It's not quite in the door yet but certainly, the tantrum has pushed the door ajar and is peeking into our mornings these days. Something has shifted. For one, my little boy has learned to kiss and hug and climb on my lap, wrap his arms around my neck and put his head on my shoulder. He says a bunch of words and wants to say many more. He makes jokes and laughs at them.
But note the use of the term "my little boy". It is starting to feel more accurate than saying "my baby". He's becoming an independent being reaching for the limits of his capabilities, and finding them too often (or not finding them, but that's a whole other problem). He knows exactly what he wants but half the time he can't communicate it or accomplish it. It leads to a lot of frustration for both of us when he wants to drink the smoothie all by himself, when he wants that--no that--NO, THAT!! when he wants up, no down, no up, now down, no....WAAAAHHHH!!
My approach has been haphazard. Usually, I'm trying to get coffee or dinner made, and I am alternately comforting, distracting, or feeding him while in between I dash around chopping and wiping things. By the time we eat he is so frustrated he doesn't want to eat, and I am there trying to keep him in the highchair and calm n any which way so he may eat a few more bites. Meals end in a meltdown 70% of the time. The whole process of creating and eating food just seems to wind him up, and it feels a bit frantic for me too.
The other night I was just roaming around the internet and found this article which really helped me start thinking about it in a new way. A way that wasn't about: how do I get things done and keep him from melting down. Patty Wipfler suggests that instead, we parents just accept that the storm is building, and watch and wait for it to come, gently and lovingly enforcing the limits we need to enforce to keep our child safe and teach them. She talked about how toddlers just feel a building of frustration and it has to be let out in order for them to clear their minds and bodies and try again at whatever is making them crazy. She even suggested that if we know that a certain activity brings on a meltdown, then we should just anticipate it and build it in (like, reheat dinner after it's over).
I loved her article. And then yesterday morning I got to give it a try. We started out as usual--"What's wrong baby? You want up? OK. Wait, I have to put you down while I grind the beans. Just for a sec. It's OK baby. It's OK.....no, I can't hold you anymore, I have to do this...." The Boodge was testy as usual, holding my pantleg and crying, getting more and more upset. So I sat down on the kitchen floor with him, and waited for what was to happen.
He started to cry harder, got into my lap (standing) and put his arms around my neck, wailing in my ear. I offered him some words of empathy, rubbed his back. He escalated to sobs. Drooling, snotting, tearing sobs in my ear. At first he wouldn't let me hold him, but after a time he sort of kneeled on my lap and his trio of mucous saturated my shoulder. As I waited for the storm to pass, it was clear to me that this had been pent up for a long time, put off partly by all my efforts to entertain and distract him morning after morning. But yesterday, he let it all out.
After about 15 minutes, not long, he began to sputter out. Calmer, he relaxed more into my lap and my comforting hugs, and he looked at me and offered me a little smile. Soon, his playful self emerged again and he jumped off my lap and went into the living room to play while I finished getting breakfast ready.
And that was that. It was brilliant! We ate in peace, and he actually ate well, and then all day long he seemed calmer, less easily bugged. And here we are, 5 meals later, and there has not been a meltdown at any of them, or anytime really. I can't say I've figured out what was so frustrating, but it doesn't seem to matter. Whatever it was, he was able to let it out with my love and support, and he felt better.
I'm sure there will be another storm soon enough, and I'm so grateful for the learning that I don't have to fear and evade the tantrum. There is so much about it that feels right: allowing him to express himself, teaching him that I will be there for him to help him through dark emotions, and knowing that I don't need to give in on the limits I want to set with him because he may "freak out." As one who has had many a torrential cry in my life, I know it can be scary to let go, but that when it's over, I feel cleansed and ready to move on with new courage. I saw that in my little boy. So enter the tantrum. I'm even looking a little forward to the next one.
I know, seasoned parents out there, that it's only just begun and I've yet to weather a true, hurricane force tantrum. I don't mind if you give a little chuckle at how much I don't know. But I'm going to try to come at this tantrum thing like a storm watcher--staying safe while allowing myself to look into and understand the force behind the weather. It feels better than the running for my life or, and more conscious than hunkering down, watching movies and ignoring it.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Going bananas.....
I'm feeling a bit bloaty. Either I'm finally going to start menstruating again or it's the bananas. See, yesterday I was at the local organic grocery store. It's a family run store and though it's a wee bit on the pricey side, the woman who runs it, Jennifer, is so nice and so sweet to the Boodge that I go out of my way to spend my money there. Yesterday I was buying some of her overripe bananas. "I give to you," she said, and she asked me if I could use any more because she probably wouldn't sell them. I said, sure, I could use more and before I knew it she was putting 20 of them into my stroller.
Sitting in his high chair at dinner, looking at the pile, the Boodge learned to say "Na na." or was that "Night night?" or "No no?" No, clearly distinguishable. Clearly banana.
I consulted my friend the internet and found some recipes. So far I've baked a big pan of banana bread pudding, 12 banana chocolate chip muffins and 1 loaf of banana bread. I've banana blessed my property manager and his wife, Jennifer and her husband, and some friends and their babies. These bananas are just spreading love all over town.
The bread pudding is super easy to make. I'm afraid to admit how much of it I've eaten in 24 hours. I adapted this recipe. I used 2% milk instead of the "fat-free half and half" (um, what's that?) and I used 4 bananas. I think it could even take 5, and some chocolate chips would not hurt it at all. I also threw in some cinnamon and nutmeg and put a little less sugar, and used whatever bread I had going stale (some sourdough buns, some sliced bread. Here's how it looks.
The Banana Bread is one of my favorite recipes, because I can convince myself it's healthy even though I substitute chocolate chips for the dates. I use an extra banana and leave out the oil. Also, I just buy flax seed meal and use 3/4 cup of that, rather than the part whole/part ground seeds. Unground flax seed is not as good for you. The seed just passes through unscathed, if you know what I mean.
I felt like things were getting a bit serious for the Mama Being so it was time to go a bit bananas and post something light. Hope you enjoy!
Sitting in his high chair at dinner, looking at the pile, the Boodge learned to say "Na na." or was that "Night night?" or "No no?" No, clearly distinguishable. Clearly banana.
I consulted my friend the internet and found some recipes. So far I've baked a big pan of banana bread pudding, 12 banana chocolate chip muffins and 1 loaf of banana bread. I've banana blessed my property manager and his wife, Jennifer and her husband, and some friends and their babies. These bananas are just spreading love all over town.
The bread pudding is super easy to make. I'm afraid to admit how much of it I've eaten in 24 hours. I adapted this recipe. I used 2% milk instead of the "fat-free half and half" (um, what's that?) and I used 4 bananas. I think it could even take 5, and some chocolate chips would not hurt it at all. I also threw in some cinnamon and nutmeg and put a little less sugar, and used whatever bread I had going stale (some sourdough buns, some sliced bread. Here's how it looks.
The Banana Bread is one of my favorite recipes, because I can convince myself it's healthy even though I substitute chocolate chips for the dates. I use an extra banana and leave out the oil. Also, I just buy flax seed meal and use 3/4 cup of that, rather than the part whole/part ground seeds. Unground flax seed is not as good for you. The seed just passes through unscathed, if you know what I mean.
I felt like things were getting a bit serious for the Mama Being so it was time to go a bit bananas and post something light. Hope you enjoy!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Normalizing the Normal--Happy World Breastfeeding Week
Many times I have sat down to write about breastfeeding, but it has never evolved into a complete post. There is just so much to say about it, and it seems so loaded sometimes that it’s hard for me to narrow it down. But a friend on Facebook brought to my attention that it’s “World Breastfeeding Week” from August 1-7, so it seems like a good time to break the seal.
The other day I was nursing the Boodge in the park when an older lady and her aide walked by. The lady looked down at us with a serious face, her expression masked by big sunglasses and a hat.
“When I had my babies, we were’t allowed to do that.” She stated. Her accent was thick Austrian, like that of an 80’s movie villain. I felt my sensors go on alert, but waited to see where she would go next. “We couldn’t show our breast. We had to cover it all up, we couldn’t breastfeed our babies in public like that.” Her voice was angry, but I sensed it wasn’t at me.
I nodded and said, “That’s too bad.”
“Yes. It makes me angry. Because we had to hide it. It was Vienna, they were very strict. And I nursed my children for 11 months.”
“Good for you.”
“Yes, but so when I see this, I feel angry. I like it, but I am angry because I couldn’t do it.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s not good for Mothers or babies.”
She nodded and bid me a nice day and moved on, her aide looking awkward and embarrassed by her side, especially since the Boodge had pulled off with all the commotion and, horror of horrors, left my breast exposed for a few seconds. But I was glad she had stopped to share her experience. And I was glad that she got angry about it, because if women like her hadn’t gotten angry about it and spoken up, I wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable sitting in the park breastfeeding my baby.
The experience helped me realize why it’s so important for me to support breastfeeding. But whenever I sit down to write about it, I want to make sure that I don’t suggest that I think women who give formula to their babies or stop nursing earlier are somehow not as good mothers as those who breastfeed long-term. One thing I can’t stand is the “Mommy Wars” concept that pits women and parents against each other for the parenting choices they make. I have never felt more part of a supportive community and a sisterhood than since I became a parent, and I am not here to knock that community down, but to try to strengthen it. As Arwyn at “Raising my Boychick” put it so beautifully, “No-one can know the balance of a mother’s decisions.” (I'd like to send you to the exact post, but her blog is so good I got lost in it and read about 15 posts....so just go check it out.)
I know there are a lot of reasons why a mother may decide not to nurse her baby, and they usually come from the situation somehow being intolerable or uncomfortable and inconvenient for the mother and/or the baby. Fair enough, I say. If I had to limit my diet due to a baby with food allergies, if I felt pain while nursing, if my body had been violated or disrespected by someone in the past, if I had to pump under pressure in a bathroom stall because I was working full time, or was being repeatedly bitten by my baby or on and on….my feelings about nursing may be different. It’s the "balance of decisions" we must all make to keep ourselves peaceful inside, able to respond to our children lovingly and without resentment.
So when I say I support breastfeeding, it has nothing to do with not supporting other mothers' choices. It has to do with normalizing the normal. I want people to be as comfortable seeing a baby or toddler nursing as they are seeing them take a bottle. It has to do with getting to a place where a woman who wants to breastfeed for as long as the baby and she are happy with it is totally supported in that, and the community welcomes it. It has to do with making nursing as convenient and comfortable as possible for the mother and baby. Because I believe that often breastfeeding becomes intensely uncomfortable and inconvenient for the mother because of the way it is regarded and attended to in our culture.
I feel lucky that I’ve had a great experience breastfeeding and a very supportive circle in which to do it. But since the Boodge has turned one I am frequently asked how long I plan to nurse, and I know what’s behind the question. People often find it strange to nurse children into and beyond toddlerhood. It’s hard to dispute all the research that says nursing, and for as long as possible, is good for children. So why is it such a difficult topic? I think that the two main confusions in our culture that lead to this attitude are confusion about sexuality, and about independence.
Our breasts make others, and often ourselves, uncomfortable. We have such a media and religion-warped view our sexuality, we can’t seem to separate the breast from its sexual role when a child is nursing. I think that is what really throws people for a loop, and why why so many people draw the line at “when they can walk up to you and ask for it.”
When I nurse in public, I am conscious that some people may find something sexual in it—and that makes me hesitate in certain situations. It makes me uncomfortable exposing my breast. People comment on how my son is a “boob man” and how “this is how it starts with men, huh”. I know they're joking, and I laugh. But I'm also aware that they can’t help but see sexuality because I am using a part of my body that is so perversely coveted and objectified in our culture’s sexual imagination.
It has nothing to do with the Boodge being a man-child that he likes nursing so much. It has to do with nourishment, nurture, comfort, closeness, soothing. It has to do with what comes naturally to him and feels good. It has to do with love and physical connection between a mother and a child. When I nurse the Boodge, we slow down and are both relaxed. I get to stroke his head and play with his little feet and show him my love in a physical way, and he is calmed and happy after. It is no different from snuggling with your child while he drinks some hot cocoa. Why should we be in any rush to give up this amazing thing we have?
The other big worry about breastfeeding toddlers seems to be our culture’s focus on “independence”. This was highlighted to me by a woman I met at the playground, who somewhat sheepishly admitted she was still nursing her 13 month old. When I supported her, she talked more, and told me that some members of her family had suggested that it was selfish to do this because “what if I died, and then no-one else could feed her.” It was hilarious and ludicrous. As if this poor little girl wouldn’t have much more to worry about if her mother died than where to get milk. I mean, she can eat and drink, right?
I think people confuse freedom and independence. I’m all for freedom, with responsibility and respect of individual differences in exercising that freedom (without harming others). But really, would we want to be completely “independent”? Where would we get our food? Who would we talk to at the end of the day? How would we create and raise new people? What would the work we do contribute to, except our own lonely survival?
We are interdependent, and we are better off that way. And babies are dependent on their parents. Of course ultimately we want them to be able to survive and thrive without needing us so much. Stopping nursing early has nothing to do with that process, because no matter what, our young kids need us to provide food to them and even help them eat it for a long time. It seems that there is some uneasiness about letting the bond of closeness that nursing brings continue into toddlerhood, as if it will turn our children into eternal infants or something. But I just find that sad, and so wrong. Nursing is one way to help your child feel soothed, secure, and loved. Can’t that only contribute to them feeling ready to explore and individuate themselves in the world, become independent from a place of deep security?
The current issue of Mothering Magazine includes a fabulous article about a woman’s experience nursing in Mongolia, where breastfeeding is embraced and children commonly nurse until 4 years old or whenever they lose interest. I laughed reading about how mothers, grandmothers, and even grandfathers can always succeed in distracting toddlers from disputes about sharing by waving their breast around and saying “Baby, look what I got for you!” It reminded me of the funny things I’ve experienced nursing a toddler, the way he jumps on to the breast with an excited laugh, or in a downward dog position while hopping from foot to foot, breast to breast, occasionally doing backflips in between changes.
Nursing makes me laugh. It makes me be still. It fills me with love for my child. It fills me with wonder and respect for my body. I want to live in a place like Mongolia, where I can feel comfortable nursing the Boodge in public while he does his boob hopping routine. I want all women who are trying to nurse their babes to get supportive comments rather than inquiries about how long it will go on or jokes about boob men. I want them to get mentorship from other women, to get to nurse or pump at their workplaces, to feel that everyone around them is comfortable and respectful when seeing their breast doing its job so there’s no need to hide in a lonely room to nurse or forbid their babies to latch on.
Happy World Breastfeeding Week everyone. Let’s keep normalizing the normal, and I'm sure we'll end up OK. It's that simple.
The other day I was nursing the Boodge in the park when an older lady and her aide walked by. The lady looked down at us with a serious face, her expression masked by big sunglasses and a hat.
“When I had my babies, we were’t allowed to do that.” She stated. Her accent was thick Austrian, like that of an 80’s movie villain. I felt my sensors go on alert, but waited to see where she would go next. “We couldn’t show our breast. We had to cover it all up, we couldn’t breastfeed our babies in public like that.” Her voice was angry, but I sensed it wasn’t at me.
I nodded and said, “That’s too bad.”
“Yes. It makes me angry. Because we had to hide it. It was Vienna, they were very strict. And I nursed my children for 11 months.”
“Good for you.”
“Yes, but so when I see this, I feel angry. I like it, but I am angry because I couldn’t do it.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s not good for Mothers or babies.”
She nodded and bid me a nice day and moved on, her aide looking awkward and embarrassed by her side, especially since the Boodge had pulled off with all the commotion and, horror of horrors, left my breast exposed for a few seconds. But I was glad she had stopped to share her experience. And I was glad that she got angry about it, because if women like her hadn’t gotten angry about it and spoken up, I wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable sitting in the park breastfeeding my baby.
The experience helped me realize why it’s so important for me to support breastfeeding. But whenever I sit down to write about it, I want to make sure that I don’t suggest that I think women who give formula to their babies or stop nursing earlier are somehow not as good mothers as those who breastfeed long-term. One thing I can’t stand is the “Mommy Wars” concept that pits women and parents against each other for the parenting choices they make. I have never felt more part of a supportive community and a sisterhood than since I became a parent, and I am not here to knock that community down, but to try to strengthen it. As Arwyn at “Raising my Boychick” put it so beautifully, “No-one can know the balance of a mother’s decisions.” (I'd like to send you to the exact post, but her blog is so good I got lost in it and read about 15 posts....so just go check it out.)
I know there are a lot of reasons why a mother may decide not to nurse her baby, and they usually come from the situation somehow being intolerable or uncomfortable and inconvenient for the mother and/or the baby. Fair enough, I say. If I had to limit my diet due to a baby with food allergies, if I felt pain while nursing, if my body had been violated or disrespected by someone in the past, if I had to pump under pressure in a bathroom stall because I was working full time, or was being repeatedly bitten by my baby or on and on….my feelings about nursing may be different. It’s the "balance of decisions" we must all make to keep ourselves peaceful inside, able to respond to our children lovingly and without resentment.
So when I say I support breastfeeding, it has nothing to do with not supporting other mothers' choices. It has to do with normalizing the normal. I want people to be as comfortable seeing a baby or toddler nursing as they are seeing them take a bottle. It has to do with getting to a place where a woman who wants to breastfeed for as long as the baby and she are happy with it is totally supported in that, and the community welcomes it. It has to do with making nursing as convenient and comfortable as possible for the mother and baby. Because I believe that often breastfeeding becomes intensely uncomfortable and inconvenient for the mother because of the way it is regarded and attended to in our culture.
I feel lucky that I’ve had a great experience breastfeeding and a very supportive circle in which to do it. But since the Boodge has turned one I am frequently asked how long I plan to nurse, and I know what’s behind the question. People often find it strange to nurse children into and beyond toddlerhood. It’s hard to dispute all the research that says nursing, and for as long as possible, is good for children. So why is it such a difficult topic? I think that the two main confusions in our culture that lead to this attitude are confusion about sexuality, and about independence.
Our breasts make others, and often ourselves, uncomfortable. We have such a media and religion-warped view our sexuality, we can’t seem to separate the breast from its sexual role when a child is nursing. I think that is what really throws people for a loop, and why why so many people draw the line at “when they can walk up to you and ask for it.”
When I nurse in public, I am conscious that some people may find something sexual in it—and that makes me hesitate in certain situations. It makes me uncomfortable exposing my breast. People comment on how my son is a “boob man” and how “this is how it starts with men, huh”. I know they're joking, and I laugh. But I'm also aware that they can’t help but see sexuality because I am using a part of my body that is so perversely coveted and objectified in our culture’s sexual imagination.
It has nothing to do with the Boodge being a man-child that he likes nursing so much. It has to do with nourishment, nurture, comfort, closeness, soothing. It has to do with what comes naturally to him and feels good. It has to do with love and physical connection between a mother and a child. When I nurse the Boodge, we slow down and are both relaxed. I get to stroke his head and play with his little feet and show him my love in a physical way, and he is calmed and happy after. It is no different from snuggling with your child while he drinks some hot cocoa. Why should we be in any rush to give up this amazing thing we have?
The other big worry about breastfeeding toddlers seems to be our culture’s focus on “independence”. This was highlighted to me by a woman I met at the playground, who somewhat sheepishly admitted she was still nursing her 13 month old. When I supported her, she talked more, and told me that some members of her family had suggested that it was selfish to do this because “what if I died, and then no-one else could feed her.” It was hilarious and ludicrous. As if this poor little girl wouldn’t have much more to worry about if her mother died than where to get milk. I mean, she can eat and drink, right?
I think people confuse freedom and independence. I’m all for freedom, with responsibility and respect of individual differences in exercising that freedom (without harming others). But really, would we want to be completely “independent”? Where would we get our food? Who would we talk to at the end of the day? How would we create and raise new people? What would the work we do contribute to, except our own lonely survival?
We are interdependent, and we are better off that way. And babies are dependent on their parents. Of course ultimately we want them to be able to survive and thrive without needing us so much. Stopping nursing early has nothing to do with that process, because no matter what, our young kids need us to provide food to them and even help them eat it for a long time. It seems that there is some uneasiness about letting the bond of closeness that nursing brings continue into toddlerhood, as if it will turn our children into eternal infants or something. But I just find that sad, and so wrong. Nursing is one way to help your child feel soothed, secure, and loved. Can’t that only contribute to them feeling ready to explore and individuate themselves in the world, become independent from a place of deep security?
The current issue of Mothering Magazine includes a fabulous article about a woman’s experience nursing in Mongolia, where breastfeeding is embraced and children commonly nurse until 4 years old or whenever they lose interest. I laughed reading about how mothers, grandmothers, and even grandfathers can always succeed in distracting toddlers from disputes about sharing by waving their breast around and saying “Baby, look what I got for you!” It reminded me of the funny things I’ve experienced nursing a toddler, the way he jumps on to the breast with an excited laugh, or in a downward dog position while hopping from foot to foot, breast to breast, occasionally doing backflips in between changes.
Nursing makes me laugh. It makes me be still. It fills me with love for my child. It fills me with wonder and respect for my body. I want to live in a place like Mongolia, where I can feel comfortable nursing the Boodge in public while he does his boob hopping routine. I want all women who are trying to nurse their babes to get supportive comments rather than inquiries about how long it will go on or jokes about boob men. I want them to get mentorship from other women, to get to nurse or pump at their workplaces, to feel that everyone around them is comfortable and respectful when seeing their breast doing its job so there’s no need to hide in a lonely room to nurse or forbid their babies to latch on.
Happy World Breastfeeding Week everyone. Let’s keep normalizing the normal, and I'm sure we'll end up OK. It's that simple.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Trusting the Gut
Last weekend found us in the burning Okanagan camping with a group of my husband’s oldest and dearest friends—a whole crew of great people with awesome kids. We camped at what was basically an RV and tent parking lot next to a nice beach on Shushwap Lake.
Saturday was a perfect summer day with the sun blazing and a lake cool enough to not even notice. Our whole crew set up in front of the roped off kids area and spent the afternoon alternately baking and cooling. I was feeling nice and dirty and a little brain dead from two nights of travelling-with-a-baby sleep.
At some point in the afternoon, a woman from our group (who I just met for the first time this weekend) came down to our beach spot laughing about how her partner had sent her 3 urgent messages saying a storm was coming our way. “Hail and wind, he says. ‘Don’t set up your tent. You’re on evacuation alert.’” She laughed, and we all looked up at the cloudless blue sky and felt the soft summer breeze.
“It’s sure hard to believe that.” Someone said (maybe even me?)
“Yeah, it will probably pass us by.”
An hour went by and we forgot about her words. I was sitting under an umbrella with the Boodge and a friend who had a young baby, longing to lie out on a towel and soak up some sun, so I asked Sean to be on the Boodge for a while. Moments later our brother-in-law pulled up on his motorboat…he was taking kids out tubing and had come in to change loads. Sean decided to hop on with the Boodge—we had brought is lifejacket just in case he got an opportunity to go on a boat ride.
Immediately, I felt a little mommy-worry. “Should I come, I wonder?” But Sean said, “No, I think you should relax like you wanted, we’ll be fine.” We had been planning to take him in a boat anyway, and I knew Sean would keep him safe. I lay back down on my towel and watched the Boodge's little orange-hatted head bob away in his dad’s arms. Uneasiness hadn’t left me, but I talked myself out of it.
At that moment, the woman mentioned the storm warning again. Someone went to make sure the boat knew about it. I had forgotten about this, and my unease escalated. A physical sense of trepidation came into me, strong enough to make me recognize it as important. Should I go stop them from getting on the boat? Go get on myself, so I could be there to protect the Boodge? I stopped myself, not wanting to appear like the overprotective mother, the wife who doesn’t trust that her husband can take care of the baby. Relax, relax. But my body was telling me differently.
I watched the boat pull out into the water, throw out the tube, and a kid and then an adult bounce in for a ride. A friend’s daughter came up fresh off the last boatload, soaked and dishevelled and out of her mind with excitement “We went tubing! It was so AWESOME!” I looked back at the lake and realized I had lost sight of the boat. Nothing I could do now but lay back and wait.
A few minutes later, in an instant the wind picked up. Dark clouds came over the mountains on the other side of the lake. People jumped quickly to their feet. ”That storm is coming, we have to pack up.”
Even as our friend said it, air mattresses and umbrellas were picking up and blowing away. “Get the children out of the water,” someone yelled. Sand was blowing hard, like little pinpricks on my legs and arms. My baby was in the water. Where is that boat? Whitecaps were forming on the lake where there had been ripples moments ago. I looked up and down the beach where boats were docking and unloading and I didn’t see the Boodge’s little yellow lifejacket, his orange hat. Panic was taking me over, I felt frozen in one spot looking up and down the beach to spot their boat.
It feels terrible to be powerlessness to do anything to help when what is most precious is in danger. But it was worse because as I stood there I realized I could have prevented him being out there if I had just listened to my intuition, my knowledge, my body giving me warning. If I had not worried about how I may appear. If anything happened to him now, how could I live with the knowledge that I didn’t get him off that boat when I could have?
Gavin de Becker, in “The Gift of Fear”, writes about how often we discount our instincts, talking ourselves out of what our gut knows and putting ourselves in peril. Malcolm Gladwell also explains in "Blink" how our brain assesses all the information available unconsciously and tells us what to do in an instant. Still, we question ourselves. We humans are so blessed and cursed with higher thinking that we discount our animal part that tells us how to protect ourselves and those we love.
Mothers are gifted with amazing instincts. I think every mother I know has a story in which her body told her to check on her child just at a moment when they were in grave danger. And we all marvel that our children are surviving toddlerhood with all its close calls, but I think it is because of our animal instincts that they do. We act unconsciously, grabbing baby before he falls down the step, opening a door in time to see a toddler climbing to an open window, checking on the kids only to find them mixing up a concoction of Drano and shampoo to drink on a dare. It's our gut that moves us, if we can get out of the way and listen to it.
I am not blind to the irony that last week I was writing about how important it was to me to teach the Boodge to honour and trust his instincts. The Boodge and his dad came in on the boat, safe and sound, and I have never been happier to see them. The situation, luckily, was a powerful lesson learned with no loss. Now I have to ask myself, what about the Mama-instincts that were given to me when he was born? How can I make sure I trust them next time?
Saturday was a perfect summer day with the sun blazing and a lake cool enough to not even notice. Our whole crew set up in front of the roped off kids area and spent the afternoon alternately baking and cooling. I was feeling nice and dirty and a little brain dead from two nights of travelling-with-a-baby sleep.
At some point in the afternoon, a woman from our group (who I just met for the first time this weekend) came down to our beach spot laughing about how her partner had sent her 3 urgent messages saying a storm was coming our way. “Hail and wind, he says. ‘Don’t set up your tent. You’re on evacuation alert.’” She laughed, and we all looked up at the cloudless blue sky and felt the soft summer breeze.
“It’s sure hard to believe that.” Someone said (maybe even me?)
“Yeah, it will probably pass us by.”
An hour went by and we forgot about her words. I was sitting under an umbrella with the Boodge and a friend who had a young baby, longing to lie out on a towel and soak up some sun, so I asked Sean to be on the Boodge for a while. Moments later our brother-in-law pulled up on his motorboat…he was taking kids out tubing and had come in to change loads. Sean decided to hop on with the Boodge—we had brought is lifejacket just in case he got an opportunity to go on a boat ride.
Immediately, I felt a little mommy-worry. “Should I come, I wonder?” But Sean said, “No, I think you should relax like you wanted, we’ll be fine.” We had been planning to take him in a boat anyway, and I knew Sean would keep him safe. I lay back down on my towel and watched the Boodge's little orange-hatted head bob away in his dad’s arms. Uneasiness hadn’t left me, but I talked myself out of it.
At that moment, the woman mentioned the storm warning again. Someone went to make sure the boat knew about it. I had forgotten about this, and my unease escalated. A physical sense of trepidation came into me, strong enough to make me recognize it as important. Should I go stop them from getting on the boat? Go get on myself, so I could be there to protect the Boodge? I stopped myself, not wanting to appear like the overprotective mother, the wife who doesn’t trust that her husband can take care of the baby. Relax, relax. But my body was telling me differently.
I watched the boat pull out into the water, throw out the tube, and a kid and then an adult bounce in for a ride. A friend’s daughter came up fresh off the last boatload, soaked and dishevelled and out of her mind with excitement “We went tubing! It was so AWESOME!” I looked back at the lake and realized I had lost sight of the boat. Nothing I could do now but lay back and wait.
A few minutes later, in an instant the wind picked up. Dark clouds came over the mountains on the other side of the lake. People jumped quickly to their feet. ”That storm is coming, we have to pack up.”
Even as our friend said it, air mattresses and umbrellas were picking up and blowing away. “Get the children out of the water,” someone yelled. Sand was blowing hard, like little pinpricks on my legs and arms. My baby was in the water. Where is that boat? Whitecaps were forming on the lake where there had been ripples moments ago. I looked up and down the beach where boats were docking and unloading and I didn’t see the Boodge’s little yellow lifejacket, his orange hat. Panic was taking me over, I felt frozen in one spot looking up and down the beach to spot their boat.
It feels terrible to be powerlessness to do anything to help when what is most precious is in danger. But it was worse because as I stood there I realized I could have prevented him being out there if I had just listened to my intuition, my knowledge, my body giving me warning. If I had not worried about how I may appear. If anything happened to him now, how could I live with the knowledge that I didn’t get him off that boat when I could have?
Gavin de Becker, in “The Gift of Fear”, writes about how often we discount our instincts, talking ourselves out of what our gut knows and putting ourselves in peril. Malcolm Gladwell also explains in "Blink" how our brain assesses all the information available unconsciously and tells us what to do in an instant. Still, we question ourselves. We humans are so blessed and cursed with higher thinking that we discount our animal part that tells us how to protect ourselves and those we love.
Mothers are gifted with amazing instincts. I think every mother I know has a story in which her body told her to check on her child just at a moment when they were in grave danger. And we all marvel that our children are surviving toddlerhood with all its close calls, but I think it is because of our animal instincts that they do. We act unconsciously, grabbing baby before he falls down the step, opening a door in time to see a toddler climbing to an open window, checking on the kids only to find them mixing up a concoction of Drano and shampoo to drink on a dare. It's our gut that moves us, if we can get out of the way and listen to it.
I am not blind to the irony that last week I was writing about how important it was to me to teach the Boodge to honour and trust his instincts. The Boodge and his dad came in on the boat, safe and sound, and I have never been happier to see them. The situation, luckily, was a powerful lesson learned with no loss. Now I have to ask myself, what about the Mama-instincts that were given to me when he was born? How can I make sure I trust them next time?
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Baby's bodies, baby's selves.
Often, people want to grab my baby, snuggle him in and breathe his smell while they kiss him all over. I don’t blame them—I want to do it too, all the time. Forgive me a moment of utter lack of humility while I say---he’s SOOOO cute and amazing. Who wouldn’t want to hug him?
The problem is, the Boodge doesn’t really go for it. 95% of the time, he gets a rapidly escalating “Oooh, aaaaahgh…” of resistance, depending on who is grabbing him. I know some babies are more cuddly but he is who he is. He doesn’t like to be held down. He’s a goer. When I change his diaper, hold his hand, put on his clunky orthopaedic shoes, get him dressed—he fusses. He resists his Dad’s wrestling manoeuvres, and very often when you go in for the kiss, he turns his head away.
People sometimes say things like “Don’t you like me?” to him, or “Why won’t you love me?” They get hurt and defensive, as if it’s somehow personal. They tell me half jokingly, half resentfully, that I’m the problem, because now that I came into the room he’d rather have me. But sometimes if I leave the room I also spoil the moment as he comes running after me. It’s totally normal separation anxiety, but sometimes at family gatherings it puts me on eggshells lest I move my body in the wrong direction and interrupt a bonding moment. The whole thing irks me like a splinter in my brain, so I’ve been picking away at it for a while.
From what I can see there’s a line somewhere between: children need the guidance and nurturing of adults because they are new people and don’t know how to get along in the world without us, and “We are the boss of you, so you better listen”. Somewhere on the We are the Boss of You side of the line is where the more dangerous power relationship between Grown-Ups and Kids exists. In that place, I think it’s sometimes forgotten that children, though new humans, are entirely human, and human rights apply to them, including the right to autonomy. Even more so, we need to protect those rights because they are the most vulnerable and powerless among us. When I am struggling with a parenting issue, and it helps me to think about what side of the line I want to be on in raising my child.
Children have the right to, and should be encouraged to, make free and safe choices about their bodies. As Grown-Ups, we do have to be strongly authoritative sometimes over their bodies to keep them from harm. I stick my finger in the Boodge’s mouth, insist on holding him or some part of him, grab him away from something he was interested in—all the time. Naturally, we can’t give our children complete physical autonomy, that would be neglect. We have to teach them to respect their bodies, maintain them properly, know their limitations, protect them from harm. It’s an enormous, complex job for parents and kids that is fraught with danger. Just thinking about it daunts me at times.
I’m glad the Boodge can make it known that he doesn’t want to snuggle or he'd like to stay near a person he feels can protect him, and I hope he is just as strong voiced about that his whole life. That’s one thing we don’t have to teach kids, but we have to be careful not to “unteach” it by making them feel they’re not allowed to protest to unwelcome touch or fight an unnecessary restraint. I’ve counselled too many survivors of sexual abuse to believe that my child should be encouraged to let people hug and kiss him just to be polite and not hurt their feelings. Even so, I find myself doing it sometimes, so I'm glad I've had a chance to sit down and think this through.
Of course, I feel sad for the people that love him and want to just eat him up at this most snuggleable phase of his life—it would be nice if he’d cozy up to them like he does to me, his dad, and a few of others who he will let hold him happily. It would also be great if he’d just sit on my lap for half an hour snuggling while I chill out, rather than taking his autonomous body all over the apartment, beach, playground, or wherever we are.
To those he pushes away I have to say—just wait a bit. He will get there. He’s a human, and like all humans, he needs to trust and know you before he can safely let you into his intimate space. Don’t you wish you had been able to hold onto that knowledge that you had instinctually as a baby? How many less yucky relational and sexual experiences do you think you would have had (please understand I’m not trying to “blame the victim” for not speaking up—but the society that tells us to be nice and suppress the instincts that keep us safe)? How many more children would feel empowered to speak up about violations to their bodies if we could send the consistent message that it’s OK if they do.
In time after you’ve played on the floor with him a few afternoons and been the one to catch him from a fall or show him the next cool thing, he’ll bring you a book to read and he’ll want to sit on your lap while you read it. He’ll let you take him to the playground where you can help teach him about bodies, like how you do have to hold him back when he’s going to smash his head, run into traffic, pull a dog’s hair, or maul other children. In return, he’ll teach you about your body’s limitations and abilities as you stretch to help him climb the slide and bend to pull him out of the tunnel. It all will be worth it, I promise. And I’ll be at the beach. Call my cell if you need me.
The problem is, the Boodge doesn’t really go for it. 95% of the time, he gets a rapidly escalating “Oooh, aaaaahgh…” of resistance, depending on who is grabbing him. I know some babies are more cuddly but he is who he is. He doesn’t like to be held down. He’s a goer. When I change his diaper, hold his hand, put on his clunky orthopaedic shoes, get him dressed—he fusses. He resists his Dad’s wrestling manoeuvres, and very often when you go in for the kiss, he turns his head away.
People sometimes say things like “Don’t you like me?” to him, or “Why won’t you love me?” They get hurt and defensive, as if it’s somehow personal. They tell me half jokingly, half resentfully, that I’m the problem, because now that I came into the room he’d rather have me. But sometimes if I leave the room I also spoil the moment as he comes running after me. It’s totally normal separation anxiety, but sometimes at family gatherings it puts me on eggshells lest I move my body in the wrong direction and interrupt a bonding moment. The whole thing irks me like a splinter in my brain, so I’ve been picking away at it for a while.
From what I can see there’s a line somewhere between: children need the guidance and nurturing of adults because they are new people and don’t know how to get along in the world without us, and “We are the boss of you, so you better listen”. Somewhere on the We are the Boss of You side of the line is where the more dangerous power relationship between Grown-Ups and Kids exists. In that place, I think it’s sometimes forgotten that children, though new humans, are entirely human, and human rights apply to them, including the right to autonomy. Even more so, we need to protect those rights because they are the most vulnerable and powerless among us. When I am struggling with a parenting issue, and it helps me to think about what side of the line I want to be on in raising my child.
Children have the right to, and should be encouraged to, make free and safe choices about their bodies. As Grown-Ups, we do have to be strongly authoritative sometimes over their bodies to keep them from harm. I stick my finger in the Boodge’s mouth, insist on holding him or some part of him, grab him away from something he was interested in—all the time. Naturally, we can’t give our children complete physical autonomy, that would be neglect. We have to teach them to respect their bodies, maintain them properly, know their limitations, protect them from harm. It’s an enormous, complex job for parents and kids that is fraught with danger. Just thinking about it daunts me at times.
I’m glad the Boodge can make it known that he doesn’t want to snuggle or he'd like to stay near a person he feels can protect him, and I hope he is just as strong voiced about that his whole life. That’s one thing we don’t have to teach kids, but we have to be careful not to “unteach” it by making them feel they’re not allowed to protest to unwelcome touch or fight an unnecessary restraint. I’ve counselled too many survivors of sexual abuse to believe that my child should be encouraged to let people hug and kiss him just to be polite and not hurt their feelings. Even so, I find myself doing it sometimes, so I'm glad I've had a chance to sit down and think this through.
Of course, I feel sad for the people that love him and want to just eat him up at this most snuggleable phase of his life—it would be nice if he’d cozy up to them like he does to me, his dad, and a few of others who he will let hold him happily. It would also be great if he’d just sit on my lap for half an hour snuggling while I chill out, rather than taking his autonomous body all over the apartment, beach, playground, or wherever we are.
To those he pushes away I have to say—just wait a bit. He will get there. He’s a human, and like all humans, he needs to trust and know you before he can safely let you into his intimate space. Don’t you wish you had been able to hold onto that knowledge that you had instinctually as a baby? How many less yucky relational and sexual experiences do you think you would have had (please understand I’m not trying to “blame the victim” for not speaking up—but the society that tells us to be nice and suppress the instincts that keep us safe)? How many more children would feel empowered to speak up about violations to their bodies if we could send the consistent message that it’s OK if they do.
In time after you’ve played on the floor with him a few afternoons and been the one to catch him from a fall or show him the next cool thing, he’ll bring you a book to read and he’ll want to sit on your lap while you read it. He’ll let you take him to the playground where you can help teach him about bodies, like how you do have to hold him back when he’s going to smash his head, run into traffic, pull a dog’s hair, or maul other children. In return, he’ll teach you about your body’s limitations and abilities as you stretch to help him climb the slide and bend to pull him out of the tunnel. It all will be worth it, I promise. And I’ll be at the beach. Call my cell if you need me.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Past the tipping point, getting twitchy.....
We’ve just returned from a whirlwind tour of Southern Ontario, visiting family and, yes, house hunting. I never thought I would consider moving back to Ontario until my husband brought it up about 6 weeks ago. BC has become my home since I landed here almost 10 years ago determined to put down some roots and mend the wounds of my life’s journey to that point. And this province and the people I’ve met here have done that, and beyond. I have a community of friends and family here that feels good, and the place fits me in so many ways. My husband has always lived here and has close friendships dating back 20 years and his entire family nearby. It would be painful to leave, we would miss so much—and staying would be fine if that’s what ends up happening.
Bur for Sean and I it’s the first time we’ve been ready to seriously entertain the idea of buying a place, and we’re looking at all options in the quest for where to settle ourselves next. Living in the Vancouver real estate market can be discouraging—if you didn’t get in 10 years ago at prices that already seemed inflated, you are pretty limited in your options. It seems for the 6 years we’ve been together we have idly looked at real estate listings and daydreamed about a place that seemed far out of reach. Now that we have our little mini-man it all seems even more important to have a spot we can grow in and call our own (and the bank’s). We’ve waited, biding our time in an apartment and saving our money in the hopes that the market will turn.
I’m not complaining—I feel I am already fortunate and blessed beyond what many experience. Still…every time I load up the Boodge in his stroller with his portable toys and snacks and take him to the park I think about how it would be if he could run in his own yard. I think about planting a garden with him, showing him how to cook the food and enjoying it together. Right now I am thinking about how I could sunbathe or do yoga in the backyard sunshine while he naps (and yes, I’d rather be doing that than writing this). I think about him having a room of his own and being able to scream with glee or fury without my worrying about the neighbours. And I think about him growing up near my parents, and his cousins, people I love dearly and want in his life and mine.
In Ontario, when we looked at the possibilities, we were inflated rather than deflated. We kept reading listings going “Listen to THIS” and then recited lists that amazed us—2 acres, 20 acres, waterfront, swimming pool, old brick house, outbuildings, 4 bedrooms, stunning views….. “Guess how much?” And then we would announce what seems, by BC standards, to be a ridiculously low price in an incredulous voice. We had so many conversations that began with “We could….we would, we could…”
Possibility. It felt good, and sweet. People like us, who work hard and make good income, can actually have a nice place there. Imagine! And coming home, I felt ready to make a leap into a home of our own (and the bank's)and a more rural existence.
But now we’ve been home a week, and the trip has already faded. We’re in limbo until Sean sits down with his employer and figures out if he can move and stay employed with them—which should happen next week. Being in a state of uncertainty is hard, especially when you’re twitching to jump off the cliff and free fall into whatever is next. I get bummed, and restless. Some may say, impatient.
Ah, maturity. Adulthood. We’ve been so careful—we tend to be slow (sometimes I think too slow) to major decisions, and now we’ve arrived in this wonderful place where we have lots of appealing choices before us. So appealing that it’s bittersweet, because we won’t be able to realize all the possibilities, and will have to accept some loss with whatever choice we make. Still, staying the same is not an option anymore, and the future looks bright. So let’s go there, I say, and see what it has in store.
Bur for Sean and I it’s the first time we’ve been ready to seriously entertain the idea of buying a place, and we’re looking at all options in the quest for where to settle ourselves next. Living in the Vancouver real estate market can be discouraging—if you didn’t get in 10 years ago at prices that already seemed inflated, you are pretty limited in your options. It seems for the 6 years we’ve been together we have idly looked at real estate listings and daydreamed about a place that seemed far out of reach. Now that we have our little mini-man it all seems even more important to have a spot we can grow in and call our own (and the bank’s). We’ve waited, biding our time in an apartment and saving our money in the hopes that the market will turn.
I’m not complaining—I feel I am already fortunate and blessed beyond what many experience. Still…every time I load up the Boodge in his stroller with his portable toys and snacks and take him to the park I think about how it would be if he could run in his own yard. I think about planting a garden with him, showing him how to cook the food and enjoying it together. Right now I am thinking about how I could sunbathe or do yoga in the backyard sunshine while he naps (and yes, I’d rather be doing that than writing this). I think about him having a room of his own and being able to scream with glee or fury without my worrying about the neighbours. And I think about him growing up near my parents, and his cousins, people I love dearly and want in his life and mine.
In Ontario, when we looked at the possibilities, we were inflated rather than deflated. We kept reading listings going “Listen to THIS” and then recited lists that amazed us—2 acres, 20 acres, waterfront, swimming pool, old brick house, outbuildings, 4 bedrooms, stunning views….. “Guess how much?” And then we would announce what seems, by BC standards, to be a ridiculously low price in an incredulous voice. We had so many conversations that began with “We could….we would, we could…”
Possibility. It felt good, and sweet. People like us, who work hard and make good income, can actually have a nice place there. Imagine! And coming home, I felt ready to make a leap into a home of our own (and the bank's)and a more rural existence.
But now we’ve been home a week, and the trip has already faded. We’re in limbo until Sean sits down with his employer and figures out if he can move and stay employed with them—which should happen next week. Being in a state of uncertainty is hard, especially when you’re twitching to jump off the cliff and free fall into whatever is next. I get bummed, and restless. Some may say, impatient.
Ah, maturity. Adulthood. We’ve been so careful—we tend to be slow (sometimes I think too slow) to major decisions, and now we’ve arrived in this wonderful place where we have lots of appealing choices before us. So appealing that it’s bittersweet, because we won’t be able to realize all the possibilities, and will have to accept some loss with whatever choice we make. Still, staying the same is not an option anymore, and the future looks bright. So let’s go there, I say, and see what it has in store.
Monday, June 8, 2009
The Politics of Parenting
When I was pregnant, I was touched by the way people took extra good care of me. I recognized a beautiful universal humanity in it, an almost innate drive to care for the young and vulnerable future, our children. A year into motherhood, I am less romantic about this desire in others to protect my child. They say the personal is political, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt that as much as I do in parenting. Opinions are heated when it comes to how to properly raise kids, and much as we all know that it’s not really our place, we can’t help letting our opinions leak out. I do it. My friends do it. Grandparents aunts and uncles do it. Strangers on the street do it.
Just over a month ago, we were travelling to visit Sean’s family and a woman pulled up beside us at a stoplight. “Excuse me” she said, so I turned with a smile, thinking she wanted to ask directions.
“Your car seat is facing the wrong way, your baby needs to face the front.”
Politely, I began to explain, “No, he’s not a year old yet, they have to….” Be rear facing until the baby is 1 year old and over 20 lbs. But she had cut me off.
“Yes, it’s wrong. If I had rear-ended you, he would have gone through the window. You need to turn him around!”
“No, it’s regulation—“
“It’s dangerous. I’ve got your license plate number and I will be calling Child Protective Services on you.” Her face was a mask or anger and disgust.
Stunned, I hesitated and at that moment the light changed and we all moved forward.
“What?? Pull over!” I said to my husband. We waved her over too, but she went on. Her work was done. I got out the manual, which I keep with the car seat in the car, and read it over. I knew I was doing nothing wrong—I had just transferred the car seat into the truck a half-hour before, carefully checking the manual and all connections. I knew basic physics said he was safer rear-facing. But I needed to make sure anyway. Her threat, combined with her self-righteous fury, had shaken me.
A few minutes later it was easy to laugh about how that child protection call would be handled. We realized we had just had a run in with someone who was clearly coming from a passionately and wrongly held belief, and maybe a dose of heavy stressors in her life.
But the other day, I had an even more unsettling experience. A colleague and acquaintance wrote to me on Facebook. She had a “concern” because she had noted that in my status updates, I sometimes mentioned drinking alcohol, and some other times mentioned nursing. Her understanding was that alcohol was passed on through nursing. She wondered if I had different information, and asked my forgiveness if I did.
Just as when the woman in the car yelled at me, I felt the same moment of freeze, taken aback, rendered speechless. I knew I had researched breastfeeding and drinking alcohol and discussed it with my Doctor. I had determined that I could enjoy the occasional drink without any detrimental effects on my baby. But this was a person who I thought knew my responsible character. She was a person I admired in many ways, had confided in at times, and found warm and loving. She must have a serious concern if she was feeling the need to write this awkward e-mail, after we had only crossed paths twice in the last 2 years. Having this question come from her threw me into another moment of questioning myself, and my own knowledge.
It’s hard not to get defensive when someone calls our parenting into question. We all want to protect children and help them thrive, and especially our own. But the opinions on what is essential to that undertaking, or detrimental to it, can vary greatly. Parenting is forcing me to discover, bit by bit, what those essentials are for me and my child. This happens within a complex world of marriage, extended family, and socio-cultural-economic-spiritual-physical history, (if you’ll accept that as a word)and expert opinion. It’s an often confusing process, and fraught with uncertainty and contradictory advice.
My husband and I have made a number of parenting choices that are controversial in our culture—home birth, extended breastfeeding, co-sleeping, not letting him cry-it-out. We did a lot of research and trusted our instincts and judgement, and these things felt right for us with this child, at this time. Family and friends have done everything from raise their eyebrows to blatantly tell me I was stupid and putting my child at risk. Nonetheless, most remain supportive and quiet because they know that we are responsible, loving, and conscientious parents and our baby is thriving.
It’s a reality of parenting that it changes many of the relationships in our life, some for better, some for worse. A lot of the worse comes from discovering ideological differences with someone that we didn’t see before. And those differences are so personal, and so political, that it is hard to even discuss them sometimes, so friendships drift apart.
Of course, my acquaintance did acknowledge that she might not have all the information. She probably framed her “concern” as well as anyone possibly could…and I did send her some links and explain a little. But I was still hurt that she put together the information that I drank occasionally and that I nursed with an assumption that I may be careless with my child’s welfare.
So maybe the rest of my response, in which I urged her to remember that people can make choices different from hers and still be excellent parents, was a bit more defensive than necessary. Maybe it came from all the pent up feeling from all the other times I have felt judged, and for mothers all over who are questioned and question themselves constantly, even as they work harder than they have ever worked before to be good people and parents. Maybe I don’t take criticism that well. Well, OK, I know I don’t take criticism that well.
Still, I’m wondering where the line is between protecting children and honoring parent’s rights to make their own choices for their families, even if we don’t think they are great choices. I’m wondering when we should to speak up about what we see, at the risk of alienating each other. And when should we just stay silent, and trust that our friends are doing the best they can within their own context? I know I judge people too, and I hope I keep my opinions in check unless I feel afraid that a child will be harmed. Or at least, I hope I can approach people in a way that increases understanding on both sides.
I’m sad that a person I used to be happy to see may now be a person I feel awkward to see. I hope that as I grow in parenting, I can learn to negotiate these situations with grace and an open mind, less defensiveness, and more trust in myself. I’d love to hear your experiences with this type of thing, and how you handle them.
Just over a month ago, we were travelling to visit Sean’s family and a woman pulled up beside us at a stoplight. “Excuse me” she said, so I turned with a smile, thinking she wanted to ask directions.
“Your car seat is facing the wrong way, your baby needs to face the front.”
Politely, I began to explain, “No, he’s not a year old yet, they have to….” Be rear facing until the baby is 1 year old and over 20 lbs. But she had cut me off.
“Yes, it’s wrong. If I had rear-ended you, he would have gone through the window. You need to turn him around!”
“No, it’s regulation—“
“It’s dangerous. I’ve got your license plate number and I will be calling Child Protective Services on you.” Her face was a mask or anger and disgust.
Stunned, I hesitated and at that moment the light changed and we all moved forward.
“What?? Pull over!” I said to my husband. We waved her over too, but she went on. Her work was done. I got out the manual, which I keep with the car seat in the car, and read it over. I knew I was doing nothing wrong—I had just transferred the car seat into the truck a half-hour before, carefully checking the manual and all connections. I knew basic physics said he was safer rear-facing. But I needed to make sure anyway. Her threat, combined with her self-righteous fury, had shaken me.
A few minutes later it was easy to laugh about how that child protection call would be handled. We realized we had just had a run in with someone who was clearly coming from a passionately and wrongly held belief, and maybe a dose of heavy stressors in her life.
But the other day, I had an even more unsettling experience. A colleague and acquaintance wrote to me on Facebook. She had a “concern” because she had noted that in my status updates, I sometimes mentioned drinking alcohol, and some other times mentioned nursing. Her understanding was that alcohol was passed on through nursing. She wondered if I had different information, and asked my forgiveness if I did.
Just as when the woman in the car yelled at me, I felt the same moment of freeze, taken aback, rendered speechless. I knew I had researched breastfeeding and drinking alcohol and discussed it with my Doctor. I had determined that I could enjoy the occasional drink without any detrimental effects on my baby. But this was a person who I thought knew my responsible character. She was a person I admired in many ways, had confided in at times, and found warm and loving. She must have a serious concern if she was feeling the need to write this awkward e-mail, after we had only crossed paths twice in the last 2 years. Having this question come from her threw me into another moment of questioning myself, and my own knowledge.
It’s hard not to get defensive when someone calls our parenting into question. We all want to protect children and help them thrive, and especially our own. But the opinions on what is essential to that undertaking, or detrimental to it, can vary greatly. Parenting is forcing me to discover, bit by bit, what those essentials are for me and my child. This happens within a complex world of marriage, extended family, and socio-cultural-economic-spiritual-physical history, (if you’ll accept that as a word)and expert opinion. It’s an often confusing process, and fraught with uncertainty and contradictory advice.
My husband and I have made a number of parenting choices that are controversial in our culture—home birth, extended breastfeeding, co-sleeping, not letting him cry-it-out. We did a lot of research and trusted our instincts and judgement, and these things felt right for us with this child, at this time. Family and friends have done everything from raise their eyebrows to blatantly tell me I was stupid and putting my child at risk. Nonetheless, most remain supportive and quiet because they know that we are responsible, loving, and conscientious parents and our baby is thriving.
It’s a reality of parenting that it changes many of the relationships in our life, some for better, some for worse. A lot of the worse comes from discovering ideological differences with someone that we didn’t see before. And those differences are so personal, and so political, that it is hard to even discuss them sometimes, so friendships drift apart.
Of course, my acquaintance did acknowledge that she might not have all the information. She probably framed her “concern” as well as anyone possibly could…and I did send her some links and explain a little. But I was still hurt that she put together the information that I drank occasionally and that I nursed with an assumption that I may be careless with my child’s welfare.
So maybe the rest of my response, in which I urged her to remember that people can make choices different from hers and still be excellent parents, was a bit more defensive than necessary. Maybe it came from all the pent up feeling from all the other times I have felt judged, and for mothers all over who are questioned and question themselves constantly, even as they work harder than they have ever worked before to be good people and parents. Maybe I don’t take criticism that well. Well, OK, I know I don’t take criticism that well.
Still, I’m wondering where the line is between protecting children and honoring parent’s rights to make their own choices for their families, even if we don’t think they are great choices. I’m wondering when we should to speak up about what we see, at the risk of alienating each other. And when should we just stay silent, and trust that our friends are doing the best they can within their own context? I know I judge people too, and I hope I keep my opinions in check unless I feel afraid that a child will be harmed. Or at least, I hope I can approach people in a way that increases understanding on both sides.
I’m sad that a person I used to be happy to see may now be a person I feel awkward to see. I hope that as I grow in parenting, I can learn to negotiate these situations with grace and an open mind, less defensiveness, and more trust in myself. I’d love to hear your experiences with this type of thing, and how you handle them.
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