It was Boodge's naptime the day before his second birthday, and I was in the garage painting the second-hand table and chairs that I had bought him, when Sean came in with the phone. "It's the midwife." he said. I took the phone and cheerfully greeted Bethany, paintbrush still working in my other hand.
"I'm calling because we've got the results back from the blood test you did a couple of weeks ago, the quad screen for chromosomal abnormalities. Your results indicated that you have a higher than normal risk for having a baby with Down Syndrome."
The paintbrush stopped. "Oh?"
"Your chance was 1/180. Meaning 1 would, 179 wouldn't. But the cutoff is 1/350 so anything lower than that is considered a positive test. This test is just a screening test so I don't want you to be too alarmed yet, it's just an indication that we may want to do further testing."
"Right," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "I know that test has lots of false positives."
"LOTS of false positives," Bethany replied, "And even if it's not a false positive, chances are things are fine, it could be any number of things. I know it's scary," she said sympathetically. Which of course, released a floodgates of tears.
"No, no, I'm fine." I choked out. "I know this kind of worry is what you bargain for when you decide to make a baby."
Bethany told me that she would like to refer me to a Doctor in Surrey, about an hours drive from here, who specializes in prenatal screening and following these types of pregnancies. I agreed, and she called me right back to tell me the consultation had been set up for the following Tuesday morning (it was Thursday). She tried to reassure me more, told me to put it aside and enjoy my son's birthday, and hung up.
I immediately headed to Sean's office to tell him the news, taking deep breaths and telling myself to stay calm, keep perspective, and not panic him. As soon as I saw him I burst into tears, unable to get out any words as he asked me repeatedly, "What is it? What's wrong? What happened?" Finally, I explained it all to him.
He stayed calm, which calmed me too. "One, 1/180 is still a good chance of a healthy baby; two, there's nothing we can do about it if the baby has Down Syndrome, so we'll figure it out; and three, we don't know enough yet, so there's no point in worrying." I knew he was trying to be strong for me and I loved him for it. He hugged me and told me to lean on him, but as we were hugging he sighed and said "I forgot how stressful it is to have a baby."
We went through a lot of stress when Boo was born with wet lung and our idyllic home birth turned into an ambulance ride to the hospital with a baby on oxygen, who then spent the first 30 hours of life hooked up to tubes in an incubator. My whole pregnancy with him was wonderful. I felt great, passed every test with flying colours, and had a natural and uncomplicated labour and birth. It wasn't until the moment he hit the bed that he gave us a scare. Not so for Peanut, who, I joked to Sean, is probably feeling like we're not paying enough attention to him or her. Ok, Peanut, we're listening now.
By Tuesday I was feeling pretty stable. We'd had a great birthday weekend, enhanced by my re-appreciation of how lucky we are to have a healthy, bouncy kid like Boodge. I'd researched the test and found out that 1 in 4 results was a false positive, and about 95% of women who got a positive had a normal baby. We drove to meet Dr. Still eager to move on with information gathering.
His nurse sat down with us first, went over the test results in detail, and explained that we could have a detailed ultrasound, which would look for "soft markers" of Down Syndrome. If no markers were found, our risk factor of 1/180 would be doubled to 1/360. If we wanted to know for sure, we could have amniocentesis. But that brought a 1/200 (in BC) risk that the uterus would begin contracting, causing miscarriage. She explained that they liked to have all testing done by 22 weeks, because we could still end the pregnancy up to 24 weeks. "24 weeks is when the fetus becomes viable, so we like to take the ethical piece out of it by making sure we end the pregnancy before that 24 weeks."
I felt Peanut kicking in my tummy as she said all this, and the tears I had been keeping so well in check flowed again. To even talk about ending Peanut felt like a betrayal. Almost 20 weeks into my pregnancy, I am attached, for better or worse. I already love this stranger inside me, knowing the potential s/he has to bring me even more joy and love than I knew possible.
I know this topic brings up a host of sensitive and highly debatable issues. For the record, I am pro-choice. But as I've gotten older and more stable in my life and relationship, and especially as I've become a mother, I've felt more confident that my choice now would not be to end a pregnancy I hadn't planned or wanted. But I can understand how a woman different from me, in a different place in her life, may not want to go through with a pregnancy for valid reasons, especially if they discovered their child may have high needs and require a lot of financial and emotional resources, or may not have a good quality of life.
Still, I felt it was a bit ludicrous to suggest that they could ever take the "ethical piece" out of ending a pregnancy because you find out a baby has a chromosomal abnormality. We have friends whose child was born with Down Syndrome. He is a sweet, engaging, happy-go-lucky spirit and his family seems to feel blessed to have him. When he was born, his dad sent out an e-mail with a story to help us all get perspective. It was as if you had been planning a trip to Italy, the story told, looking so forward to all the things you would do, foods you would eat, spots to visit. But when the plane landed, you were in Amsterdam. It's not what you expected or wanted, but if you can get over Italy, you will find Amsterdam is a great place to be too. I felt pretty sure that Sean and I could get over Italy and enjoy Amsterdam. And I couldn't help but wonder how many beautiful children like our friend's child were not born because their parents found out ahead of time that they wouldn't be what they expected.
But even so, we were still hoping to go to Italy. So we asked for a detailed ultrasound. Sean has to travel for work this Sunday and will be gone for 2 weeks, and so the extremely kind Doctor agreed to come in at 7:15 on Friday to do an ultrasound himself, because no appointments were open this week. Driving home, I got a headache that lasted all week. Still, I did my best to put it out of my mind and avoid obsessive internet searches about what we were going through. I prayed, visualized everything working out, and focused on the moments with Boo.
Friday morning we were up at 5:30 and at the hospital by 7:05. The Doc greeted us and before I knew it I was lying on the table, looking at Peanut. Much shyer than Boodge was during his ultrasound, Peanut covered his or her face with little hands and buried it in my womb. S/he moved only a little, waving, kicking, turning a bit, and the ultrasound went quickly. If we'd had a technician, we would have had to wait for results. But the Doctor was able to tell us as he went through each part of the body that it looked normal. Finally, he examined the face.
"That's all normal." he said.
"The face?" I asked.
"The whole baby." he replied. "I don't see any markers that would be cause for concern."
Relief flooded me. We decided not to do an amnio, because the chances of that harming the baby were greater than the chance that it has any issues, and we don't need to know for sure. But we feel reassured. Now our numbers are 1/360. That's pretty good odds. Of course, nothing is guaranteed, but when it comes to having kids, that's pretty much how it goes.
I forgot how stressful having a baby was. From the moment of conception, anything can happen to your most precious love. Many of the things that can happen involve decisions you have to make for your child; how to birth, what medications to take or give your child, whether or not to vaccinate, who to leave him or her with, what to feed him or her. Those decisions are nerve-wracking enough, but the fact is, most of what can happen isn't even within our control at all. If we let ourselves think about it too much, it can make us anxious wrecks. The best we can do is educate ourselves about the decisions we have, and be vigilant about potential dangers.
And after that, we have to surrender. Surrender to each precious moment with your child, and be grateful for every day that your family is alive and well. Surrender to the shape your life is taking, even it wasn't what you hoped or dreamed. Surrender to the love that compels you to do things you never imagined you would do, the turmoil of emotions stronger than any you thought you could feel. Surrender to the doubt and imperfection you feel as a parent, and try to trust that your best is enough for your child. It's not easy bringing these new spirits into and up in this strange world. But it's definitely worth it.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
A Letter to the Boodge on His Second Birthday
Dear Boodge,
I write this to the smell of chocolate cake baking in the oven. Another year has flown by, and here you are, two years old. I’ve been so lucky to be able to spend this whole year with you, every day. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled and laughed so much in one year of my life. It seems like every day, you have me grinning before my first cup of coffee, whether it be with a big “Gud Mownin, Mommy!”, or a sloppy wet wake-up kiss, or a ridiculously cute bed-head, or just the sight of your smile.
This year has been all about watching you emerge, from the baby you were to the full-force personality you now are. Language came fast and furious—you were hungry for words and picked them up at a surprising rate. Early in the year it surprised us when you would suddenly say “cereal” or “helicopter” or “playground”. But then we began to realize how quickly you were absorbing and remembering everything around you, how sharply your mind was working. Words became sentences, you began to sing back to us the songs we sang to you, and here we are now, having the beginnings of conversations, the beginnings of jokes. You talk constantly, stringing a running narrative to everything you do, even if nobody is listening.
You are emerging, and you are spectacular. I recently read a comment from a mother who said that as much as we try to mold our children, they are who they are; that her child was the same person at 12 that she was at 2. If that holds true, I will be very blessed. What I’ve gotten to know of who you are is a happy spirit, a fun-seeker, someone with a constant twinkle in his eye and smile on his lips, someone who never stays down for too long. Someone who is nice and friendly, greeting our friends and relatives cheerfully and even shouting “Have a nice day, Lady!” and "Thanks for coming out!" to customers leaving stores. You are far from shy (though sometimes you take a minute to warm up to men). When I bring you into a new play situation you jump right in, never clinging to me for comfort. You like to entertain a crowd and seem to feed off the energy of an audience.
You are goofy, too, and love to make us laugh. If you get a laugh, you will come back to that joke again and again. Too bad we laugh at toilet humour, because it can be embarrassing when you decide to yell out “Did you fart in my face?” in the middle of Canadian Tire, or when you out your Dad by shouting “Daddy had a big fart!” in the aisle at the grocery store. But you are also a dedicated explorer, and when you are learning something new you get a silent and intense concentration on your face. Just in the last month or so, we’re seeing a new side, too—a risk taker, thrill-seeker. You are gaining more confidence in your body, and trying new things. I try not to put fear into you, but also to keep you safe. You stop my heart sometimes.
You are just so adorable at this age. I will so miss this year between one and two, with the little language quirks you have (Boofuta day! Are you widdy? Dat's a peecy peecy pider!), the way you hug by putting your head on our shoulder, but not using your arms, the way you dance by bending your knees and waggling your head, the sweet effort you make to do things yourself—put your socks on, carry the grocery bags, cut your food. And then the crazy pride I feel with each new skill you acquire. The way you still love me in that special way that I know won’t last forever, always shining your smile on me, wanting to play or snuggle with or imitate me. I’m pretty sure this will be one of the sweetest, purest, most joyous years I experience with you. Because you are sweet, pure, and joyous right now.
This year, if all continues well, we will give you a sibling. I’m pretty sure you will like that—you love to play with other kids and I can’t wait for you to have an everyday playmate, and someone you can learn about relationship with, confide in, explore with, who is your age. Some things will change for you and I, and that makes me sad. It's been so special, this time of just you and me--I'll miss it. But I’m so lucky we had these two years, and I’m looking forward to seeing you become a sibling. You are already sweetly trying to nurse your little baby-doll, asking me to change her diaper, and putting her to bed. You stroke my tummy and say “Hi Baby, Hi Peanut!” I think you’re going to be a great big brother.
I can't explain in words how proud we are of you, and how much happiness you bring to our lives. I just hope I do it justice in parenting you. I'm so grateful for your positive energy, your sharp mind, your healthy body, your silly humour, your sweet love. Happy Birthday little Boo. Thank you for another amazing year with you, and here's to a long, long life together.
Love,
Mummy
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Sweet Mama Songs
Driving home from prenatal yoga today I found myself singing Sinead O'Connor's "Three Babies". I have probably not thought of that song since I became a mother, and prior to that I still loved it and related to it well. But today, I was choking up as I sang "Each of these, my three babies, I will carry with me. For myself, I ask no-one else will be mother to these three." How many times I have felt that since birthing the Boodge, a strong desire to live at any cost because I can't bear the thought of someone else raising him.
And then there's this part, "And it's cause you've thrilled me, silenced me, stilled me, proved things I never believed. The face on you, the smell of you, will always be with me." Sheesh, I'm choking up just typing it. It got me thinking about how grateful I am for those precious few songs out there written by amazing artist-mothers for their children. O'Connor has done several good ones, including another favorite, "My Darling Child". The Dixie Chicks also have a lovely song called "Lullaby", and also a strong, idealistic Mama appeal for a better world called "I Hope". ("Our children are watching us, they put their trust in us, they're gonna be like us.")
A lot of the love songs out there seem pretty obsessive and scary when sung to an actual lover (my favorite lyric like this is from an Amanda Marshall song, "I'd cut off my hands just to touch you." Ewwww. You really think anyone wants that??) but when I sing them to my babe, they seem perfectly fine. Like "You're Just Too Good to Be True," (Frankie Vallie) or "Ain't No Sunshine" (Bill Withers) or "Pride and Joy" (Stevie Ray Vaughn).
When you fall in love with your baby, lots of love songs will fit that love nicely. I personally feel more comfortable with the idea of singing "She's my sweet little thing, she's my pride and joy, she's my sweet little baby, and my little lover boy," to a child. Or, even more disturbing "I know I ought to leave a young thing alone, but there ain't no sunshine when she's gone." But nothing fits quite as nicely as those love songs written especially for a child, by a mother.
We love to sing around here--all three of us. Sean and I both have unrequited rock star dreams. Boo knows a few lines to a lot of songs now and sings them with unbelievable cuteness. We sang him to sleep multiple times a day for the first year of his life, and I'm always singing little songs to him during the day. I remember Sean, in one sweet Daddy moment, saying to his little newborn Boo, something along the lines of "It's like I've been waiting all my life to sing to you." I felt exactly the same way. Who needs to be a rock star when you can sing to your baby?
I want to preserve some of the songs that I sang to him as his special songs, and I'm also looking for more to sing to Peanut. So I'm putting it out there to all you thousands of readers! Share with me your favorite baby-songs, and your favorite lyrics from them. It doesn't have to be a Mama-song, but if you have more of those special variety, lay those on me too. I'm looking for some good tear-jerking, and I'm cleaning out my singing pipes for Peanut.
And then there's this part, "And it's cause you've thrilled me, silenced me, stilled me, proved things I never believed. The face on you, the smell of you, will always be with me." Sheesh, I'm choking up just typing it. It got me thinking about how grateful I am for those precious few songs out there written by amazing artist-mothers for their children. O'Connor has done several good ones, including another favorite, "My Darling Child". The Dixie Chicks also have a lovely song called "Lullaby", and also a strong, idealistic Mama appeal for a better world called "I Hope". ("Our children are watching us, they put their trust in us, they're gonna be like us.")
A lot of the love songs out there seem pretty obsessive and scary when sung to an actual lover (my favorite lyric like this is from an Amanda Marshall song, "I'd cut off my hands just to touch you." Ewwww. You really think anyone wants that??) but when I sing them to my babe, they seem perfectly fine. Like "You're Just Too Good to Be True," (Frankie Vallie) or "Ain't No Sunshine" (Bill Withers) or "Pride and Joy" (Stevie Ray Vaughn).
When you fall in love with your baby, lots of love songs will fit that love nicely. I personally feel more comfortable with the idea of singing "She's my sweet little thing, she's my pride and joy, she's my sweet little baby, and my little lover boy," to a child. Or, even more disturbing "I know I ought to leave a young thing alone, but there ain't no sunshine when she's gone." But nothing fits quite as nicely as those love songs written especially for a child, by a mother.
We love to sing around here--all three of us. Sean and I both have unrequited rock star dreams. Boo knows a few lines to a lot of songs now and sings them with unbelievable cuteness. We sang him to sleep multiple times a day for the first year of his life, and I'm always singing little songs to him during the day. I remember Sean, in one sweet Daddy moment, saying to his little newborn Boo, something along the lines of "It's like I've been waiting all my life to sing to you." I felt exactly the same way. Who needs to be a rock star when you can sing to your baby?
I want to preserve some of the songs that I sang to him as his special songs, and I'm also looking for more to sing to Peanut. So I'm putting it out there to all you thousands of readers! Share with me your favorite baby-songs, and your favorite lyrics from them. It doesn't have to be a Mama-song, but if you have more of those special variety, lay those on me too. I'm looking for some good tear-jerking, and I'm cleaning out my singing pipes for Peanut.
Friday, May 14, 2010
The Whole Truth
Since posting my last post, I have been considering taking it down. Partly, I was worried about all the "just a mom" stuff I was saying, hoping no stay-at-home mom would misinterpret that to be anything but my own issues. But also, I realized it was not the whole truth. That post came in the midst of 2 days in which my husband had to work super-long hours, and was unable to break for anything but bedtime stories and night time--no dinner with us, no bathtime, no hang out in the evening. I was "on" the Boo from 6:30 wake up till 9:00 bed-time. In fact, he worked until 3 am both nights and was up at 6:30 to get ready for his 7am meeting. I don't know how he does it, or why.
Although that type of lunacy doesn't happen all the time, it happens often enough that along with the travel 6-8 weeks a year his job entails, it is difficult for me to commit to anything like a job or even volunteer work. So, when I said in that post that I didn't want to change anything, it wasn't true. If I had it entirely my way, Sean would work reasonable hours and I would work or volunteer part-time, and since he was working reasonable hours, he could do the child care when I worked, and we would still have some time as a family too.
But that's not the way it is. For a year after Boodge was born, I complained about this almost daily and the issue was a big strain in our family. But Sean is invested in the project he is working on, and for various and valid other reasons, isn't willing to change jobs now. Instead he has set some more boundaries around work, and he's been much better at being available on weekends and evenings. Still, it's not my ideal, or his.
I am a firm believer that if something isn't working, you should change it if you can. But as part of a family, I can't make it just about whether it's working for me. And though I believe that Sean having more time with Boo and not working so hard would be best for all of us, it's not just up to me. He's not ready to make a change, and one thing I've learned about Sean is he has to come to things in his own time and mind. And don't we all, really? Anyway, part of it is my choice. If I wanted to hire someone to look after Boo, I could have more time to do other things. But I'd rather do it myself.
So over these 2 years I've worked really hard at looking at the big picture, and focusing on the blessings. I am able to be the one raising my child, which I wanted. We have a very comfortable income, and it's secure for now, which is more than many families have. Sean can work from home, so even though he works a lot, Boo and I see him lots too because he takes 5 here and there throughout the day, and in an emergency, he's right there. I can still get a little time for creativity and relaxation. I can take trips to visit friends and family, unencumbered by work commitments. My marriage and family is strong. The Boo is uber-happy, from what I can tell.
But I just wanted to clarify, to make sure I'm telling the whole truth. I've chosen to come to terms with the way things are, and I'm very content. I believe in counting my blessings and accepting gracefully that which I cannot change (though I usually get to grace through a sweaty, ugly effort of first trying to change it anyway). But there's also a valid reason why I sometimes feel like I'm not having a rounded enough life. And for that matter, neither is Sean. Neither are lots of parents with young children. But we're still so incredibly blessed, that I'm done complaining. For now. Talk to me again when the Peanut arrives.
Although that type of lunacy doesn't happen all the time, it happens often enough that along with the travel 6-8 weeks a year his job entails, it is difficult for me to commit to anything like a job or even volunteer work. So, when I said in that post that I didn't want to change anything, it wasn't true. If I had it entirely my way, Sean would work reasonable hours and I would work or volunteer part-time, and since he was working reasonable hours, he could do the child care when I worked, and we would still have some time as a family too.
But that's not the way it is. For a year after Boodge was born, I complained about this almost daily and the issue was a big strain in our family. But Sean is invested in the project he is working on, and for various and valid other reasons, isn't willing to change jobs now. Instead he has set some more boundaries around work, and he's been much better at being available on weekends and evenings. Still, it's not my ideal, or his.
I am a firm believer that if something isn't working, you should change it if you can. But as part of a family, I can't make it just about whether it's working for me. And though I believe that Sean having more time with Boo and not working so hard would be best for all of us, it's not just up to me. He's not ready to make a change, and one thing I've learned about Sean is he has to come to things in his own time and mind. And don't we all, really? Anyway, part of it is my choice. If I wanted to hire someone to look after Boo, I could have more time to do other things. But I'd rather do it myself.
So over these 2 years I've worked really hard at looking at the big picture, and focusing on the blessings. I am able to be the one raising my child, which I wanted. We have a very comfortable income, and it's secure for now, which is more than many families have. Sean can work from home, so even though he works a lot, Boo and I see him lots too because he takes 5 here and there throughout the day, and in an emergency, he's right there. I can still get a little time for creativity and relaxation. I can take trips to visit friends and family, unencumbered by work commitments. My marriage and family is strong. The Boo is uber-happy, from what I can tell.
But I just wanted to clarify, to make sure I'm telling the whole truth. I've chosen to come to terms with the way things are, and I'm very content. I believe in counting my blessings and accepting gracefully that which I cannot change (though I usually get to grace through a sweaty, ugly effort of first trying to change it anyway). But there's also a valid reason why I sometimes feel like I'm not having a rounded enough life. And for that matter, neither is Sean. Neither are lots of parents with young children. But we're still so incredibly blessed, that I'm done complaining. For now. Talk to me again when the Peanut arrives.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
When is Enough Enough?
A while back, I was invited to join an academic writing group by the professor who supervised the writing of my Master's thesis. When I graduated 2 and a half years ago, I was so glad to see the end of that thesis that I happily shoved the 200+ page tome into a filing cabinet and may never have given it another thought if not for my supervisors semi-annual encouragement that I write it up into an article for publication.
The truth is, the academic part of my chosen profession just doesn't interest me much. I like working directly with people, and though I respect the body of research and theory that informs my work, I am also a bit cynical about it. Sometimes academia seems a bit too isolated from what's really happening, or else like some really high-end navel gazing.
Anyway, I had found out I was pregnant 4 days before my thesis defense, and as soon as it was over I began the switchover from academic/therapist to therapist/mother to..."just" mother. But that "just" mother thing is sometimes still hard to take. Not that I subscribe to the idea that any woman is "just" a mother....or that being a full-time mother is something diminutive. I think that motherhood is amazing. It is by far the most fulfilling role I have ever taken on, and I have never felt so all-consumed and passionate about anything. Nor have I given anything so much of my body, soul, and mind--not to mention sleep. Mothers, especially those with multiple children (who I am in awe of) work incredibly hard. Everyone knows this. But my sense is, much as people know what an important and difficult role motherhood is, there is still a lack of respect for a woman's choice to be "just" a mom.
Or maybe that lack of respect is within me. I'm not afraid to use the f-word and say I'm a feminist. And as a feminist, I respect the choices all women make regarding whether or not to have families, marriages, work, motherhood, or any combination of those that works for them. I had wanted children for a long time, and although I didn't have any clear expectations about how my own life would look once I started to have them, it has turned out looking quite 1950's in a lot of ways. My husband works, I take care of the house and child. He works long hours, at least 60 a week, and works with a team in India which means he often works late evenings. His job makes it difficult for me to take on any part-time work, day or evening, and I want to spend weekends with him and Boodge, not working. And though sometimes I miss work, I want more to stay home and raise my Boodge and Peanut-to-come. We're lucky enough that I have that choice right now, so here I am, a 1950's housewife by choice.
But the type A overachiever, straight A, teacher's pet, boss's favorite, workaholic person I was before I became a mother is in there, whispering "you're not enough." I know plenty of mothers who do more than me, by choice or obligation. They work, they run home businesses, they go to school, they take in other people's kids. Some are lucky enough to have husbands or grandparents who can do childcare--an arrangement I would certainly love to have. Others just don't mind using professional or home-childcare, which is something we prefer not to do right now. Others mind, but have no choice, so they make the best of it.
We who have chosen family life have to do what works for ourselves and our families to be healthy; financially, mentally, spiritually. I have no doubt, anyway, that most of these mother's also feel torn sometimes, be it from being too busy, missing out on certain aspects of their child's life, or not being able to perform at work as they may want due to family commitments. And I know many father's feel torn too. Maybe that's part of family life. Maybe we all ask ourselves if we're enough--parent, wife, employee, daughter, friend.
So guess what? I joined that writing group, even though the thought of poring through journal articles and trying to turn 200+ pages into 25 dry, concise pages makes me grimace every time. Why did I do it? Because I wanted to keep my toe in my profession, and this was one way to do it. Because I was scared of losing my professional contacts. Because I felt like I "should" do something with that thesis. Because I wanted more than being "just" a mom.
But now that I've committed myself I am face to face with the question of what I am trying to prove here. Whenever I have some time to sit down and do some work on my thesis (like right now), it is the last thing I want to do. Give me yoga, this blog, some good reading, my garden. Hell, give me some laundry to fold or handprints to clean off the windows. My heart is just not in it. And the new part of me, that became type B or whatever it is you become when you're not type A anymore, is saying, "Just quit the group, and free yourself." Sure, I want to stay in contact with my work. But this is not where my passion lies right now. It's where my passion dies.
So I'm in this internal battle which seems to be about letting go of my career life for now and accepting that I'm "just" a mother. But it seems I'm not totally ready. I hear myself, when people ask whether I'm going to work, weaving an elaborate excuseplanation "I did work part time, then we were moving so I couldn't renew the contract, then I got pregnant, so now nobody would want to hire me so I'm just waiting." But the truth is, I've lost my type A drive. I frankly feel quite busy enough, thank you very much, without adding a job outside the home and all the inner conflict that comes with it to the mix. I don't want to miss out on this super-cute, amazing time in Boodge's life. And yes, little feminist inside me, I actually like cooking good meals and making a warm, smoothly-run (most of the time) home for my family. I like where I am.
I do want to return to work one day, and I will. I know life is long, and I am dedicating this part of it to raising my kids, just as I dedicated 8 years to my education. This is how our family is working right now. I've chosen it, and we could change it if I wanted to. I don't. But how to let go of that nagging feeling that I'm wasting my education, falling behind in my career, not contributing to my community, not "enough"?
Maybe I just need to wait until Peanut arrives. Once Peanut comes, there'll be no doubt I don't have time to do any work, paper writing, reading, eating, yoga, bowel moving, or anything. So maybe then, I'll finally be at peace with this whole "just" a mom thing. For a while.
The truth is, the academic part of my chosen profession just doesn't interest me much. I like working directly with people, and though I respect the body of research and theory that informs my work, I am also a bit cynical about it. Sometimes academia seems a bit too isolated from what's really happening, or else like some really high-end navel gazing.
Anyway, I had found out I was pregnant 4 days before my thesis defense, and as soon as it was over I began the switchover from academic/therapist to therapist/mother to..."just" mother. But that "just" mother thing is sometimes still hard to take. Not that I subscribe to the idea that any woman is "just" a mother....or that being a full-time mother is something diminutive. I think that motherhood is amazing. It is by far the most fulfilling role I have ever taken on, and I have never felt so all-consumed and passionate about anything. Nor have I given anything so much of my body, soul, and mind--not to mention sleep. Mothers, especially those with multiple children (who I am in awe of) work incredibly hard. Everyone knows this. But my sense is, much as people know what an important and difficult role motherhood is, there is still a lack of respect for a woman's choice to be "just" a mom.
Or maybe that lack of respect is within me. I'm not afraid to use the f-word and say I'm a feminist. And as a feminist, I respect the choices all women make regarding whether or not to have families, marriages, work, motherhood, or any combination of those that works for them. I had wanted children for a long time, and although I didn't have any clear expectations about how my own life would look once I started to have them, it has turned out looking quite 1950's in a lot of ways. My husband works, I take care of the house and child. He works long hours, at least 60 a week, and works with a team in India which means he often works late evenings. His job makes it difficult for me to take on any part-time work, day or evening, and I want to spend weekends with him and Boodge, not working. And though sometimes I miss work, I want more to stay home and raise my Boodge and Peanut-to-come. We're lucky enough that I have that choice right now, so here I am, a 1950's housewife by choice.
But the type A overachiever, straight A, teacher's pet, boss's favorite, workaholic person I was before I became a mother is in there, whispering "you're not enough." I know plenty of mothers who do more than me, by choice or obligation. They work, they run home businesses, they go to school, they take in other people's kids. Some are lucky enough to have husbands or grandparents who can do childcare--an arrangement I would certainly love to have. Others just don't mind using professional or home-childcare, which is something we prefer not to do right now. Others mind, but have no choice, so they make the best of it.
We who have chosen family life have to do what works for ourselves and our families to be healthy; financially, mentally, spiritually. I have no doubt, anyway, that most of these mother's also feel torn sometimes, be it from being too busy, missing out on certain aspects of their child's life, or not being able to perform at work as they may want due to family commitments. And I know many father's feel torn too. Maybe that's part of family life. Maybe we all ask ourselves if we're enough--parent, wife, employee, daughter, friend.
So guess what? I joined that writing group, even though the thought of poring through journal articles and trying to turn 200+ pages into 25 dry, concise pages makes me grimace every time. Why did I do it? Because I wanted to keep my toe in my profession, and this was one way to do it. Because I was scared of losing my professional contacts. Because I felt like I "should" do something with that thesis. Because I wanted more than being "just" a mom.
But now that I've committed myself I am face to face with the question of what I am trying to prove here. Whenever I have some time to sit down and do some work on my thesis (like right now), it is the last thing I want to do. Give me yoga, this blog, some good reading, my garden. Hell, give me some laundry to fold or handprints to clean off the windows. My heart is just not in it. And the new part of me, that became type B or whatever it is you become when you're not type A anymore, is saying, "Just quit the group, and free yourself." Sure, I want to stay in contact with my work. But this is not where my passion lies right now. It's where my passion dies.
So I'm in this internal battle which seems to be about letting go of my career life for now and accepting that I'm "just" a mother. But it seems I'm not totally ready. I hear myself, when people ask whether I'm going to work, weaving an elaborate excuseplanation "I did work part time, then we were moving so I couldn't renew the contract, then I got pregnant, so now nobody would want to hire me so I'm just waiting." But the truth is, I've lost my type A drive. I frankly feel quite busy enough, thank you very much, without adding a job outside the home and all the inner conflict that comes with it to the mix. I don't want to miss out on this super-cute, amazing time in Boodge's life. And yes, little feminist inside me, I actually like cooking good meals and making a warm, smoothly-run (most of the time) home for my family. I like where I am.
I do want to return to work one day, and I will. I know life is long, and I am dedicating this part of it to raising my kids, just as I dedicated 8 years to my education. This is how our family is working right now. I've chosen it, and we could change it if I wanted to. I don't. But how to let go of that nagging feeling that I'm wasting my education, falling behind in my career, not contributing to my community, not "enough"?
Maybe I just need to wait until Peanut arrives. Once Peanut comes, there'll be no doubt I don't have time to do any work, paper writing, reading, eating, yoga, bowel moving, or anything. So maybe then, I'll finally be at peace with this whole "just" a mom thing. For a while.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
This Ones For My Mama
The other day I was pushing the Boodge on his swing in the backyard. We were having a rollicking good time. I was pretending to duck with an exaggerated "Whoa!" every time he swung towards me, which was sending him into hysterical giggles and me too, because what is a more joyful sound than your baby giggling? Suddenly, from the other side of the fence, I heard our neigbour interacting with his own child, a boy about 8 years old. (Names changed, of course).
"Brad, get off the lawn, you fucking idiot! Jesus, you do some stupid shit sometimes Brad!"
Giggling stopped. Moments passed while I felt my emotions turn to anger and sadness for that little boy. I imagined his little spirit, how it must shrivel when his dad talks to him that way. Then I heard this:
"Where's your brother? He's over there. Jesus--WATCH HIM! I am so sick of having to tell you the same fucking shit over and over and over!"
I looked at my little Boodge and tried to imagine talking to him that way. I hope I never do. I wondered how many times that boy across the fence will have to hear something like that before he starts to see himself as a stupid fucking idiot, before he fills with anger and starts treating other people the same way. I wanted to jump across the fence and lay into his dad.
I thought about it for hours, and am still thinking about it days later. When I told the story to my husband over dinner that night, I had gotten to the point in my thoughts where I said, "I'm trying not to judge his dad."
"Of course you should judge him!" Sean retorted angrily. And he's got a point. Of course we should speak out about people abusing their kids, emotionally, physically, mentally. The consequences are just too great. As a therapist and during my brief and miserable stint as as child-protection worker, I've seen too many of these kids and the incredible damage this treatment does. But when I worked in child protection I also saw that when a kid came to our attention, it was likely that in the file room you would find 3 or 4 volumes on that kid's mother or father or both, detailing the abuse in their own childhood. These things don't come out of nowhere, and that is what I meant when I said I was trying to to judge him. I was trying to understand where it came from.
I've said on this blog that I think all parents try to do the best they can for their children with the resources and knowledge they have at the time. But so much of our parenting resources and knowledge come from our own parents, and unknowingly we parent our children in the same way, or in reaction to it. If you grow up in abuse and neglect, that can easily feel like a natural way to treat your own kids. Not every person is able to see how their own childhood affected them, and is now affecting their children. If we are not blessed with a few different and positive examples in our environment, we may never see another way.
And seeing it is only one thing--facing the grief and anger and shame that comes with the seeing, and then making the conscious and tremendous effort to find a better way and practice, practice, practice that new way, is no small feat. Habits we were raised with run deep within us. We try, we fail, we try some more until we can create new habits. The clients I have seen in therapy who really do face those things and change them are my heroes. They are some of the most courageous and determined people in the world.
Today is Mother's day, and the experience has got me thinking about how much gratitude we owe our mothers (and fathers, but it's mother's day, remember) for all the things they got right. All those efforts they made to raise an emotionally healthy child generally are taken for granted, but they make a huge impact on the world. We bring those habits into all of our future relationships, at work, in partnership, and in parenting. Unconsciously, we can do a lot of damage, or a lot of good, depending on what we were taught to expect and give in relationships. I think it's fair to say (although it's changing in this generation) that usually, mothers do the majority of the role-modeling to children about intimate relationships and parenting. I know my mother did.
My mother was not perfect. None of us are. Issues from her own childhood came back to haunt her when she was already in the thick of marriage and parenting. That, combined with grief over losing her dear sister far too early, caused an emotional tailspin in her for a while. My parents marriage eventually fell apart, partly because of that, and she struggled for many years during my adolescence to regain strength and emotional stability. She and I have been over this topic, and how it affected me, a million times. Although my forgiveness of her is complete, I'm not sure she has fully forgiven herself for being so human.
But mostly, my mother got it right. And since becoming a parent I am more and more grateful for all the ways in which she, by her own parenting, prepared me to be a parent myself. I know now how easy it is to lose patience and lash out, especially when my own stresses and need for nurturing are great. I see now how much my mother taught me about being a good parent and person, just through her own parenting example. Here are just a few things she did.
She respected me. She never spoke to me abusively, or abused my body or spirit. When she needed to reprimand me in a room full of people, she took me aside so I wouldn't be embarrassed. She accepted who I was, and didn't try to make me into a different person. Still now, she accepts my decisions about who I am and how I want to live, even if they are not what she would choose. When I was a teenager, she respected my need to define myself and make mistakes. She respected my intelligence. She didn't offer dictates like "Don't have sex," or "Don't do drugs." Instead, she offered information about the potential risks of these things, and how, if I chose to do them, I could most minimize those risks. And when I screwed up she was there to support me. She also respected my emotions. When I was angry with her for the effect some of her choices had had on my life, she listened, even if it hurt her to hear. She never told me my emotions were wrong or minimized them in any way. Through my mother's respect, I learned to respect myself and others.
She was positive. My mom has always, in spite of her own dark periods, been an optimist. She always has hope for a better world, and tries to see and bring out the best in people. In my presence, she never made negative comments about me to her friends or family. Instead, she took every opportunity to share positive observations about me. When I was a teenager and barely talking to her, she didn't fall into the pattern of many parents of teenagers who gripe about the age and say how difficult their kids have become. She kept reinforcing the positive, and told people all the reasons she thought the teenage years were a neat time. She lived positive--she smiled and laughed and acted so silly it mortified me sometimes. But she showed me that life is about enjoying the little things, because if you wait for the big things you won't have enough opportunities for joy. Through my mother's positivity, I learned to live positive as well.
She was honest and real. She didn't put up a wall of authority between us, pretend to be perfect, or censor my exposure to hers and others' real life. She was honest about her struggles and she showed me that with hard work and humility, a person can overcome and change. She was honest about cruelties like homophobia and racism, and how much they hurt other people, and taught me not to tolerate them. She didn't try to hide from dark emotion or suppress joy. Of course, we need to protect our kids from the pain of life in an age-appropriate way, but also, we need to show them that problems are teachers, and if we are willing to face them we will grow and learn in amazing ways. We need to show them that it is OK and normal to get down, because life is just hard sometimes. My mother did this through her honest example, sharing her struggles and triumphs and lessons. Through her honesty, I learned not to fear the ups and downs of real life, and to be honest with others about my struggles.
She was generous with her love. My mother is one of the most giving and unselfish people I know. Sometimes, this is to her detriment, as it depletes her or causes others to take advantage of her. I have the same problem. Still, when this quality is in balance, it is so fulfilling both for the giver and receiver. There was never a time when I doubted my mother's undying love for me. Even when she was deeply mired in grief and despair, she never left me emotionally or physically. She has been there for every event in my life, good and bad, big or small. Even today, she is my biggest champion and supporter. This may seem normal--doesn't every good mother love their child like that? Maybe it is normal, but it is still a tremendous gift. Through my mother's love, I knew I was lovable, and I learned to be generous with love too.
All of these things that my mother is I am so grateful for because now I am a parent and I don't have to struggle with these things myself. I don't have to catch myself in behaviors that are not good for me or my child, and painstakingly change unhealthy habits. Not too many, anyway--of course I have my share. We all do. And as Boodge grows and my life happens, I may discover new challenges. But for the most part, my instincts towards my child are good. I can respect him, I can live positive for him, I can connect with him honestly, and I can love him deeply and unselfishly. It would be easy to take this all for granted. But I know that I owe a lot of it to my mom. If she hadn't been such a good parent, all of this would be much harder for me.
Thank you Mama. Thank you for not being that parent I heard over the fence. Thank you for working so hard on yourself over the years so that you could be a better person and parent. Thank you for loving me so well. We should all be so blessed as to have a mother like you. My deepest hope is to bless my babies in the same way. You have given me a great start.
"Brad, get off the lawn, you fucking idiot! Jesus, you do some stupid shit sometimes Brad!"
Giggling stopped. Moments passed while I felt my emotions turn to anger and sadness for that little boy. I imagined his little spirit, how it must shrivel when his dad talks to him that way. Then I heard this:
"Where's your brother? He's over there. Jesus--WATCH HIM! I am so sick of having to tell you the same fucking shit over and over and over!"
I looked at my little Boodge and tried to imagine talking to him that way. I hope I never do. I wondered how many times that boy across the fence will have to hear something like that before he starts to see himself as a stupid fucking idiot, before he fills with anger and starts treating other people the same way. I wanted to jump across the fence and lay into his dad.
I thought about it for hours, and am still thinking about it days later. When I told the story to my husband over dinner that night, I had gotten to the point in my thoughts where I said, "I'm trying not to judge his dad."
"Of course you should judge him!" Sean retorted angrily. And he's got a point. Of course we should speak out about people abusing their kids, emotionally, physically, mentally. The consequences are just too great. As a therapist and during my brief and miserable stint as as child-protection worker, I've seen too many of these kids and the incredible damage this treatment does. But when I worked in child protection I also saw that when a kid came to our attention, it was likely that in the file room you would find 3 or 4 volumes on that kid's mother or father or both, detailing the abuse in their own childhood. These things don't come out of nowhere, and that is what I meant when I said I was trying to to judge him. I was trying to understand where it came from.
I've said on this blog that I think all parents try to do the best they can for their children with the resources and knowledge they have at the time. But so much of our parenting resources and knowledge come from our own parents, and unknowingly we parent our children in the same way, or in reaction to it. If you grow up in abuse and neglect, that can easily feel like a natural way to treat your own kids. Not every person is able to see how their own childhood affected them, and is now affecting their children. If we are not blessed with a few different and positive examples in our environment, we may never see another way.
And seeing it is only one thing--facing the grief and anger and shame that comes with the seeing, and then making the conscious and tremendous effort to find a better way and practice, practice, practice that new way, is no small feat. Habits we were raised with run deep within us. We try, we fail, we try some more until we can create new habits. The clients I have seen in therapy who really do face those things and change them are my heroes. They are some of the most courageous and determined people in the world.
Today is Mother's day, and the experience has got me thinking about how much gratitude we owe our mothers (and fathers, but it's mother's day, remember) for all the things they got right. All those efforts they made to raise an emotionally healthy child generally are taken for granted, but they make a huge impact on the world. We bring those habits into all of our future relationships, at work, in partnership, and in parenting. Unconsciously, we can do a lot of damage, or a lot of good, depending on what we were taught to expect and give in relationships. I think it's fair to say (although it's changing in this generation) that usually, mothers do the majority of the role-modeling to children about intimate relationships and parenting. I know my mother did.
My mother was not perfect. None of us are. Issues from her own childhood came back to haunt her when she was already in the thick of marriage and parenting. That, combined with grief over losing her dear sister far too early, caused an emotional tailspin in her for a while. My parents marriage eventually fell apart, partly because of that, and she struggled for many years during my adolescence to regain strength and emotional stability. She and I have been over this topic, and how it affected me, a million times. Although my forgiveness of her is complete, I'm not sure she has fully forgiven herself for being so human.
But mostly, my mother got it right. And since becoming a parent I am more and more grateful for all the ways in which she, by her own parenting, prepared me to be a parent myself. I know now how easy it is to lose patience and lash out, especially when my own stresses and need for nurturing are great. I see now how much my mother taught me about being a good parent and person, just through her own parenting example. Here are just a few things she did.
She respected me. She never spoke to me abusively, or abused my body or spirit. When she needed to reprimand me in a room full of people, she took me aside so I wouldn't be embarrassed. She accepted who I was, and didn't try to make me into a different person. Still now, she accepts my decisions about who I am and how I want to live, even if they are not what she would choose. When I was a teenager, she respected my need to define myself and make mistakes. She respected my intelligence. She didn't offer dictates like "Don't have sex," or "Don't do drugs." Instead, she offered information about the potential risks of these things, and how, if I chose to do them, I could most minimize those risks. And when I screwed up she was there to support me. She also respected my emotions. When I was angry with her for the effect some of her choices had had on my life, she listened, even if it hurt her to hear. She never told me my emotions were wrong or minimized them in any way. Through my mother's respect, I learned to respect myself and others.
She was positive. My mom has always, in spite of her own dark periods, been an optimist. She always has hope for a better world, and tries to see and bring out the best in people. In my presence, she never made negative comments about me to her friends or family. Instead, she took every opportunity to share positive observations about me. When I was a teenager and barely talking to her, she didn't fall into the pattern of many parents of teenagers who gripe about the age and say how difficult their kids have become. She kept reinforcing the positive, and told people all the reasons she thought the teenage years were a neat time. She lived positive--she smiled and laughed and acted so silly it mortified me sometimes. But she showed me that life is about enjoying the little things, because if you wait for the big things you won't have enough opportunities for joy. Through my mother's positivity, I learned to live positive as well.
She was honest and real. She didn't put up a wall of authority between us, pretend to be perfect, or censor my exposure to hers and others' real life. She was honest about her struggles and she showed me that with hard work and humility, a person can overcome and change. She was honest about cruelties like homophobia and racism, and how much they hurt other people, and taught me not to tolerate them. She didn't try to hide from dark emotion or suppress joy. Of course, we need to protect our kids from the pain of life in an age-appropriate way, but also, we need to show them that problems are teachers, and if we are willing to face them we will grow and learn in amazing ways. We need to show them that it is OK and normal to get down, because life is just hard sometimes. My mother did this through her honest example, sharing her struggles and triumphs and lessons. Through her honesty, I learned not to fear the ups and downs of real life, and to be honest with others about my struggles.
She was generous with her love. My mother is one of the most giving and unselfish people I know. Sometimes, this is to her detriment, as it depletes her or causes others to take advantage of her. I have the same problem. Still, when this quality is in balance, it is so fulfilling both for the giver and receiver. There was never a time when I doubted my mother's undying love for me. Even when she was deeply mired in grief and despair, she never left me emotionally or physically. She has been there for every event in my life, good and bad, big or small. Even today, she is my biggest champion and supporter. This may seem normal--doesn't every good mother love their child like that? Maybe it is normal, but it is still a tremendous gift. Through my mother's love, I knew I was lovable, and I learned to be generous with love too.
All of these things that my mother is I am so grateful for because now I am a parent and I don't have to struggle with these things myself. I don't have to catch myself in behaviors that are not good for me or my child, and painstakingly change unhealthy habits. Not too many, anyway--of course I have my share. We all do. And as Boodge grows and my life happens, I may discover new challenges. But for the most part, my instincts towards my child are good. I can respect him, I can live positive for him, I can connect with him honestly, and I can love him deeply and unselfishly. It would be easy to take this all for granted. But I know that I owe a lot of it to my mom. If she hadn't been such a good parent, all of this would be much harder for me.
Thank you Mama. Thank you for not being that parent I heard over the fence. Thank you for working so hard on yourself over the years so that you could be a better person and parent. Thank you for loving me so well. We should all be so blessed as to have a mother like you. My deepest hope is to bless my babies in the same way. You have given me a great start.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
So Pouda You, Boodgie (that's what he says)
Any of you who have been following this blog thus far have probably surmised that our parenting style leans heavily in the direction of what is often called "Attachment Parenting" (that, or you just know us, since most of you do!). I don't usually subscribe to strict philosophies or take on labels, I prefer to think for myself, and so does Sean. But I found that the more I learned and read about attachment-style parenting, the more it seemed to fit with who I am, what I've learned as a psychologist, and how I wanted to be as a parent--sensitive to and respectful my child's needs, emotionally available, and very, very close to him. I also wanted to nurse him a long time, found wearing him to be way more comfy and convenient than a stroller and, although at first I was mixed about it, I have come to love sharing our bed with him, as has my husband. So I guess that makes me an attachment parent, though I prefer to think of it as doing what feels natural.
There is a lot of criticism and outright hostility for this type of parenting. I guess it has something to do with it not being quite mainstream, which makes people feel more comfortable questioning it. Our parent's generation has simply not seen this type of parenting, so if they are open to hearing it, I try to simply explain my beliefs. And I think I should also acknowledge that there is lots of criticism and judgement that goes the other way, from attachment parents to those who practice more mainstream methods like sleep training, early weaning, formula feeding, etc. Just get on almost any parenting forum and watch the fur fly.
I'm not here to get on a soapbox, nor am I here to judge other parents who do differently than we do. Everyone tries to do what they think is right for their family and child, using the knowledge and resources they have at the time. And I hope that readers of this blog will return the favor by not judging me. Even better, I hope that some people will read about our experiences and take away a kernel of something they can use, or feel validated in their own parenting style.
One of the big things critics seem to believe about attachment parenting is that it somehow fosters an unhealthy dependence in the child. Lots of people raise eyebrows about my still nursing, laying with him until he falls asleep, and sleeping in the same bed with him. I am constantly asked when I am going to stop doing these things, or told I should stop soon, and have even had people say outright that it is unhealthy for the Boodge. I don't put much stock in that stuff. I look at the Boodge, his almost perma-grin, his exuberant love of life, his healthy body and boundless energy, and I know he is healthy.
On the contrary, one of the things attachment parenting emphasizes, and I believe, is that children (all of us, actually) given the right conditions of security and trust, move naturally in the direction of independence and growth, in their own time, as they become ready. As parents, we should introduce new ideas, encourage independent behaviors, and set boundaries--but we should also listen to our child's voice about whether they are ready to move forward or even comprehend what we want them to do.
Our culture, with its emphasis on independence rather than interdependence, self rather than community, and competition rather than co-operation, puts a lot of pressure on parents to move their kids towards independence as quickly as possible. And even if the parent may be feeling wrong about what they're doing, they may continue because grandpa, doctor, TV, and parenting magazines are telling them to keep it up.
Attachment parenting urges us to trust our intuition as parents, and do what feels right. The idea is that by fostering such a close attachment to your child, you will know them well enough to know when they are ready for some gentle urging forward, or when they need to take a step back to feel secure again. Also, if you as a mother are resenting something or unable to cope, that is a clear sign that you need to make a change too. Following your intuition and trusting your child to move at their own pace towards growth and change are two things I can totally get behind. It requires a lot of surrendering to what is--but that seems to be a healthy practice too.
So, all this to say that in the last week or so, the Boodge has suddenly made some big leaps towards growth, pretty much all on his own. As you all know, I've been night weaning him lately, which was part of three goals we had with him before the baby came. I wanted to stop night nursing, have his dad be able to put him to bed, and move him to his own room. The night weaning has been complete for a while now, and he seems fine with it, though he still likes to touch the "boo" to help him get back to sleep. It didn't seem too hard on him, and if it had been I would have probably stopped and waited a while longer.
The next step was to get his dad putting him to bed, and after that we would take our time transitioning him to his own bed. So this week we started a gentle transition, where I would still nurse him to sleep but Sean was there too so he could get used to his Dad's presence at bedtime. Then Wednesday night, as we're on our way to the bedroom, he suddenly turns left instead of right and says "Go night-night boo in Boodge's geen bayoom." (that's boob in the green bedroom, to the uninitiated). He wanted to sleep in his own room! OK, we said, no problem. The next night, same thing.
Yesterday we began phase two of the transition. I explained to him all day that tonight, we were going to "Boo" in the chair before bedtime, then we were going to read some books in bed with Daddy, then lie down and go to sleep without boo. Bedtime came and we did as planned. He led us to his own bedroom, again. He loved reading the books--I could see it all over his face, and in the way he cuddled in between us while we read with a beatific smile on his face.
When we had finished 3 books and I said it was time to lie down, close our eyes, and go to sleep, he started to cry. And folks, it wasn't because he couldn't have boo. "Pease Mami, more books," he begged, signing "Please" with fervor, knowing I like to be asked this way. I gently told him that we were done books, and it was time to lie down and close our eyes and go to sleep. And guess what? He did! He reached out, grabbed the boo with his hand, and commenced falling asleep. Just like that.
We gave him some chocolate in the morning to celebrate. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to get much in his mouth.
And there's more! This week he also suddenly got into the idea of peeing in his potty. He started asking for it when his diaper was off, even once when his diaper was on. Some days he has had 5 or 6 pees in the potty. He loves to grab his little toilet ring and run from bathroom to bathroom putting it on the toilet, and sit and watch his pee come out. He hasn't pooed yet (except once when he was already in the process of pooing and I urgently placed him on the potty). One time when he wanted to poo, I asked him if he wanted to poo on the potty and he started to cry and said "Put diaper on an poo ina diaper." So I honoured that. Who among us can squeeze one out in the wrong circumstances?
It's all got Sean and I just about exploding with pride and love and amazement at our little guy. There's also a part of me that's grieving, knowing that these changes mean he is growing up and will need me less. I will miss climbing into bed and seeing his sweetly sleeping little body there, feeling him roll up for a cuddle in the night. I'll miss putting him to bed too, though I think that once he's comfortable with Sean doing it, I'll get back in there often myself. This time, when he's so little and dependent on me, is so precious and beautiful. It's hard at times--I can't pretend it's not. But I can already see that it's going to be too short, and I'll look back on it with fondness and remember the bliss more than the pain.
So there it is, it seems to be true. Children do move naturally towards independence and growth in their own time, given the right conditions. Boodge might backstep (like yesterday, when I had him wrapped in a bear hug in a blanket and he informed me with a big smile that he was having a pee pee in the blanket), and that's OK. We've got time. But I'm so excited to see him growing, and taking the initiative to try new things. I'm so pleased that it has all happened gently for him and for us as a family, without power struggles and nights of misery and second-guessing. And yes, I'm also thankful for those "attachment" parents out there who follow their gut and brave the judgements to share their voices and experiences. Without them I may not have found this way as a parent, or if I did, I certainly may not have felt the support and community needed to continue.
There is a lot of criticism and outright hostility for this type of parenting. I guess it has something to do with it not being quite mainstream, which makes people feel more comfortable questioning it. Our parent's generation has simply not seen this type of parenting, so if they are open to hearing it, I try to simply explain my beliefs. And I think I should also acknowledge that there is lots of criticism and judgement that goes the other way, from attachment parents to those who practice more mainstream methods like sleep training, early weaning, formula feeding, etc. Just get on almost any parenting forum and watch the fur fly.
I'm not here to get on a soapbox, nor am I here to judge other parents who do differently than we do. Everyone tries to do what they think is right for their family and child, using the knowledge and resources they have at the time. And I hope that readers of this blog will return the favor by not judging me. Even better, I hope that some people will read about our experiences and take away a kernel of something they can use, or feel validated in their own parenting style.
One of the big things critics seem to believe about attachment parenting is that it somehow fosters an unhealthy dependence in the child. Lots of people raise eyebrows about my still nursing, laying with him until he falls asleep, and sleeping in the same bed with him. I am constantly asked when I am going to stop doing these things, or told I should stop soon, and have even had people say outright that it is unhealthy for the Boodge. I don't put much stock in that stuff. I look at the Boodge, his almost perma-grin, his exuberant love of life, his healthy body and boundless energy, and I know he is healthy.
On the contrary, one of the things attachment parenting emphasizes, and I believe, is that children (all of us, actually) given the right conditions of security and trust, move naturally in the direction of independence and growth, in their own time, as they become ready. As parents, we should introduce new ideas, encourage independent behaviors, and set boundaries--but we should also listen to our child's voice about whether they are ready to move forward or even comprehend what we want them to do.
Our culture, with its emphasis on independence rather than interdependence, self rather than community, and competition rather than co-operation, puts a lot of pressure on parents to move their kids towards independence as quickly as possible. And even if the parent may be feeling wrong about what they're doing, they may continue because grandpa, doctor, TV, and parenting magazines are telling them to keep it up.
Attachment parenting urges us to trust our intuition as parents, and do what feels right. The idea is that by fostering such a close attachment to your child, you will know them well enough to know when they are ready for some gentle urging forward, or when they need to take a step back to feel secure again. Also, if you as a mother are resenting something or unable to cope, that is a clear sign that you need to make a change too. Following your intuition and trusting your child to move at their own pace towards growth and change are two things I can totally get behind. It requires a lot of surrendering to what is--but that seems to be a healthy practice too.
So, all this to say that in the last week or so, the Boodge has suddenly made some big leaps towards growth, pretty much all on his own. As you all know, I've been night weaning him lately, which was part of three goals we had with him before the baby came. I wanted to stop night nursing, have his dad be able to put him to bed, and move him to his own room. The night weaning has been complete for a while now, and he seems fine with it, though he still likes to touch the "boo" to help him get back to sleep. It didn't seem too hard on him, and if it had been I would have probably stopped and waited a while longer.
The next step was to get his dad putting him to bed, and after that we would take our time transitioning him to his own bed. So this week we started a gentle transition, where I would still nurse him to sleep but Sean was there too so he could get used to his Dad's presence at bedtime. Then Wednesday night, as we're on our way to the bedroom, he suddenly turns left instead of right and says "Go night-night boo in Boodge's geen bayoom." (that's boob in the green bedroom, to the uninitiated). He wanted to sleep in his own room! OK, we said, no problem. The next night, same thing.
Yesterday we began phase two of the transition. I explained to him all day that tonight, we were going to "Boo" in the chair before bedtime, then we were going to read some books in bed with Daddy, then lie down and go to sleep without boo. Bedtime came and we did as planned. He led us to his own bedroom, again. He loved reading the books--I could see it all over his face, and in the way he cuddled in between us while we read with a beatific smile on his face.
When we had finished 3 books and I said it was time to lie down, close our eyes, and go to sleep, he started to cry. And folks, it wasn't because he couldn't have boo. "Pease Mami, more books," he begged, signing "Please" with fervor, knowing I like to be asked this way. I gently told him that we were done books, and it was time to lie down and close our eyes and go to sleep. And guess what? He did! He reached out, grabbed the boo with his hand, and commenced falling asleep. Just like that.
We gave him some chocolate in the morning to celebrate. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to get much in his mouth.
And there's more! This week he also suddenly got into the idea of peeing in his potty. He started asking for it when his diaper was off, even once when his diaper was on. Some days he has had 5 or 6 pees in the potty. He loves to grab his little toilet ring and run from bathroom to bathroom putting it on the toilet, and sit and watch his pee come out. He hasn't pooed yet (except once when he was already in the process of pooing and I urgently placed him on the potty). One time when he wanted to poo, I asked him if he wanted to poo on the potty and he started to cry and said "Put diaper on an poo ina diaper." So I honoured that. Who among us can squeeze one out in the wrong circumstances?
It's all got Sean and I just about exploding with pride and love and amazement at our little guy. There's also a part of me that's grieving, knowing that these changes mean he is growing up and will need me less. I will miss climbing into bed and seeing his sweetly sleeping little body there, feeling him roll up for a cuddle in the night. I'll miss putting him to bed too, though I think that once he's comfortable with Sean doing it, I'll get back in there often myself. This time, when he's so little and dependent on me, is so precious and beautiful. It's hard at times--I can't pretend it's not. But I can already see that it's going to be too short, and I'll look back on it with fondness and remember the bliss more than the pain.
So there it is, it seems to be true. Children do move naturally towards independence and growth in their own time, given the right conditions. Boodge might backstep (like yesterday, when I had him wrapped in a bear hug in a blanket and he informed me with a big smile that he was having a pee pee in the blanket), and that's OK. We've got time. But I'm so excited to see him growing, and taking the initiative to try new things. I'm so pleased that it has all happened gently for him and for us as a family, without power struggles and nights of misery and second-guessing. And yes, I'm also thankful for those "attachment" parents out there who follow their gut and brave the judgements to share their voices and experiences. Without them I may not have found this way as a parent, or if I did, I certainly may not have felt the support and community needed to continue.
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