Parents’ room fascism
As a general rule, I tend to steer clear of outraged parent stories. It is a sad reality that parents are often discriminated against or cloaked in shame – for daring to feed their child with breast or bottle, for putting their kids in daycare, for staying home with their kids instead of putting them in kindy, birthing without drugs, birthing with every drug possible, for naming them the wrong thing, for letting them watch the ipad. The list goes on and on.
And yes, I’ve written on these topics at times and, through the lens of hindsight, I have re-read some previous musings and lamented my own moments of ‘‘duh’’.
Once I reached critical mass of others’ opinions on parenting, which happened pretty quickly after realising that actually no-one has the One True Answer to any parenting mystery, I pretty much tuned out the numerous parent slagging articles.
But then last week something caught my eye, mainly because it mentioned the words ‘‘parents’ room’’.
For those who have not had the absolute pleasure of needing and using one of these facilities, parents’ rooms are one of the greatest discoveries of any new parent.
I can’t remember who told me, but once I had my first child, someone mentioned this mystical place called the parents’ centre inside The Plaza shopping mall in Palmerston North.
Hesitantly, I approached this room, with a large green ‘‘open door’’ button that when hit, sends the automatic door flinging open in a manner of: ‘‘Oh you’re here. We are so happy. Please hurry in because we know you are flustered.’’
And then there it is.
This magical, amazing place that hosts incredible features such as, but not limited to: A huge toilet cubicle with room for your entire stroller, associated baby bag, five screaming kids, two ponies, and a pukeko in a ponga tree; a locked playpen with toys, and a kids movie playing on a TV on the wall, allowing you the ability to change one child’s nappy without having to jam the other child’s arm between your legs to prevent roadrunner impersonations – meep meep; a microwave and bottle warmer; multiple change bays, often with extra wipes and spare nappies available, and two large feeding rooms with comfy armchairs and curtains to provide privacy if desired.
I remember the first time I walked in to one of these rooms. I felt like someone had crawled in my brain and somewhere between ‘‘personal hygiene – how long can I go without washing my hair and keeping it in a mum bun’’ and ‘‘feeding children – can they live on chicken nuggets?’’, they found the file that praised how some clever designer created a room that in the midst of shopping hell, which is essentially any time you enter a mall with a child, there is a haven to reset and reload before facing the world again.
When I introduced my husband to this incredible space, he was also suitably impressed and he has made use of these rooms many times when he has had to change a pooplosion or, heaven forbid, take a few moments to take a loo break himself.
It also saved the aged-old dilemma he had about which toilet he should take our daughter in to by creating a safe and useful space for all parents and all children.
So it was incredibly sad to read last week about a Wellington dad who was told to leave the parents’ room at Queensgate Mall when he was attempting to change his 3-month-old’s nappy.
He was apparently told by another parent he had no right to be in the room, because there were women feeding in the private cubicles.
The poor guy. It was his first time using a parents’ room and he was just trying to care for his child when faced with this ignoramus.
It really grinds me when parents don’t lift other parents up – when some type of weird archaic belief that only women should be responsible for the care and welfare of children trumps common sense.
I’ve mulled on this a bit and tried to put myself in this parents’ room policewoman’s shoes – what on earth has happened in her life to lead her to believe a parents’ room shouldn’t be used by fathers or any caregivers of a child?
Although I respect breastfeeding women should be given these spaces to feed their children as an option, there are usually curtains to section off for privacy, allowing everyone to go about their business with little interaction.
These stories are so damaging. I would hate to think any caregiver of a child would think twice about who ‘‘belongs’’ in a parents’ centre room and avoids them because of this one person’s ignorance.
Mums, dads, anyone who cares for children – use and praise these amazing spaces, and say something nice to the other people in there with you. It takes a village.