All the advice I can’t give, right here

I’ve discovered dishing out advice is mostly just reminiscing, a way of sharing memories we’re proud of or regrets we live with.

Being full of good advice you’re unable to impart is a dreadful state to be in, and one in which I currently find myself.

It’s no small feat, this selfimposed shutting up, and certainly something that doesn’t come easily.

I’m quite literally paid to share my opinions, after all, and even when I’m not, it doesn’t stop me.

So yes, I do deserve a medal or at least a bit of acknowledgement. Thank you very much, I’m proud of me too.

Because right now, at this very moment, and just a short hop from where I sit behaving myself, my son is preparing for his daughter’s birth.

It’s the early stages of labour he and his partner are coping with, and obviously I have much to say both on that and everything else that will follow.

Of course, this wisdom isn’t limited to the first few hours or days of my granddaughter’s life – that’s just crazy.

I have something to say about pretty much everything from here on in.

I’m bursting with advice on teething, first foods, kindergarten and how it should be me who takes her shopping for her college formal.

That will, of course, be a few years before her overseas experience, which I think should take place in Europe.

I also have advice on swaddling, after-school activities and at what age she should be allowed a phone.

Obviously I’ll be buying that phone, which she’ll use to discuss with me the things her parents are too uncool to understand.

But, here I am, shutting up. Sporadically I text to ask for updates or offer to do something, anything, that will allow me to be involved in the event.

‘‘Perhaps I’ll wait in the hospital car park,’’ I said to my mum.

‘‘Good idea,’’ she replied, ‘‘I’ll come too.’’

This granddaughter is arriving three months after the first, so I’m getting better at this butting out business.

As a new parent, I suffered those women with something to say about everything but now I’m one of them I’ve discovered dishing out advice is mostly just reminiscing, a way of sharing memories we’re proud of or regrets we live with.

So while I can’t speak, I can still write and here’s a bit of advice in the moments before life changes forever.

Love her mother always. No matter what happens in the future, whether the drudgery of domesticity wears you down, or you start to grow apart, or hurt each other irrecoverably, remember her as she is now: fighting to bring your daughter forth.

Read to your daughter. Whether it’s comics or books or made-up stories, read.

She might not grow up to read for herself, but she’ll always remember when you did.

Be good enough.

When you were little, and I was so terribly distressed, a doctor told me there’s no such thing as the perfect parent, so all you can be is good enough. I hope I was.

Get through the early days however you can.

Laundry can wait and anything you eat with cutlery can be classified as a meal.

Noodles? Yes. Hot chips? Absolutely.

A bag of Burger Rings? Use a spoon and call it dinner.

Savour the coming years.

You won’t love every minute but when she’s all grown up and the world’s her own, you’ll look back on when you were that world.

It’s hard when that’s over. And finally, my love, ask for help if you need it.

Whether it’s for you, or her, or her mother, my hands are always ready, my heart is always open and I promise my mouth is shut.