; deprive them of sleep for 72 hours; then force them to care for, and feed, emotionally volatile, hung-over people.

The set-up is a pretty fair approximation of parental life. The diners would be encouraged to be as horrendous, unreasonable and batsh*t as they liked. Clothing would be optional; they could sit or lie wherever they want; feel free to eat the napkins, and wipe their hands on the couches or their server’s clothes.

They could act like children, basically. Of course, with that remit, nothing is off limits, so there would have to be some ground rules — not that ground rules mean anything to children. No biting, no tantrums; nothing too disgusting.

The menu would have to be fairly simple so the parents-to-be could keep the arms free to fend off the clients. This brioche bake is a brunch winner.