Parenthood can radically shift one's perspective, leading to a more eco-conscious lifestyle. Photo / 123rf
OPINION
Before having children, I didn’t think much about the environment – but endless clothes, nappies and dangerous chemicals opened my eyes.
I never used to be a hippie. Nowadays I assume it must be down to the pregnancy hormones, busy not just building a new human but radically changing their host in the process. Because before having my son Jasper, now 21 months old, I was a McDonald’s-eating, polyester-wearing gym-phobe who had no issue with harsh chemicals on the skin. But by the time I was six months pregnant, my body was a temple. I swore never to use even soap on my baby, let alone allow him to touch non-natural fibres, and at one stage I even considered having an entirely “natural birth”.
Perhaps it’s Mother Nature’s way of dealing with nihilists. Before deciding to have children, I never understood why the eco-zealots cared so much about what is going to happen to the planet over the next few centuries. We’re already overdue another Ice Age, a climatic certainty which will be far more apocalyptic than a few degrees of global warming. And anyway, until then, I thought that there wasn’t much I (or indeed the West) could do about pollution until China and India followed suit. If you want my honest take, I still think that the best thing for our planet would be for humans to go extinct.
In the run-up to Jasper’s birth, however – he was breech, thank heavens, so a “natural birth” was off the table anyway – I started seeing the world through new eyes. Disposable nappies and baby wipes seemed like the most abhorrent assault on landfills, as did plastic toys and cheap clothes he’d outgrow within weeks. The prospect of putting lotions filled with ingredients I couldn’t pronounce on the perfect skin of a newborn baby seemed sacrilegious. As for formula in lieu of breast milk? Poison, tantamount to child abuse.
For the first six months of Jasper’s life, I clung virtuously to these views. Breastfeeding was horribly hard and ruthlessly painful, but I refused to give up. I did an awful lot of research into raising a “zero-waste” baby, diligently washing and air-drying 10 reusable cloth nappies a day and never so much as eyeing up a wet wipe. My husband Julius, having always harboured woo-woo tendencies of his own, was only too happy to oblige – and felt particularly passionately about no screens (ever, for any reason) and no medication unless strictly necessary.
Everything changed after what was only ever meant to be a brief, illicit affair with Pampers nappies. I was travelling, without Julius, and you can’t reasonably do this with a pile of bulky cloth ones. At first, I felt wretched using the disposable variety. But oh, the convenience. Jasper’s persistent rash cleared up (no reusable nappy, no matter how high quality, will ever keep their skin completely dry). I didn’t have to change him so often. The laundry load became manageable.
It was a slippery slope from there, leading me to where I am now, which is a well-meaning, albeit inconsistent approach that is at least sustainable (meaning, I can stick to it; I’m not talking about the planet here). Philosophically, I continue to care very little as to when or why humanity dies out, but I do want to do my bit, within reason, and instil good habits in Jasper.
How I go about this can be neatly separated into ways in which I am still a hippie and ways in which I am not. And these practices might be useful for any new parent who is flirting with the idea of being kinder to the planet without going bonkers.
I no longer use cloth nappies, but plenty of people genuinely love them. I do, however, continue to use reusable wipes, which are also infinitely more practical than disposable ones, so there really is no excuse not to.
I do not, as a general rule, use lotions or potions on Jasper’s skin. Babies don’t need soap of any sort – we don’t even start smelling bad until we hit puberty – so any cleansing products are just a gimmick. I’m also still suspicious of suncream and use it only occasionally, in favour of gradual sun exposure when it’s hot.
I’ll admit, though, that I do buy the worst (most chemical-laden) sort of bubble bath, because the more foam there is, the more fun he has in the tub.
As for medicine, Big Pharma is okay by me. I refuse to be anything other than extremely grateful to live in an era that involves antibiotics, vaccines and painkillers. Jasper gets Pamol at the first indication that he might not be in tip-top condition, and antihistamines on long plane journeys to help him sleep.
I still breastfeed our now-toddler (it stopped being agony around the nine-month mark), plan to keep doing so until he’s at least 2, and would go through it all again with a newborn before turning to formula. The science is unequivocal; breast milk is near-miraculous in its benefits and I personally believe it’s worth going through hell for.
I very, very rarely buy new clothes for Jasper. The waste, when he grows out of things so quickly, feels too monumental. Instead, I buy all my favourite high-quality brands used, on eBay.
For the same reasons, I hate buying expensive new toys and books. It’s so easy to source pre-loved gear from other mums (if, unlike me, you have lots of friends) or on Facebook Marketplace.
I do, however, think it’s worth indulging in a few well-crafted essentials that will stand the test of time, so here’s what I didn’t get second-hand. I’m evangelical about Lovevery, a company that sends age-appropriate Montessori-style wood play kits on a subscription basis. I would have been lost without my Artipoppe baby carrier (it’s the best, I tested more than 10 of them). I cherish our Stokke Tripp Trapp chair (which transforms from a newborn high chair into a seat for kids and then adults). Grohangers will also expand as your little one grows. And ludicrously expensive as it is, the Moonboon Cradle – a baby bed that hangs from a frame and bobs up and down by way of a motor – was the only thing Jasper would nap in other than our bed, and I can’t praise it highly enough.
When it comes to diet, I, as an animal-lover, have long been (mostly) vegan, for ethical reasons, rather than environmental; and have always planned the same for my children until they are old enough to decide for themselves whether they’re okay with doting on dogs but turning a blind eye to factory-farmed pigs. This sentiment holds strong. If we had our own livestock, treated them kindly and Jasper could grow up watching the realities from start to finish, I would have no problem with their consumption. As it happens, we don’t, and I refuse to buy meat or dairy from supermarkets; though we do plan to get some chickens soon.
I have, in recent months, dropped my shoulders slightly: Jasper eats locally caught fish, for nutritional reasons, because it’s too tricky making sure he gets everything he needs at this age without it.
I still feel slightly hysterical when we’re at a playdate and another mother offers him sweets laced with additives – it seems to me a mad idea to get your toddler hooked on sugar any sooner than necessary – but I imagine I’ll eventually lose that battle, too.
Just as we have lost the good fight against screens. Even my husband has made his peace with the fact that some days we rely heavily on TV at home or the iPad in the car, in order to maintain our sanity. But we stick to the educational, non-sensory-overload variety (Ms Rachel, Trash Truck and Puffin Rock have got us through some tough times) and avoid Cocomelon, which is the visual equivalent of feeding your baby sherbert.
Overall, I’m a lot more virtuous and eco-friendly than I was before having Jasper, essentially because he has robbed me of my selfishness; but I’m a long way from the insufferable, modernity-shunning Earth Mother I was trying on for size in the early days of parenthood.
Of course, the single greatest way to reduce one’s carbon footprint, as any hardcore environmentalist will tell you, is not to have children at all. Having failed on that front, I’m satisfied with the happy medium in which I’ve settled. No longer apathetic. But not quite a saint either.
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