'I joined a mums group for friendship and support. I quit on week four.'

Every Tuesday morning at 9.30am, my mum meets up with the ladies of her playgroup for coffee. It has been well over three decades, and those ladies have seen each other through children growing up, children becoming parents themselves, divorces, careers, retirements, holidays, deaths and everything in between. It’s extraordinary and incredibly special.

So when it came time for me to go to a parents' group, I was excited. At best, I figured I would have Tuesday morning plans for the next half century, and at worst, I would have funny stories to tell.

Where I live, parents' groups are run by the local child health nurse. 

Because my son was small, we saw the same nurse almost weekly for a period. She remained firmly convinced that I was called Madeline and my son was a twin. We would spend the first 15 minutes of every meeting correcting this, and I would spend the whole time thinking that for someone who was sure I had birthed two babies, she really was not displaying an adequate level of concern that I had only bothered to bring one. 

Watch: What we weren't told about birth. Post continues below.

I imagined that parents' group would entail sitting in a circle having a chat and eating cake. I don’t know where I thought the cake was coming from as I hadn’t planned to make it. Allegedly because of COVID, but possibly so we could mute crying babies, ours was a virtual lecture series.

Week one was about birth stories and breastfeeding, week two was sleep, week three was solids and schooling and I don’t know what week four was because by then I had given up and gone shopping instead.

Week one didn’t get off to the greatest start, with only three of the 10 registered mothers in virtual attendance. The nurse was displeased, giving 'teacher who threatens to give the whole class detention because two students were late' vibes.

Whilst reading, in a monotone, from a sheet of paper, she offered the following pearls of wisdom:

• Now that you are a mum, you still need to eat and drink.
• Try not to verbally abuse your partner. 
• Remember to feed the baby.

Whilst all of this is undoubtedly correct, it’s the kind of thing I think grown women probably would have come to on their own. The irony of suddenly being spoken to like a child at the time in my life when I had never had so much responsibility, was not lost on me.

And then there is birth. Some women *love* talking about birth. They love planning for it, love recalling it and love hearing others' stories. Alas, I am not one of those women. 

When my obstetrician asked me if I had a birth plan, I showed her a clip from TV show Absolutely Fabulous of Edina, going into hospital for minor surgery, demanding 'full sensory deprivation and back up drugs'. 

The best thing to come out of week one was the contact details of the other mums who showed up. 

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Week two and we were into sleep. 

My son had begun sleeping through the night from five weeks old. I had absolutely no idea why and no idea how to ensure it continued, but I was sure that I should not share this information lest I be tarred and feathered, or worse, asked for advice.

We gained two more mums this week, and the nurse was pleased. She did not seem to notice when one pointed her camera to the ceiling and then left entirely after 15 minutes. My mum’s playgroup not only kept its seven original members, but has expanded. I was starting to suspect that my generation may lack staying power. 

The nurse made it clear that we should not give our babies chamomile tea. Did she tell us other things as well? Almost certainly. Did I miss it all because I was too busy thinking about what must have happened that she was required to spell out the unsuitability of chamomile tea for infants? Absolutely.

In week three we learned that as our babies were around three months old, we were already late in signing them up for daycare, and we had a matter of weeks to get their names down for schools. I thought she was joking, but more experienced parents assured me she was right.

The nurse asked us why we thought babies developed teeth. Feeling like I was back in school, I felt myself unwillingly devolve into a smart-alec, pain-in-the-butt 16-year-old and answered, 'to keep the good people at Colgate in business'. She was not impressed. 

She went on to tell us, with a straight face, that blue cheese was not a good starter food for babies. 

Week four I embraced the Millennial stereotype and quit, taking myself for a relaxing and rejuvenating stroll around Kmart instead. 

This is just my experience, and I am sure there are many others with nothing but good things to say about their experience of parents' group. And despite my mocking, I now have three new wonderful girlfriends in my area to go for walks with and whom I can message for advice. 

Plus, we sent group Facebook messages during the lectures, in the modern-day equivalent of passing notes. 

For future reference, I propose all parent group sessions include the real things that new parents need to know:

• Which shopping centres have the best parents' rooms, and which need to be avoided at all costs?
• Which local cafe will mind less when we show up with prams the size of boats and crying babies?
• Which GP is good with babies, bulk bills and will remain patient when I bring the baby in for the third time that week because I have been Googling and am sure that his milk rash is actually a rare Amazonian virus transmissible only by the bite of the endangered spotted spider monkey.
• Do what you can to avoid your child becoming attached to things that are expensive or hard to replace. It won’t always be possible, but if you plan to introduce a dummy for example, maybe don’t start with the ridiculously expensive one sold at only one bougie baby boutique in Bondi. (I learned that the hard way).

You are welcome!

Author Elizabeth Olds is a full-time lawyer and part-time Christmas movie reviewer (not really, but if you build it they will come, right?). She is currently a tiny person's snack bitch.

Feature Image: Supplied.