motherhood as a mirror

on breastfeeding, dolls, and the wisdom of women

Parenting a toddler is a wild ride. They’re unintentionally hilarious, extravagantly affectionate, and frequently infuriating. Watching them change from squishy infants to proper little people with individual personalities and interests feels genuinely miraculous to me.  They process the world with wide eyed wonder and honesty, with none of the jaded cynicism or hurried busyness of most adults. We recently took our two year old to M&S Foodhall, an upmarket supermarket, and she gave a little gasp and went “ooh fancy shop”. Presumably the exact response the branding and marketing team was going for. It was very cute and the memory of it always makes me smile.  

I know the “nature vs nurture” debate is still ongoing, and my own (somewhat uninformed) opinion is that the truth lies somewhere in the middle, but I’ll tell you something else I’ve noticed as my daughter has got older: she is already mirroring me far more than I expected. Honestly, it is slightly creepy when your two year old starts imitating your exact behaviours and inflections. Not to mention humbling when you realise that the fiercely independent streak that has her insisting “I do it myself” every time she needs the toilet is something she inherited from you. Then there is the way she reflects my emotions, for good or ill. If I get in a bad mood, and allow myself to wallow in frustration or impatience, you can guarantee she will shortly be displaying those same emotions. You could say that she is a mirror, and often the reflection is not a flattering one. Yet this tendency of small children to copy and imitate their parents is also a tremendous gift, and a wonderful opportunity. 

This was brought home to me this week during a seemingly insignificant interaction that took place. 

My daughter was playing with her doll. 

She calls this doll “hair baby” because she has long hair. Hair baby was mine once, bought at a toy store in Zurich on the Bahnhofstrasse during a visit to my Swiss great aunt. My daughter loves this old doll far more than any of the other dolls she has. Hair baby sleeps with her, goes to church with her, sits in the car seat with her.

One day this week, my daughter was reading hair baby a story. I should say telling not reading, as my daughter is only two years old. She held the book and the doll carefully on her lap, pointing to the pictures and narrating as only a two year old can; “Samuel whiskers a dreadful enormous rat, I not like Samuel whiskers face”  

My younger daughter, who has just learnt to sit, was playing on the floor whilst I prepared dinner. Suddenly she began to cry: “mama, mama, mama”, plaintive and urgent. I recognised the sound as a hungry cry, so I picked her up, sat down on the sofa, and put her on the breast. She latched on eagerly, and sucked greedily. In an instant calm was restored. My older daughter glanced over. “Hair baby hungry” she declared, and came to sit on the sofa beside me. She put her doll on her chest, mimicking me. She patted and soothed the doll, just as I pat and soothe her younger sister. “It’s ok hair baby, shhh hair baby, go to sleep hair baby”.

I haven’t taught her to do any of this, she has simply watched my behaviour and is mirroring what she has observed. Already, at the tender age of two, she is learning the art of motherhood. 

It happens to be World Breastfeeding Week, which I think is pertinent, because one thing that is sometimes left out of conversations around breastfeeding is the impact being exposed to other women breastfeeding can have. There is, perhaps rightly, a lot of focus on ways we can support women to breastfeed via policy changes, or better access to lactation consultants, or less predatory marketing from formula companies. All of those things are worthy aims, but when I consider my own experience, I think the most foundational and significant aspect is that I have been blessed by being surrounded by other women who breastfed, especially having a mother who breastfed, and who made it seem completely normal. 

I actually don’t remember watching my mum breastfeed. She nursed all four of my younger siblings, so I must have seen her do it many times, but I have no memory of it. My husband says there is a theory that we don’t really remember things that our mind considers to be normal, and that our memories are mostly things that either had a big emotional impact, both good and bad, or were noteworthy for some other reason, such as the first day of school. I guess I took my mum breastfeeding my younger siblings so for granted that I ceased to consciously notice it. At a subconscious level it had a profound impact. When I fell pregnant with my first child in 2021, I never even considered not trying to breastfeed. I was apprehensive about whether I would succeed, as I knew many women found breastfeeding to be extremely challenging, but I was determined to try. Not just because I felt that this would be best for my baby, but because my mum had told me many times how much she had enjoyed breastfeeding, how she had cherished nursing all six of her children, how precious the experience was. And also how simple and easy it could be if you were able to persevere through initial difficulties and get the breastfeeding relationship established. Because of this, I approached breastfeeding with an underlying sense of belief, and the quiet confidence born of being able to draw on the wisdom and experience of my mum and other women I knew who had breastfed. I was also blessed with two babies who, to be honest, simply love the boob. My first daughter would have been happy to suckle all day if I had let her. Even so, as a perpetually anxious new mother I was worried that this was somehow a bad thing, maybe my daughter was feeding too much? Perhaps I might have decided to limit my daughter’s feeds, or discouraged the contact naps and nursing to sleep, had I not had other, more experienced mothers to talk to. “Don’t worry, it’s normal, let her feed,” was the advice I received from my friends and my dear mama, so I did. And apart from a few clogged ducts, one bout of mastitis, and a sore back, we had a pretty straightforward breastfeeding journey. 

I was blessed with perhaps the greatest blessing a new mother can receive: a group of other women who were able to offer support and advice that reassured and calmed my fears and anxieties. 

If you’re thinking that I’ve gone off on a tangent, bear with me. As a new mother, I mimicked and copied the women who surrounded me, just as my toddler now mimics and copies me. This passing down of feminine wisdom and knowledge begins at a very young age. Breastfeeding is just one example of this, and in no way the most important one. Whether you breastfeed or not, there are countless ways that you can influence your children simply by modelling behaviour to them. I often fall into the trap of thinking I have to tell my children everything I want them to learn, but there is so much that can be taught by showing. Doing rather than saying is arguably more effective, and certainly more effective than saying one thing but then failing to follow your own advice.

This includes our spiritual life. As I’ve written previously, I have been exploring Roman Catholicism for about a year. I finally plucked up courage to talk to the priest last Sunday about starting the process of officially joining the Church. I hope to write more about this eventually, so won’t go into detail here, but as I told Father Paul, I feel that I have been being pursued by Our Lady for some time, and that I am compelled to take heed. I’ve also been struck by the marked change in my own mother since she converted to Rome a few years ago. Anyway, I’ve recently begun praying the Rosary. I like to do it first thing in the morning, before everyone else wakes up. Today my toddler woke up when I was half way through. She came and sat on my lap, holding the beads as I continued reciting the ancient prayer. After a few minutes, she began murmuring, “Hail Mary, full of Grace, Lord is with thee”. She’s only two and her “g” sounds like “d”, which was very cute. The moment was simple, yet somehow profound. Once again I had the realisation that in many ways, my actions carry more weight than my words. 

As I learnt from watching my mother, so now my daughter learns from me. As I observe my own shortcomings manifest in her, so I am reminded to wage war against those same failings. She is my mirror, for good and ill. As I’ve touched on, this can be a challenging realisation. But to me, it is also a comforting one. My husband recently showed me a video that decried the lack of positive role models for young people today. In the video, random members of the public were unable to name a single celebrity who could truly be considered a positive role model for children. As parents, we have the tremendous responsibility and privilege of shaping and guiding our children as they grow to adulthood. We must strive to be worthy role models, to show by our actions, not just our words, how to live. This is something we can all pursue, within the constraints of our own unique individual circumstances and situations. 

This post is not really about breastfeeding, although I love breastfeeding, and remain thankful to have been blessed to be able to nurse my girls. I write this as I nurse my youngest to sleep. I believe it is a tremendous gift for women and babies. But looking beyond the nitty gritty of particular choices - breastfeeding or formula, SAHM or working mom, homeschool or public school etc - we can all aspire to live in a way that our children will wish to emulate. In a world that feels ever more fragile and chaotic, I think we must do this, that it is our duty and moral imperative.

As always, I’d love to hear your perspectives and experiences, whether about breastfeeding or more broadly about how your little ones mirror you. Let me know in the comments!

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