Angela Mollard: You don’t need to dress your kids in linen to be a good mum

Last week I flew interstate and was lucky enough to sit next to a young mum with a baby and a toddler.

The bloke assigned the seat had slid across the aisle into my seat, evidently terrified by a couple of under fours.

His loss, because the kids were adorable. I held the baby while his mum went to the bathroom and listened as the toddler filled me in on his favourite things: his friend Oscar and Spider-Man.

What concerned me, however, was the mum.

She was clearly doing an amazing job but was completely riddled with self-doubt.

When I helped Master 3 open his bag of assorted snacks, she pointed out nervously that the rice crackers were “brown rice” and the fruit sticks were “organic”. When her son pushed down hard on the tray table as he drew in his colouring book she worried about an annoyed sigh from the passenger in front. And when I remarked at what a great little talker her son was, her face crumpled: “Yes, but did you hear he’s got a little bit of a stutter?” I didn’t.

If we weren’t about to land — and if she wasn’t breastfeeding — I’d have ordered her a gin and tonic. Because this poor mum clearly had a case of what I call Inferior Mother Complex.

I thought competitive parenting was bad enough when I first popped out a sprog early in the millennium. But Instagram and the increasing commodification of childhood by influencers is now so omnipresent it’s no wonder ordinary mums have fallen victim to “compare and despair”.

Just look at Vanity Fair’s recent profile of Byron Bay’s clique of what it called “mid-tier family lifestyle micro-influencers”.

With their oatmeal-toned handknits, baskets of homegrown heirloom tomatoes, screen bans and 1960s recycled tricycles they’re peddling a myth that it’s possible to be long-limbed, serene and excellent at surfing, all while raising five children. Not on show, obviously, were the meltdowns, the tummy bugs and the tween refusing to wear sage-hued organic cotton dungarees because what she really wants is a cheap polyester top from Glassons.

Never mind that Byron Bay is Australia’s anti-vax hub, that the traffic is impossible and that you have to wait an hour for a table at The Farm on weekends, these mums have rebranded motherhood as some sort of Enid Blyton-style Utopia where the ginger beer has been swapped out for kombucha.

Fortunately, I’m now at the stage of parenting where I’m immune to Inferior Mother Complex. When you know teens who’ve taken their lives and families broken by a child’s special needs or a mum who’s been shoved by her own son, you don’t give a toss about whether your banana bread comes made from hemp oil, butter or Woollies. Equally, you don’t boast about “slow” parenting because “slow” is the minutes ticking when you can’t get hold of them on a Saturday night.

But all these years in you do gain some wisdom so here’s what I’d have done differently if I could rewind and start parenting again.

More than anything, I’d listen more. Kids crave to be heard. Far too late I learned that walking alongside my kids made me more present. It’s when they share their lives and their concerns. I love Ernest Hemingway’s directive to “listen completely”. Pauses are important too. Kids respect you when you’re brave enough to say you don’t know the answers.

I wouldn’t have cut the tops of strawberries. Kids have teeth. They can figure it out.

I would’ve adopted a mantra far earlier than I did. When we hit a major challenge one year I was advised to have a phrase that helped me cope. “Just deal with today,” were four simple words but they got me through.

I’d have tried harder to remember they were kids. Just kids. Not adults in waiting. They lose things and say mean things and react badly. They stuff up because we all do.

I’d have rescued them less. Forgotten lunch box? They can solve that problem themselves.

I’d have done my stuff more and their stuff less. They didn’t need to go to every birthday party they were invited to. I read recently that parents should love what they do in front of their child so if that’s repairing things or listening to folk music or gardening, just do it.

I’d have taken more time to show them how to do chores rather than doing them myself because it was expedient.

I’d have savoured the micro-breaks. You know when you clip them into the car seat and walk round the back of the car and it feels like the only second of your day you have to yourself? I’d have lent against the boot for a few breaths longer and inhaled the solitude.

I’d have laughed more knowing it mostly turns out all right.

Finally, I’d have given myself a favourable performance appraisal far more often. And that’s the advice I gave the mum on the plane. “Look what you’ve pulled off in the last hour,” I told her. “Be proud.”

@angelamollard