On Becoming Humus

What we need for goodness to grow

Somewhere in my first trimester of pregnancy, I decided—on no research—that I wanted us to use reusable nappies for our child. I was directly warned against this by some, whilst others offered a more subtle rebuttal: “I’ll let you find out on your own.” Wondrously naive about the requisite labour of baby toileting, I persevered with my insistence and, once I completed my research, believed I had made the right choice. The simple fact is that, in a cultural and economic system of convenience, speed and profit-maximisation, fulfilling good intentions often demands more labour. This, I am willing to take on; frankly, this is the labour of parenting under that very system.

This budding personal concept of my little labours of love, to prepare for our child’s arrival, has extended to making my own natural ingredient cleaning supplies, hours spent online looking for second-hand cotton clothes, and replacing all the plastic in our kitchen with glass. My partner, Robert, and I visited every single charity shop in the area a few weeks back and came home with a life’s supply of mason jars and an armful of children’s books. We have also split the research requirements of pregnancy and birth between us, selecting the topics and titles together before swapping notes afterwards. We share the intention of being very deliberate guardians and advocates in the world. That includes how we advocate for one another and for her before she arrives.

In one of the more recent moments that someone giggled at my commitment to reusable nappies, and the endless cycle of washing and drying which accompanies that decision, a look was thrown across to Robert who, being the eldest of many, has far more experience of all this labour than I do. He offered a conciliatory smile, but said that, in fact, it is his job to help facilitate this thing I want us to succeed at. Even though I know him to be this man already, I was still moved by the steadfastness of his support. His praxis is not to meet my every whim, but to throw the enormity of what he has to offer at the things I truly believe are important. This is why he was willing to hit the ground running with me in South America and learn how to be a filmmaker on the job, and why he is settling in my home country for the first year of our child’s life. While the standards we hold one another to create an atmosphere of curiosity and questioning (and while he is indeed often forced to talk me out of my spontaneous hyper-fixations), he backs me to the hilt when it matters. In this way, my decisions are no longer my own; decisions are always ours, even if they originate from one of us.