Julie Jay: Can the 'just you wait' brigade please stop raining on our parenting parade?

Julie Jay: "These last few weeks, I have been loving the cuddles from my second born, who is, most definitely, my last baby. He loves leaning in for a hug and tends to be a winner in social situations."

The thing about being a parent is that people love constantly reminding you how nothing lasts for ever. Feeling a little too happy with your lot? Fret not. The ‘just you wait’ parents will happily inform you that the good parts won’t last, because heaven forbid you start getting any notions of having this parenting thing down.

We all know nothing lasts for ever. As anybody who has ever purchased a basil plant — in the vain hope they will be able to keep it alive, only for it to bite the dust before you’ve even got one spaghetti bolognese out of it — will tell you, everything in life is transient. But this doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy things in the moment, and parenting is no exception.

These last few weeks, I have been loving the cuddles from my second born, who is, most definitely, my last baby. He loves leaning in for a hug and tends to be a winner in social situations, so much so that he even made a notoriously dour, well-known Irish comedian melt in to a puddle by presenting him with a cuddly toy.

Seeing this merchant of dark humour dissolve proves that a smile from a baby is much more disarming than a rigorous radio interview. It also confirmed my long-held feeling that our youngest is destined for a career in diplomatic relations.

When he was very small, he was equally cuddly, but more than once when he’d wrap his tiny arms around me and press his little head into the crook of my neck, a fellow parent would remind me not to get too used to the affection.

“Just you wait until they can’t stand you,” I remember a playground parent firing my way, which felt particularly pessimistic at the time. Should this same person ever choose a new occupation, surely wheel clamping would be their vocation, given that they clearly bask in raining on other people’s parade.

(Before anybody gets in touch to tell me that the way to avoid getting clamped is to park properly in the first place, may I ask you to take one look at how difficult I find it even to dress myself... and lower your expectations accordingly.)

Usually, the ‘just you wait’ brigade don’t mean any harm. If anything, they are probably just trying to connect or find a common point of shared experience, albeit by focusing on the negative. Sometimes, though, they feel like joy-killers, trying to keep your expectations low and not inflate your ego by thinking that your parenting experience will be exceptional.

A few weeks ago, I was in the supermarket when my four-year-old suddenly gave me a big bear hug. “You’re the best mammy,” he announced, and I know it had absolutely nothing to do with my having said yes to a cupcake.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” a random passerby chuckled, pushing her trolley with a suspicious amount of Weetabix.

I responded with a half-hearted “ha”, but couldn’t help but feel the annoyance rise in me, as I watched her disappear through the exit door, no doubt off to make some type  of explosives with all the Weetabix she had purchased. Explosive-making was the only logical explanation for such a vast amount of cereal quantities (admittedly I could be  confusing Weetabix for Semtex here, but who has time to Google such things?).

I couldn't help but feel that this casual commentator was trying to bring me back down to earth.

The truth is, none of us expect the good times to remain the same, and neither do we want them to. Part of the fun is having everything change and not knowing what’s coming next.

The ‘just you wait’ cohort may be on to something, but why not change the vibe a little? Just you wait until your child says ‘I love you’ for the first time. Just you wait until your four-year-old tells your husband to ‘Hurry up’ in an admirably exasperated tone. Just you wait until your children sleep through the night, or sit at a restaurant for the duration of a whole meal without risking an ASBO order.

A few weeks ago, I went for dinner with a friend, and one glass of wine became two glasses, which became three. The perennial question of a taxi arose, but, this time, the cab came in the form of her teenage son, who had just passed his driving test. He came, he picked her up, and he no doubt was gleeful when refusing to stop for chips, because, to quote her logic when picking him up from discos over the years, ‘They had food at home’.

Because there will, of course, come a time when the baby who leans into you becomes their own person, a person with the power to refuse your request to stop at the chipper on the way, and insist on playing their own music in the car because ‘they’re driving’. Just you wait? I can’t wait, and that’s the real joy of it.