They Tuck You Up, by Adrian Mitchell

They tuck you up, your mum and dad
They read you Peter Rabbit, too.
They give you all the treats they had
And add some extra, just for you.

Body confidence and the lesser-known benefits of monogamy

I've written before about how I liked what pregnancy did to my body. That's really only part of the story: I liked it until the ninth month, and then I was too big to do much, and I got stretch marks.

I thought maybe that I had escaped, but then, only a few weeks away from my due date, they grew like a climbing vine up to my bellybutton. I didn't care that I had put on weight in pregnancy - weight can be lost - but stretch marks are permanent. I was upset, but I pulled myself together and decided that as long as they stayed below my bellybutton, I'd be okay with them.

Of course, they spread above my bellybutton. At 41 weeks pregnant, I had an angry red crack of lighting spreading up from my knickers.

Where polyamory comes into this is with potential new partners, or even current occasional lovers. If Gaius and I were monogamous, I wouldn't need to worry about what anyone else thought of me naked: his would be the only opinion that mattered. And as far as he is concerned, the fact that I carried and birthed his daughter can only make me more beautiful. If our relationship was sexually exclusive, I wouldn't have had any of these wobbles.

And even if Gaius, Jemmy and I were poly-fidelitous, my body troubles would be gone. Jemmy has an exceptionally catholic taste in women (physically, at least) and even if that weren't true, he has always made me feel beautiful for more than just my body. So it wasn't his admiration waning that troubled me either.

The reason for my (rather uncharacteristic) worries was that my two current partners are not "it" for me. New lovers are an unknown quantity. Will they be secretly turned off by my soft, wrinkled belly? Disappointed by my sagging breasts? These are fears that just wouldn't bother me if I were monogamous.

A few days before I actually gave birth, I am ashamed to admit, I obsessed a little bit about all this. After my friend Lori blogged about body confidence, I mentioned that I was dealing with it, and she and another friend were so sweet to me, that I cried. I am pretty sure now that I was actually in early labour at the time, which might explain my emotional knife-edge, but still. Their kind words were very reassuring.

What they told me was something I was trying to convince myself of at the time: our bodies change, but we shouldn't see changes as losing attractiveness, but as the mark of the things we have survived and achieved. They talked about the beauty of laughter-lines, and the story that scars can tell. They were, of course, right. Two months after Small was born, I looked down at my soft, wrinkled belly with its network of scars, thought "fuck it", and bought a bikini.

I still think that there is a chance that new lovers might find my body less appealing than they would have done before the baby. And while that is not ideal, it is okay. Between my lined belly and my lower, softer breasts, I have completely nourished two people for well over a year. My daughter is happy, healthy and thriving because of my body, and these changes will be a permanent reminder of this. I look down at my belly, with its network of scars and think "there was a baby in there", and that is miraculous and wonderful to me. If people can't see that when they look at me, then fuck 'em. I know that my body is amazing.

The Poly Tribe

A little while ago, I stumbled across a book called "The Continuum Concept", by Jean Liedloff. This book is one of the forerunners to Attachment Parenting, which is a parenting style that we found ourselves adopting to some extent before we knew that it existed.

Attachment parenting, however (as is nearly all modern parenting advice), is based on the concept of the nuclear family. In the Contiuum Concept, the emphasis is on sharing your life (including parenting) with a tribe. Because babies are at their most content when being carried, for example, you carry your baby in your arms or in a sling. Unlike parents who are doing this alone, if you need to put your baby down, you pass her to another tribe member. In the Amazonian society that Liedloff examined, parenting was shared, and so were the tasks of everyday life.

The parenting books and websites that I read when I was pregnant all warned about the stress that having too many visitors can put on new parents. Instinctively, we ignored this advice, and for the first few weeks, we had near constant streams of family and friends staying with us. This was partly because we are both extroverts, but also because we knew that those we loved could be called on to help. And many of those that came had children of their own, so they knew what would be useful to us: they cooked our meals, cleaned our kitchen, changed nappies, and cuddled our restless newborn while we slept. This support meant that I could concentrate on little more than breastfeeding and rest. And really, this is how millions of people around the world get through the difficult neonatal period. We're not meant to do this alone.

We are lucky that we have a large, supportive and loving extended family who were helpful without being smothering. But because we know how lucky we are, we also know that relying on family is not enough. We need a tribe.

Which is why both Gaius and I love the idea that Small will have Jemmy in her life. He can be relied on to offer support to us, and in the future, we all hope that she will consider him to be part of her tribe. More than this, we have friends, lovers and potential new partners whom we would like to share our family with in a million little ways, big and small. Similarly, I see a future where some of those we love will have children of their own, and having had such wonderful support offered to us, we can pass it on. We will know to cook their meals, clean their kitchen, change nappies, and (most importantly) bond with our newest tribe member by cuddling him or her, so the parents can have a break.

I know that many in the world think that lifestyles and sexual proclivities such as ours make us unsuitable parents, but I see the possibility that our lives are growing towards something even more wonderful and supportive for our family than the more traditional childhoods that Gaius and I were privileged to enjoy.

Where the concept of the tribe and my ideal differs, is that the people I surround myself with are here by choice. Even our families, now we are adults, are part of our tribe because we want them to be, not just because we are related. And my partners, lovers and friends are all people that I respect, love and cherish for their input in our lives. This is where polyamory comes in, because the bonds that we make when we love each other are not only as strong as a loving family, but they are all with people that we have chosen, and we value for their contribution to our lives, in many different ways. Some of these people will be our relatives, but others will not. Polyamory means that our tribe does not just create love, it is built on it.

Fitting in and coming out

Gaius, Small and I went to Polyday this weekend. Jemmy had family commitments and couldn't make it, which was a shame, as it is always nice to find a space where we can be open without it feeling weird.

Going as a couple with a baby was pertinent to one of the discussions we had about polyamorous parenting, however, which was about being "out". Polyamorous relationships can take many forms, but because we are a married male/female couple, who live in a traditional family home with a baby, we look pretty normal to the outside world. There are sometimes odd looks from neighbours (who probably think that Gaius is a serial adulterer, and some of Jemmy's social acquaintances must know that something is going on between us) but in the main, we present as pretty normal.

There are poly families who don't find it so easy or desirable to blend into the mainstream, (especially those whose relationships don't slot into the primary/secondary dynamic as ours as done so far.) And there is the possibility that we might eventually become one of them, not only because we don't know who we'll fall for next, or what relationship setup will work for us in the future, but because there is the Small in the picture now. She's going to grow up, meet our friends and lovers: in short, she's going to know. On the one hand, the idea of being raised knowing about the many ways you can love is wonderful to us, but on the other, she isn't going to understand the concepts of "private" or "out", and this may very well force us out of the closet for good, one day.

This is a little daunting for both of us. At Polyday, we chatted with friends and met new people, many of whom were interested in how our daughter would be affected by our other lovers. But they were interested without being dubious that it would work, and the real world might not be quite so kind.

We got home late that night, after having to stop twice on the motorway to feed the Small and help her get to sleep. She was still asleep when we arrived at Jemmy's house to drop something off and say good night. It was late, by then, and we were keen to get her home and into bed, so only enough time for a kiss and a few words about when we'd see each other next. One day, she might force our other relationships into the open, but for now, she makes fitting them in at all enough of a challenge.

Breasts

When we discussed breastfeeding in our antenatal classes, we were told that although breastfeeding is perfectly natural, it may take us a little while before we are confident enough to feed our babies in public.  For obvious reasons, it takes a bit of a mental adjustment to think of whapping out one of your tits in Costa Coffee as acceptable behaviour. 

It will surprise no one who knows me well that I made this adjustment very quickly, but then, those who know me well know that nudity is a common side-effect at many of my social gatherings. 

Of course, there is a big difference between getting your boobs out for an orgy, and getting your boobs out to feed your newborn daughter, but even so, I think the orgies made the transition far easier for me.

I began breastfeeding our daughter about 5 minutes after her birth (as soon as she stopped screaming, pretty much).  At this point, with my legs in stirrups, waiting for someone to stitch me up, the relevant area pointing at the door (oh, the glamour of birth), showing a boob to the hospital staff was small potatoes.  Since then, however, I have breastfed her in cafes and pubs, in Sainsbury's, on benches in the middle of the highstreet and last week, in a shoeshop. I would not have been comfortable casually showing my nipples to strangers on the street pre-baby, but I am now.

People who don't have sex with piles of their friends at once (SUCKS TO BE THEM) might be surprised to know that the nudity at our parties is frequently non-sexual. Despite the very open appreciation of people's bodies, hanging out with your top off, or even totally naked, at a sex party is often just relaxed socialising.

I think that having lots of people fondle my breasts at once has, therefore, paradoxically, made me more ready to see my breasts as non-sexual. Not that they aren't still sexy, just that they now have dual purpose. Like a nice pair of legs can be devastatingly sexy, but still useful for walking around and fine to display in public.

But speaking of legs: can you imagine if you had legs your whole life, and your lovers told you how gorgeous they were, and wanted to touch them, but you never used them to walk or run? Finding out that this beautiful part of your body could also be incredibly useful would only enhance your enjoyment of them, surely? The fact that my daughter is not only nourished by my boobs, but is growing and thriving because of what they can do has made me like them more. I'll probably get tired of the leaking and the night-time engorgement eventually, but for now, I'm appreciating my body more than ever, for what it can do, rather than what other people might think of it. And flashing the general public, too.

First time together.

I don't think I'll blog about the birth. Unless anyone particularly wants to know? Jemmy was one of the first people I called when it was over, anyway. Those first few hours with her on the outside were magical, and I wanted to share some of it with him.

The hospital was very close to his house, so we had imagined that he would visit me there, but as it turns out, I didn't stay long enough for any visits at all. So, I think Small was three days old when Jemmy came over to our place to meet her. It was the day my milk "came in", so my breasts were like sacks of sand. He had offered to cook us dinner (he is awesome like that) which was appreciated beyond measure. This was my daughter's first day experiencing milk, and it was a hit, so whenever she was awake, she wanted to suck. Add to that that it was also her stomach's first day digesting more than a teaspoon of liquid at a time, and there was also a lot of mess. It was more than enough work for two people without thinking of cooking, let alone two people who had barely slept for four or five days, one of whom could barely walk due to stitches.

The things that will stay with me were that he cried when he held her, and he made us a salad with pears in it.

He also made a risotto, which was perfect as I could eat it with one hand as I fed her yet again. Breastfeeding made me incredibly hungry in the early weeks, and I was still replacing lost calories from labour, so I ate twice as much as either of them. And stuff sentmental wank, it was one of the best meals I've ever had.

Spending time with both of them together recharged me in a way I didn't predict. I'm very close to our family, but I can relax a different part of myself when I'm with Jemmy. Experiencing that whilst adjusting to being a parent turned out to be just what I needed.

It was, of course, different. One of the things about having a long term relationship with someone you do not live with, is that sex stays a big feature. When Jemmy and I plan time together, we assume sex will happen. Because we live together, Gaius and I spend a larger proportion of our time together not having sex. This is one reason, I think, that secondary poly relationships can feel slightly unreal, because the ordinary, every day stuff just doesn't feature, at least, not to the same extent.

So all this means that not having sex with Gaius feels less significant than not having sex with Jemmy, because I am more used to not having sex with Gaius. Maybe, also, because new parents expect a temporary cessation of their sex lives, but people (obviously) don't often talk about how your other sexual relationships might change.

I did not think I would be noticing the absense of sex three days after pushing a human being out of my vagina, but there you go.

The Planned Child, by Sharon Olds

I hated the fact that they had planned me, she had taken
a cardboard out of his shirt from the laundry
as if sliding the backbone up out of his body,
and made a chart of the month and put
her temperature on it, rising and falling,
to know the day to make me—I would have
liked to have been conceived in heat,
in haste, by mistake, in love, in sex,

She's here

and all three of us are home. Pregnancy was just the preparation - the real journey starts now.

White Asparagus, by Sujata Bhatt

Who speaks of strong currents
streaming through the legs, the breasts
of a pregnant woman
in her fourth month?

Change

So my due date is less than a week away, and I'm getting to the GET IT OUT! stage of pregnancy.  I'm, big, uncomfortable, getting head-butted in my cervix, tired and not really sleeping well.  Last night, my boyfriend, Jemmy, came over for dinner and a film, which was lovely, (apart from the film, but that's another story.)  My husband slept on the sofabed.

This is actually the first time we've done that.  Not because of any deep, emotional reasons that require 'communication', but just because of logistics.  It's been a common occurrence for my Gaius (my husband) and his dates to sleep on the sofabed, while I (being pregnant and having difficulty sleeping and getting comfortable) get the king-size to myself.  But because my boyfriend has his own place, I've always just gone to him.  Now I am over 39 weeks pregnant, I just can't face sleeping there anymore: I need my own bed, and knowing that birth is IMMINENT means I want to stay close to home, my husband, and those hospital bags.

As an introduction to our situation, this is pretty complicated, because things are changing. 

Before this transitional pre-parenting phase, the poly part of my marriage worked much like this: I have Jemmy, who I've been seeing for well over a year now, and we've settled into a once-a-week routine.  My husband doesn't have a regular 'other', but he does have a few women that he sees infrequently: usually at our place, when I'm staying over with Jemmy, but sometimes when I'm there, and sometimes he visits other cities to see them.  None of them are yet approaching relationship status, the way that Jemmy and I have developed, and neither have any of the women that we end up entertaining together. 

All this is obviously going to change.

We don't know how.  Our interest in ethical non-monogamy was orirginally chiefly sexual, and while the friendship, romance and affection are now equally as important, the actual having-sex-with-other-people is still a very important part of our relationship.  When this baby is born, when will we even get back to having sex with each other, let alone my boyfriend and the others?

So this blog is intended to see how we get along with being both polyamorous, and parents.  There is a possibility  that most of the non-monogamous stuff will just fade away, at least for a little while.  But how, and to what extent this happens, we just don't know.