Web of lies

One of the least discussed aspects of parenting is all the extra lying you do, says Sophie White, who wonders why she’s not better at it by now

Virtually as soon as the baby is out, you find yourself lying about all kind of weird things: whether you co-sleep or not, or if the baby is getting a boob or a bottle.

I think it’s because pretty early on in the whole raising-humans game, you realise that the world wants to tell you you’re doing it wrong. Completely regardless of whatever it is. This means the safest bet is to always lie about everything. That way, if someone criticises your choices (which they do, and vocally, too) you can comfort yourself with the fact that they’re arguing with a lie.

It’s a sanity-saving defence mechanism. It’ll keep you from eventually lashing out in frustration when the next aul’ one from next door starts telling you that kids these days get too many hugs, or some such nonsense.

With my patented Always Be Lying method, you can just look her dead in the eyes and say: “Maura, I couldn’t agree more. I’ve never made actual physical contact with my children. I put a wire Mother Doll wrapped in old cloth in their beds if they are crying out for comfort in the night”, and then go about your merry way.

Maura will shut up because you’re complying with her monstrous 1950s-style parenting, and you’re happy — well, mainly because Maura has finally shut up. All the lying about parenting strategies is very useful, as it lays the foundations for the next stage of parental lying. The lying to our kids.

“Muma! Muma! Are you hiding and eating crisps in the bathroom?” “No.” Nom-nom-nom. “What kind if animal do you take me for?”

“Muma, when I grow up can I be an astronaut?” “You can be anything you want to be, darling.”

That last one cuts deep, but you do it because you have to. The problem with so much lying is that you start to lose track of what you’ve previously lied about.

This is something you can skim over with kids, but when you’ve crossed over into lying to authority figures about your kids, things can get complicated and often embarrassing. Take my recent run-in with the Ikea creche service Smaland (for children aged three and up).

Now, I can’t be the first parent to try and ‘age-up’ my child so that I could abandon a two-year-old in the creche. However the Ikea crowd, as we know, think of everything.

When I said the two-year-old was three, the woman narrowed her eyes and asked his birthday. I did some impressively fast maths and came up with a date that put him at three-and-a-half. Unfortunately, it was not the same date as the previous time I’d lied about his age.

“That’s not the date we have here, I’m afraid.” Morto. I slunk off, with both my bloody children in tow. Clearly, it was karmic retribution for having lied in the first place. With the kids in tow, I had to skip the requisite Ikea meatballs, but knocked up a decent version at home.

“When I said the two-yearold was three, the woman narrowed her eyes and asked his birthday”