I did not originally write this letter for my blog. It was a private undertaking from me, to my mother. I hope that adding it to my blog doesn't feel like exploitation of precious memories. I wrote it this morning, Mother's Day morning, after looking through pictures of my mother and missing her. I want to put it in my blog because it is part of this journey and another thing that took me by surprise. I have not felt much sorrow at being pregnant without my mom alive. Part of me knows it is there--this void, this grief--but the novelty of pregnancy has kept me preoccupied. Today, however, memories of my mother and the pain caused by her absence hit me as people wished me a Happy Mother's Day for the first time. So, here's the letter I wrote my mom. Happy Mother's Day to all of you moms out there. Love your mothers, and make sure that they know it.
Dear Mom,
Today is Mother’s Day, 2009. I’m over 32 weeks pregnant, so I’m about to embark on motherhood. I have gotten many Mother’s Day wishes already, and I guess they took me by surprise. I feel very mixed emotions as I write this. I am excited to become a mother. Nervous, anxious, overwhelmed, yes. But mostly eager and excited. But, I miss you. So much. You were an excellent model of motherhood, but this is my 5th Mother’s Day without you. And as I prepare for motherhood, I can only yearn for you, for the talks we might be having as the big day arrives, and for the comfort of my mother’s physical presence.
Yesterday, Debbie, Judy and Juli gave me a baby shower. Today, we will take Judy to Mother’s Day Brunch. She is the best mother-in-law I could hope for, and I know she will be an excellent grandmother. I want you to know that I am loved and supported, and that your granddaughter will be, too. Nobody can replace you, but I am fortunate to have many loving females in my life.
I got a voicemail from Jenny’s mom, Cindy, this morning. She said, “Isn’t it special to be in the middle of two such amazing generations?” It is. It is an honor and a responsibility to follow your lead as a mother. Not only do I want to emulate the unconditional love that you gave me, but I want to honor you as a presence in my daughter’s life. How can I make sure my daughter knows you? How can I communicate to her the depth of your spirit and generosity, the love you had for life and family, the passion you brought to your work and interactions with others? I still grieve that you are not with me, but I feel it is an injustice that my daughter will not know you, will never be held by you or spoiled by you.
I was looking through an envelope I have of pictures of you. They span from a childhood portrait of you, to pictures of you when you were sick, weeks before you died. I found a picture of you pregnant, with me, at your baby shower. And I found a picture of you holding me. The back of that picture says, in your handwriting, “1st outing- Denise goes to Dr’s. Age 1 ½ weeks.” I’m sleeping in your arms, wearing a cozy pink knitted jacket and bonnet. You are smiling. You look great: fairly rested, comfortable with an infant. I will cherish these pictures. I can appreciate them in a way I could not a year ago.
I feel like this letter is inadequate: a poorly-composed, formal attempt to communicate with you. I need you to know that you are in my thoughts every day, that pregnancy has made Mother’s Day a happy occasion again, but that my grief is perhaps deeper this year, because I am grieving not only for myself, but for my daughter, who will have your name as part of hers. I love you, as much as I ever have, and I know that she—my daughter, your granddaughter—will love you, too. You are part of her; genetically you contributed to her. I take it on as my job to make sure that your energy, your spirit, your lust for life is passed onto her as well.
I miss you, Mom. But I know you are nearby. Most of all, I love you. Denise
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
The stray
I became nearly unraveled when a stray dog showed up at our house yesterday. Here's the story:
I got home from work on a nice afternoon. Dave was home and we decided to take our dogs to the park for a little frisbee action. Loki's been a good frisbee dog for a while now, but Ullr is also starting to develop some mad skills. Anyway, it was a nice walk, cut only a bit short by the rain. As we approached our house, I could see a dog near our driveway. I got a bit nervous, because Loki sometimes takes issue with strange dogs, and there was nobody attached the this one. The strange dog ran as we got closer, but loitered just across the street, where he sat and looked at us, hopefully.
I'm a sucker for dogs, and apparently a magnet for lost ones, too. Just a couple months ago, a little Jack Russell showed up, on my porch, wearing a little rain jacket, but shivering and peering into our warm house. Turns out he had escaped from his owner and was looking for shelter. I took him in, called the vet on his tag, and he was reunited with his owner the next day. He was little, easily contained, and not a threat to my dogs.
This new dog, on the other hand, was a big Rottweiler/Australian Sheppard Mix. I took my dogs inside, and Dave approached the vagabond mutt, who sat eagerly for him, wagged his tail, and let Dave read his tags. Phone number on the tag led us to a very rude man who hung up on Dave twice. Apparently not the owner- or maybe it was her jaded ex-boyfriend. The vet was closed. And, Portland has no after-hours animal control services. It was Wednesday at about 7pm. The emergency animal control dispatch gave me this advice, "Hang onto him until morning when the shelters open, or let him go." She advised me to let the dog go...?!
So, with the dog in our fenced front yard, and my dogs occasionally barking through the front door at him, my dear husband went about making dinner, as I sat at the table and came nearly unglued. For some reason, I just did not want to deal with this. I knew, as Dave reminded me, that we would feel good for doing the right thing and sheltering the dog, but I was SOOO annoyed. I kept thinking how my own dogs were being driven crazy by the dog outside. I watched the dog do the little "post-potty dance" which tore up our yard, and I thought about how the yard would look to people coming to visit next week. I thought about him staying outside all night, probably cold and lost and worried. But we had nowhere to put him inside. I thought about how I would have to wake up early in the morning to sort out the dogs before work. I thought about all the phone calls I'd have to make and what I would do if I couldn't find the owner. Then I started feeling dispicable thinking, "I'm clearly not a good person, because I am totally resenting doing the right thing right now." That spiraled into, "I am not going to be a good mother because I don't even have the patience and flexibility to deal with a stray dog."
Poor Dave tried to console me, but I wouldn't have it. I thought about going to bed, but knew I had to eat something. Dave cooked an amazing meal of stuffed chicken breasts, artichokes and spinach salad. I didn't help at all b/c I was so consumed with irritation at this dog situation. I ate in silence. I just felt that as a pregnant woman, I should not have to deal with this added annoyance.
There is some history, here. It may sound unrelated at first, but it all fits together. I have decided not to go back to my job next year. I just couldn't make sense of it financially- with my sorry alternative school salary, I figured that more than half of my paycheck would end up going to daycare. Plus, I couldn't foresee spending my days with middle-school punks and my nights with a newborn. I don't have that much patience in my body- and I don't want my performance as a mother to suffer b/c I have to give so much energy to the students. So I let my boss know I would not be returning as the science teacher next year. It is bittersweet in many ways, but ultimately a relief to my mind.
Anyway, I came home on the night of the stray dog a bit irritable. The students have spring fever, and all of the staff is feeling the strain of their frustrating behaviors and indifference to school
Anyway, as Dave hugged me hello and asked me how my day was, I said, "It was okay," but then proceeded to tell him this. "You know, in my everyday life, I probably spend about 1% of my time feeling exasperated." I'm talking about how you feel when you have car trouble, or when you're stuck in traffic, or when somebody changes plans at the last minute and screws up your whole day. Or when something comes up that throws a monkey wrench into your plans for a quiet, relaxed evening. "But," I continued, "at work, I bet I'm exasperated over 50% of the time." High-risk middle school students = exasperation. "I won't miss that."
Ironically, stray dog came along a couple hours later and I couldn't help but re-visit my earlier conversation.
We did not, as advised, "let the dog go." The dog stayed on our porch. We fed him dinner. I could hear him whimpering occasionally. I softened to him and laid out some old towels for a bed. Our plan was to call animal control in the morning, but as I lay in bed and heard him barking at some passersby, I couldn't imagine impounding him. I decided I would post an ad on craigslist and call the vet and do everything I could before surrendering him. And in the morning, as I went out to feed him, he was so damn cute that I started to think,"Maybe 3 dogs wouldn't be too many." But of course, a 3rd dog is the last thing we need with a baby around the corner. In the end, the story has a happy ending. The dog's owner was out of town and the roommate had left the back gate open and the dog escaped. The roomie had searched all night for him, and placed an ad on craigslist, which I found at about the same time the owner called me to let me know the vet had gotten my message and contacted her. So, the dog was reunited with the careless roommate, and everyone was grateful and I got to feel good about myself and I don't have a third big, hairy dog.
I still don't know why I got so bent-up about it, but I think I have some ideas. One, I'm pregnant and hormonal and I do really cherish my relaxing evenings with Dave. Two, I get enough stress and unpredictability at work. And three, a coworker helped me to see how much of a metaphor the stray dog is for our students. I was telling him about the dog incident, and about how frustrating it was for me, but how it had all worked out. He replied, "Well, in a way, a stray dog is really a metaphor for our kids. They're lost. They're needy. They don't know where they are or where they're going. They are total victims of their circumstances."
I added, "They are helpless and they are the way they are due to someone else's irresponsibility. They don't know any better. They are dirty and hungry and starved for attention. They can be really sweet but they can also be huge pains in the ass."
And the worst part is, they have no guarantee of a happy ending.
So, I guess I learned a few things from this experience. I learned that just because I got a bit unhinged doesn't mean that I'm a bad person. Ultimately, I did the right thing and I feel good about it. I became unhinged because I knew I had to do the right thing, even though I really wanted my evening to be calm and uneventful. I learned that my job (as a teacher of high-needs adolescents) has been really difficult these past few years, and that I take it hard because I am emotionally invested in these kids' lives. If my students are stray dogs, most of them are not on their way to a happy ending. Most of them have been mistreated and neglected and victims of other people's carelessness. Most of them will continue to wander without getting all of their needs met. But a few of them might get turned in the right direction, and they might just find their way. Maybe even a little bit because of my influence. Finally, I realized that doing the right thing as a mother will not always be the easy, fun way, but I am taking on this responsibility with the utmost seriousness and intention. Just like with my dogs, I have a responsibility to care for my child and lead her so that she feels secure, loved, and happy. I don't ever want my baby to feel like a stray.
I got home from work on a nice afternoon. Dave was home and we decided to take our dogs to the park for a little frisbee action. Loki's been a good frisbee dog for a while now, but Ullr is also starting to develop some mad skills. Anyway, it was a nice walk, cut only a bit short by the rain. As we approached our house, I could see a dog near our driveway. I got a bit nervous, because Loki sometimes takes issue with strange dogs, and there was nobody attached the this one. The strange dog ran as we got closer, but loitered just across the street, where he sat and looked at us, hopefully.
I'm a sucker for dogs, and apparently a magnet for lost ones, too. Just a couple months ago, a little Jack Russell showed up, on my porch, wearing a little rain jacket, but shivering and peering into our warm house. Turns out he had escaped from his owner and was looking for shelter. I took him in, called the vet on his tag, and he was reunited with his owner the next day. He was little, easily contained, and not a threat to my dogs.
This new dog, on the other hand, was a big Rottweiler/Australian Sheppard Mix. I took my dogs inside, and Dave approached the vagabond mutt, who sat eagerly for him, wagged his tail, and let Dave read his tags. Phone number on the tag led us to a very rude man who hung up on Dave twice. Apparently not the owner- or maybe it was her jaded ex-boyfriend. The vet was closed. And, Portland has no after-hours animal control services. It was Wednesday at about 7pm. The emergency animal control dispatch gave me this advice, "Hang onto him until morning when the shelters open, or let him go." She advised me to let the dog go...?!
So, with the dog in our fenced front yard, and my dogs occasionally barking through the front door at him, my dear husband went about making dinner, as I sat at the table and came nearly unglued. For some reason, I just did not want to deal with this. I knew, as Dave reminded me, that we would feel good for doing the right thing and sheltering the dog, but I was SOOO annoyed. I kept thinking how my own dogs were being driven crazy by the dog outside. I watched the dog do the little "post-potty dance" which tore up our yard, and I thought about how the yard would look to people coming to visit next week. I thought about him staying outside all night, probably cold and lost and worried. But we had nowhere to put him inside. I thought about how I would have to wake up early in the morning to sort out the dogs before work. I thought about all the phone calls I'd have to make and what I would do if I couldn't find the owner. Then I started feeling dispicable thinking, "I'm clearly not a good person, because I am totally resenting doing the right thing right now." That spiraled into, "I am not going to be a good mother because I don't even have the patience and flexibility to deal with a stray dog."
Poor Dave tried to console me, but I wouldn't have it. I thought about going to bed, but knew I had to eat something. Dave cooked an amazing meal of stuffed chicken breasts, artichokes and spinach salad. I didn't help at all b/c I was so consumed with irritation at this dog situation. I ate in silence. I just felt that as a pregnant woman, I should not have to deal with this added annoyance.
There is some history, here. It may sound unrelated at first, but it all fits together. I have decided not to go back to my job next year. I just couldn't make sense of it financially- with my sorry alternative school salary, I figured that more than half of my paycheck would end up going to daycare. Plus, I couldn't foresee spending my days with middle-school punks and my nights with a newborn. I don't have that much patience in my body- and I don't want my performance as a mother to suffer b/c I have to give so much energy to the students. So I let my boss know I would not be returning as the science teacher next year. It is bittersweet in many ways, but ultimately a relief to my mind.
Anyway, I came home on the night of the stray dog a bit irritable. The students have spring fever, and all of the staff is feeling the strain of their frustrating behaviors and indifference to school
Anyway, as Dave hugged me hello and asked me how my day was, I said, "It was okay," but then proceeded to tell him this. "You know, in my everyday life, I probably spend about 1% of my time feeling exasperated." I'm talking about how you feel when you have car trouble, or when you're stuck in traffic, or when somebody changes plans at the last minute and screws up your whole day. Or when something comes up that throws a monkey wrench into your plans for a quiet, relaxed evening. "But," I continued, "at work, I bet I'm exasperated over 50% of the time." High-risk middle school students = exasperation. "I won't miss that."
Ironically, stray dog came along a couple hours later and I couldn't help but re-visit my earlier conversation.
We did not, as advised, "let the dog go." The dog stayed on our porch. We fed him dinner. I could hear him whimpering occasionally. I softened to him and laid out some old towels for a bed. Our plan was to call animal control in the morning, but as I lay in bed and heard him barking at some passersby, I couldn't imagine impounding him. I decided I would post an ad on craigslist and call the vet and do everything I could before surrendering him. And in the morning, as I went out to feed him, he was so damn cute that I started to think,"Maybe 3 dogs wouldn't be too many." But of course, a 3rd dog is the last thing we need with a baby around the corner. In the end, the story has a happy ending. The dog's owner was out of town and the roommate had left the back gate open and the dog escaped. The roomie had searched all night for him, and placed an ad on craigslist, which I found at about the same time the owner called me to let me know the vet had gotten my message and contacted her. So, the dog was reunited with the careless roommate, and everyone was grateful and I got to feel good about myself and I don't have a third big, hairy dog.
I still don't know why I got so bent-up about it, but I think I have some ideas. One, I'm pregnant and hormonal and I do really cherish my relaxing evenings with Dave. Two, I get enough stress and unpredictability at work. And three, a coworker helped me to see how much of a metaphor the stray dog is for our students. I was telling him about the dog incident, and about how frustrating it was for me, but how it had all worked out. He replied, "Well, in a way, a stray dog is really a metaphor for our kids. They're lost. They're needy. They don't know where they are or where they're going. They are total victims of their circumstances."
I added, "They are helpless and they are the way they are due to someone else's irresponsibility. They don't know any better. They are dirty and hungry and starved for attention. They can be really sweet but they can also be huge pains in the ass."
And the worst part is, they have no guarantee of a happy ending.
So, I guess I learned a few things from this experience. I learned that just because I got a bit unhinged doesn't mean that I'm a bad person. Ultimately, I did the right thing and I feel good about it. I became unhinged because I knew I had to do the right thing, even though I really wanted my evening to be calm and uneventful. I learned that my job (as a teacher of high-needs adolescents) has been really difficult these past few years, and that I take it hard because I am emotionally invested in these kids' lives. If my students are stray dogs, most of them are not on their way to a happy ending. Most of them have been mistreated and neglected and victims of other people's carelessness. Most of them will continue to wander without getting all of their needs met. But a few of them might get turned in the right direction, and they might just find their way. Maybe even a little bit because of my influence. Finally, I realized that doing the right thing as a mother will not always be the easy, fun way, but I am taking on this responsibility with the utmost seriousness and intention. Just like with my dogs, I have a responsibility to care for my child and lead her so that she feels secure, loved, and happy. I don't ever want my baby to feel like a stray.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
On parenting philosophies
I didn't realize until I got pregnant and started reading loads of pregnancy and parenting books, how defined the world of raising babies has been. There are whole "philosophies" outlined and practiced and coached and taken to extremes. It's kind of like politics. People seem to belong to one camp or another. People become fanatics about breast-feeding and sleeping schedules. They judge others who don't see eye to eye. There are blogs upon blogs of people arguing for their way or against the ways of others. There is bitterness and animosity. People are mean and self-righteous. They have totally lost sight of the whole purpose they chose a certain "way" to bring up their child. They just wanted to do what's right for the baby.
But I don't know if I can always blame them. Parenting styles, like anything else that people are passionate about, can be polarizing. I do not mean to judge, and I have no place to judge (considering my inexperience), so if some of my commentary comes across as judgmental, I apologize in advance. I am just forming my own ideas as I read what's out there.
This whole journey on parenting styles started at a bowling alley. One of the residents in Dave's program has an adorable 2-year-old boy and newborn twins. The whole family came out for the bowling get-together, and I was impressed by how content babies were, how polite and good-natured older brother was, and how rested and amiable the parents appeared. They recommended a book called On Becoming Baby Wise. They said they followed that book and consequently, their son slept through the night at 8 weeks, and their twins were already doing so at 10 weeks.
Dave and I immediately vowed to go get the book. And we did. I've read it and passed it onto Dave. Upon mentioning it to others, people tend to react somewhat strongly. Some were very enthusiastic. Someone referred to it as "strict." Someone told my husband it was like a cult. Having read through and found no odd suggestions or sacrifices required, I feel this is an unfounded accusation. But I will allow that judgment so I can have mine.
Chapter One drew me in right away. This chapter is called, "Your baby needs a family." It warns about "child-centered parenting" in which the marriage relationship become secondary to the parent-child relationships. It encourages couples to remember to focus on the importance of their relationship, because in doing so, the baby will be more secure. This makes sense to me. I know our life is going to change immensely- in fact, it already has. But I am totally in love with my husband, and can't imagine deprioritizing our relationship, though I see it happening in many families. Again, I feel like maybe I sound selfish here, like I want to have my cake and eat it too. But I think I CAN, and this book validates those thoughts. It says you can fulfill all of your child's needs, without sacrificing your own or that of your marriage. *Big sigh of relief*
This book does at times sound too good to be true, and does claim that you can have your child sleeping through the night by 12 weeks by putting some extra effort into the breast-feeding schedule. The goal is long, full feedings at fairly regular intervals so that the whole family has some predictability and flexibility. This schedule, if done right, leads naturally to longer nights and dropped feedings until baby just works into 10 hours of healthy sleep. Which means parents can get more sleep and alone time as a result. Sounds great, right? Read the book. It's convincing. It works around a central idea of "parent-directed feeding" (PDF) that seems to be a happy medium between "demand-feeding" (always offer the boob at baby's first sign of restlessness or hunger) and the very strict "clock-feeding," in which time becomes more important than the baby. I certainly don't want to be a clock feeder. It sounds unnatural and unhealthy. Likewise, the book makes some interesting objections to demand feeding, including that you overlook the real needs of the child, babies often end up "snack-feeding" and don't spend enough time in one sitting to get to the richest "hind-milk" and that moms become sleep-deprived and frustrated when in the habit of offering the nipple every time baby gets fussy.
Demand feeding is closely linked to a style of parenting called "Attachment Parenting" (AP). I know many loving mothers who follow this philosophy, and the last thing I want to do is de-value their efforts or intentions. However, the more I read about it, the more I think, "This is not for me." Granted, I want my child to be "attached" to me, and I plan to hold and cuddle and love my baby A LOT, but that is as far as I wish to take the word attachment. This parenting style, at least in it's extreme, condones demand feeding. This leads to several other practices, and this is where I veer off. AP encourages parents to literally be "attached" to their baby. They recommend carrying the child in a sling as much as possible, allowing the child to sleep and feed as it desires. Where they really lose me, though, is with the practice of co-sleeping. They encourage parents to have children in their rooms, in close vicinity or even in the bed with them, indefinitely, as far as I can tell. And they encourage allowing the child to self-ween, meaning that many children may nurse well into toddlerhood. One website has pictures of moms with an infant on one breast and a toddler on the other.
I know myself, and I know my sleep habits, and I know that if I had a baby in our bed or even in our room, I would get NO SLEEP! And I wonder about intimacy between parents who adopt this "family bed" (AP's term, not mine). When it comes to sex, I don't even like it when my dogs are w/in earshot of the action. I just don't see myself as a co-sleeper. Again, am I being selfish? I have talked to people who had a baby in a basinette in their room for the first 6 months or so, just for the convenience of those nighttime feedings. That makes some sense to me, though I still plan on having my daughter sleep in a crib. I also realize I will probably end up with the air mattress in the nursery at times, and that's okay. But on some of the AP websites I perused, parents had multiple kids sleeping in their bed through childhood, even into their early teenage years.
One of the mothers in my pre-natal yoga class is pregnant with her 2nd child. Her first is almost two, and sleeps on a futon beside their bed. She says he is a wiggly one, and has fallen out of his bed every night for over a week. He is too young to pull himself back onto the bed, so he lays there and cries until she wakes up and puts him back. He is unhurt, as it is a low bed. She voiced the concern that she did not know what to expect when she had two young children in her room at night. She sighed and looked tired.
So for me, I think the only reasonable decision is to keep the baby out of the bed. I will love this baby as much as any other mom, but I do not think that co-sleeping can possibly be conducive to my goal of keeping my marriage vibrant and prioritized. Feel free to raise arguments if you have proof otherwise. Again, I recognize my naivete when it comes to all this. Maybe I will be singing a different tune 4 months from now, but I don't think so.
But I don't know if I can always blame them. Parenting styles, like anything else that people are passionate about, can be polarizing. I do not mean to judge, and I have no place to judge (considering my inexperience), so if some of my commentary comes across as judgmental, I apologize in advance. I am just forming my own ideas as I read what's out there.
This whole journey on parenting styles started at a bowling alley. One of the residents in Dave's program has an adorable 2-year-old boy and newborn twins. The whole family came out for the bowling get-together, and I was impressed by how content babies were, how polite and good-natured older brother was, and how rested and amiable the parents appeared. They recommended a book called On Becoming Baby Wise. They said they followed that book and consequently, their son slept through the night at 8 weeks, and their twins were already doing so at 10 weeks.
Dave and I immediately vowed to go get the book. And we did. I've read it and passed it onto Dave. Upon mentioning it to others, people tend to react somewhat strongly. Some were very enthusiastic. Someone referred to it as "strict." Someone told my husband it was like a cult. Having read through and found no odd suggestions or sacrifices required, I feel this is an unfounded accusation. But I will allow that judgment so I can have mine.
Chapter One drew me in right away. This chapter is called, "Your baby needs a family." It warns about "child-centered parenting" in which the marriage relationship become secondary to the parent-child relationships. It encourages couples to remember to focus on the importance of their relationship, because in doing so, the baby will be more secure. This makes sense to me. I know our life is going to change immensely- in fact, it already has. But I am totally in love with my husband, and can't imagine deprioritizing our relationship, though I see it happening in many families. Again, I feel like maybe I sound selfish here, like I want to have my cake and eat it too. But I think I CAN, and this book validates those thoughts. It says you can fulfill all of your child's needs, without sacrificing your own or that of your marriage. *Big sigh of relief*
This book does at times sound too good to be true, and does claim that you can have your child sleeping through the night by 12 weeks by putting some extra effort into the breast-feeding schedule. The goal is long, full feedings at fairly regular intervals so that the whole family has some predictability and flexibility. This schedule, if done right, leads naturally to longer nights and dropped feedings until baby just works into 10 hours of healthy sleep. Which means parents can get more sleep and alone time as a result. Sounds great, right? Read the book. It's convincing. It works around a central idea of "parent-directed feeding" (PDF) that seems to be a happy medium between "demand-feeding" (always offer the boob at baby's first sign of restlessness or hunger) and the very strict "clock-feeding," in which time becomes more important than the baby. I certainly don't want to be a clock feeder. It sounds unnatural and unhealthy. Likewise, the book makes some interesting objections to demand feeding, including that you overlook the real needs of the child, babies often end up "snack-feeding" and don't spend enough time in one sitting to get to the richest "hind-milk" and that moms become sleep-deprived and frustrated when in the habit of offering the nipple every time baby gets fussy.
Demand feeding is closely linked to a style of parenting called "Attachment Parenting" (AP). I know many loving mothers who follow this philosophy, and the last thing I want to do is de-value their efforts or intentions. However, the more I read about it, the more I think, "This is not for me." Granted, I want my child to be "attached" to me, and I plan to hold and cuddle and love my baby A LOT, but that is as far as I wish to take the word attachment. This parenting style, at least in it's extreme, condones demand feeding. This leads to several other practices, and this is where I veer off. AP encourages parents to literally be "attached" to their baby. They recommend carrying the child in a sling as much as possible, allowing the child to sleep and feed as it desires. Where they really lose me, though, is with the practice of co-sleeping. They encourage parents to have children in their rooms, in close vicinity or even in the bed with them, indefinitely, as far as I can tell. And they encourage allowing the child to self-ween, meaning that many children may nurse well into toddlerhood. One website has pictures of moms with an infant on one breast and a toddler on the other.
I know myself, and I know my sleep habits, and I know that if I had a baby in our bed or even in our room, I would get NO SLEEP! And I wonder about intimacy between parents who adopt this "family bed" (AP's term, not mine). When it comes to sex, I don't even like it when my dogs are w/in earshot of the action. I just don't see myself as a co-sleeper. Again, am I being selfish? I have talked to people who had a baby in a basinette in their room for the first 6 months or so, just for the convenience of those nighttime feedings. That makes some sense to me, though I still plan on having my daughter sleep in a crib. I also realize I will probably end up with the air mattress in the nursery at times, and that's okay. But on some of the AP websites I perused, parents had multiple kids sleeping in their bed through childhood, even into their early teenage years.
One of the mothers in my pre-natal yoga class is pregnant with her 2nd child. Her first is almost two, and sleeps on a futon beside their bed. She says he is a wiggly one, and has fallen out of his bed every night for over a week. He is too young to pull himself back onto the bed, so he lays there and cries until she wakes up and puts him back. He is unhurt, as it is a low bed. She voiced the concern that she did not know what to expect when she had two young children in her room at night. She sighed and looked tired.
So for me, I think the only reasonable decision is to keep the baby out of the bed. I will love this baby as much as any other mom, but I do not think that co-sleeping can possibly be conducive to my goal of keeping my marriage vibrant and prioritized. Feel free to raise arguments if you have proof otherwise. Again, I recognize my naivete when it comes to all this. Maybe I will be singing a different tune 4 months from now, but I don't think so.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Transitions in my mind
So, I've reached the point where I'm more focused on the end product than the process. I'm less anxious, more excited. I've stopped seeing pregnancy as the main event, and started looking ahead to having a baby. I'm talking labor, delivery AND immediately after when parenting begins. Maybe my journey is being shaped by the books I'm reading. Maybe it's just the beauty of a 40-week adjustment period, in which Baby just naturally makes herself more and more real and obvious. The progression from the abstract double line on the pregnancy test, to the faint and very fast sound of the heartbeat, to the skeletal images of the ultrasound, to consistent movement and kicking and repositioning that I can feel internally and see externally, this little girl is gradually initiating me into motherhood.
After Misconceptions, I moved onto the much gentler and positive Birthing from Within. This may sound crazy, but I've started to get excited about labor! I'm one of those people who looks forward to getting shots, just because I know I can handle it. I like strenuous workouts and activities for the way they make me feel ALIVE and for the stories I get to tell afterwards. I'm not truly comparing labor to a shot or a strenuous workout, but I am getting excited about the experience of it. And I guess I know, as this little girl wriggles around inside me and as I fall more in love with her, that the effort and strain will be worth it, exponentially more so than any vaccine's immunity or workout's new muscle fibers.
Back to the book. Birthing from Within is a lovely book about the personal experience of birth. It encourages women (and their partners) to do "birth art," journaling, and introspection to prepare for the big event. I guess some may say it's a bit "new agey" or "hippyish," but after the very REAL Misconceptions, it's a nice change of pace, working the other side of my brain, perhaps. Also, while Misconceptions made me feel a bit out of control, Birthing from Within makes me feel a bit more in control. One excerpt spoke to me, "Who you are in labor and as a mother is merely an extension of who you are in the rest of your life. So if you want to be present and strong in birth, you need to practice that way of being in your everyday life. The patterns of your life are all cut from the same cloth." The passage is a comfort to me, because I am happy with who I am as a person and how I handle most situations. I feel like both books have been important in helping educate me about the process, and now it is up to me to visualize the birth of my daughter and prepare mentally for the difficult and rewarding task of delivery.
After Misconceptions, I moved onto the much gentler and positive Birthing from Within. This may sound crazy, but I've started to get excited about labor! I'm one of those people who looks forward to getting shots, just because I know I can handle it. I like strenuous workouts and activities for the way they make me feel ALIVE and for the stories I get to tell afterwards. I'm not truly comparing labor to a shot or a strenuous workout, but I am getting excited about the experience of it. And I guess I know, as this little girl wriggles around inside me and as I fall more in love with her, that the effort and strain will be worth it, exponentially more so than any vaccine's immunity or workout's new muscle fibers.
Back to the book. Birthing from Within is a lovely book about the personal experience of birth. It encourages women (and their partners) to do "birth art," journaling, and introspection to prepare for the big event. I guess some may say it's a bit "new agey" or "hippyish," but after the very REAL Misconceptions, it's a nice change of pace, working the other side of my brain, perhaps. Also, while Misconceptions made me feel a bit out of control, Birthing from Within makes me feel a bit more in control. One excerpt spoke to me, "Who you are in labor and as a mother is merely an extension of who you are in the rest of your life. So if you want to be present and strong in birth, you need to practice that way of being in your everyday life. The patterns of your life are all cut from the same cloth." The passage is a comfort to me, because I am happy with who I am as a person and how I handle most situations. I feel like both books have been important in helping educate me about the process, and now it is up to me to visualize the birth of my daughter and prepare mentally for the difficult and rewarding task of delivery.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Gains and Losses
Most obvious gain- belly. Most obvious loss- freedom of movement. I'm bigger. The clerk at Jiffy Lube asked me when I was due, so I'm officially showing for all the world to see. I cannot move as carelessly as I used to. I have to apply new methods to exit the swimming pool or bend over.
These are the obvious gains and losses. All pregnant women outwardly experience these things on some level. But there are gains and losses less talked about in our culture, and I want to talk about them. I'm reading a book called Misconceptions by feminist author Naomi Wolf. This book sets out, in some ways, to balance the bubbly optimism of many books about mothering, such as the famous What to Expect... and other well-circulated pregnancy manuals. Several years ago (6?), I pulled this book off a shelf b/c my friend, Johanna, was pregnant. I thought this looked interesting and bought it for her on a whim. She was my first close friend to have a baby, and I wanted to contribute. She recently sent the book back to me, telling me to read it, "it's the best book on pregnancy I've found." So I dug in.
This is no warm-fuzzy book. Yes, Wolf talks about her personal experience, her excitement at being pregnant, the ups and downs of her physical and emotional condition, and insights she gained as she became a mother. But there is no sugar coating happening here. In fact, her book sometimes dusts off all the sweetness wrapped up in pregnancy for a down and dirty look at how women are expected to deal with such a major and transforming change, and how our culture is often not supportive in effective ways. She talks about gains and losses: "...you get a whole new world...filled with gifts but also with losses." "Indeed," she writes, "the greatest loss for many new mothers is a kind of loss of self." She further states that many women, while outshined by the bliss of a new life, are forced to quietly mourn part of themselves that is lost in the journey.
As I read this book, I find myself occasionally raising my happy-mommy-to-be hackles, feeling that her honesty is almost callous or abrasive. But then I realize, it is HONEST. Despite all the happiness and excitement that I feel as the baby wriggles inside of me, I also feel anxiety and a partial loss of self, even as I become a bigger (literally and figuratively), better mother-self. I want to be defined as a mother. If not, I'd never have gone off birth control. But as I get bigger, I realize that the visual manifestation is the most obvious part of myself that people see. I am pregant lady first, teacher, wife, outdoor enthusiast, animal-lover, etc. second.
I guess in some ways, it is similar to when my mother was sick with cancer. I didn't want that to be how people defined me: the girl whose mother is dying. Certainly, it was an important part of my life, and I wanted people to feel comfortable talking to me about it. But I didn't want their sympathy to overlook my multi-faceted humanness: the fact that I was also getting married, going to graduate school, moving across the country, and participating in life on a daily basis. I don't want the comparison of these two events to imply that I feel negatively about having a child, but both events did at times feel so ALL-CONSUMING that I couldn't help but feel defined, even trapped, by just one aspect of my life. Even as I say this, though, I laugh at myself, who so eagerly awaited the belly. Now that I have it, I am proud to show it off. I choose not to button up coats, because I want others to see that I am pregnant and proud of it. So even my concern with being defined as only pregnant is contradicted by my active attempts to force people to see my big baby bump. You see, emotionally, this is very confusing. I imagine that one day, I will not feel it necessary to separate myself from my pregnancy. Just like now, I have incorporated the loss of my mother into my whole self, and don't feel like it is a mere piece of my puzzle I want to remove or focus on, depending on the time or audience. Soon, pregnancy and ultimately motherhood, will just be part of the bigger picture that is me. Incorporation takes time, however.
And physically, there is no doubt things have changed. I like to think I am just as active as before, but my activities have changed, if not the frequency. Instead of the heavy lifting of the crossfit workouts I used to do with my husband, I find myself opting more often for the cheesy, but appropriate, Jazzercise pregnancy workout. I snowboarded once this season, but have replaced downhill sports for the safer and more peaceful snowshoeing. Less rock-climbing, more yoga. Jogging makes my legs cramp, so I swim laps. I know this is temporary, and I have every intention of taking up more strenuous hobbies as soon as my girl parts heal after delivery, but still...I will have the baby to consider before going out for a jog or heading to the bouldering gym. I know I can and WILL be active, but I also know it will take more effort and planning, and in a way, that is a loss to me.
Then, of course, there's the career to think about. I'm not even a career-oriented person. Those who know me know that I'm a job hopper. But, I take pride in working and strive to do well, regardless of my current position. I don't think I'm full-time stay-at-home mom material. But I really don't know. And how can I know how I'll react? I won't know until the baby comes and maybe many months beyond. However, I must decide soon, whether I plan on returning to work full time, part time, or not at all. Questions plague me, even as I happily think about names and make plans for the nursery. Can we afford for me not to work? Can we afford childcare if I do work? Do I have enough patience to be a full-time teacher and mother? Will my job performance suffer once I become a parent, or worse, will my ability as a mother be affected by the demands of my job? Will the dynamics of my marriage change if I don't work? If I do? Will others respect me more if I stay at home to care for a baby, or put a newborn into childcare to return to work? Which decision will I respect more?
I don't think there's any way to know these answers. But I know that at times it feels like a lonely journey. Regardless of how understanding my husband is (and he is the best), or how extensive my support system is, the decision is ultimately mine. It has to be that way. But still, I feel a bit guilty about sharing these thoughts. I feel the need to justify myself and convince readers that I AM totally thrilled to be pregnant, and extremely excited to meet and raise my child. I'm going to be a MOM! But, even good stress is stress, and having a baby is one of the biggest changes a person can go through. So, why DON'T we give as much air time to the concerns of mothers as we do to the little thrills and the big optimism that we expect throughout pregnancy? Why should I feel guilty for expressing these concerns, when I imagine they are totally natural? In Misconceptions, Wolf argues that women should have the freedom to talk about these issues without worrying about judgment that they aren't ready to be mothers, or that they are selfish. Let us mourn these losses of ourselves and our bodies, even as we rejoice in the wonder of what our bodies can do and how our psyches can adjust to becoming parents.
These are the obvious gains and losses. All pregnant women outwardly experience these things on some level. But there are gains and losses less talked about in our culture, and I want to talk about them. I'm reading a book called Misconceptions by feminist author Naomi Wolf. This book sets out, in some ways, to balance the bubbly optimism of many books about mothering, such as the famous What to Expect... and other well-circulated pregnancy manuals. Several years ago (6?), I pulled this book off a shelf b/c my friend, Johanna, was pregnant. I thought this looked interesting and bought it for her on a whim. She was my first close friend to have a baby, and I wanted to contribute. She recently sent the book back to me, telling me to read it, "it's the best book on pregnancy I've found." So I dug in.
This is no warm-fuzzy book. Yes, Wolf talks about her personal experience, her excitement at being pregnant, the ups and downs of her physical and emotional condition, and insights she gained as she became a mother. But there is no sugar coating happening here. In fact, her book sometimes dusts off all the sweetness wrapped up in pregnancy for a down and dirty look at how women are expected to deal with such a major and transforming change, and how our culture is often not supportive in effective ways. She talks about gains and losses: "...you get a whole new world...filled with gifts but also with losses." "Indeed," she writes, "the greatest loss for many new mothers is a kind of loss of self." She further states that many women, while outshined by the bliss of a new life, are forced to quietly mourn part of themselves that is lost in the journey.
As I read this book, I find myself occasionally raising my happy-mommy-to-be hackles, feeling that her honesty is almost callous or abrasive. But then I realize, it is HONEST. Despite all the happiness and excitement that I feel as the baby wriggles inside of me, I also feel anxiety and a partial loss of self, even as I become a bigger (literally and figuratively), better mother-self. I want to be defined as a mother. If not, I'd never have gone off birth control. But as I get bigger, I realize that the visual manifestation is the most obvious part of myself that people see. I am pregant lady first, teacher, wife, outdoor enthusiast, animal-lover, etc. second.
I guess in some ways, it is similar to when my mother was sick with cancer. I didn't want that to be how people defined me: the girl whose mother is dying. Certainly, it was an important part of my life, and I wanted people to feel comfortable talking to me about it. But I didn't want their sympathy to overlook my multi-faceted humanness: the fact that I was also getting married, going to graduate school, moving across the country, and participating in life on a daily basis. I don't want the comparison of these two events to imply that I feel negatively about having a child, but both events did at times feel so ALL-CONSUMING that I couldn't help but feel defined, even trapped, by just one aspect of my life. Even as I say this, though, I laugh at myself, who so eagerly awaited the belly. Now that I have it, I am proud to show it off. I choose not to button up coats, because I want others to see that I am pregnant and proud of it. So even my concern with being defined as only pregnant is contradicted by my active attempts to force people to see my big baby bump. You see, emotionally, this is very confusing. I imagine that one day, I will not feel it necessary to separate myself from my pregnancy. Just like now, I have incorporated the loss of my mother into my whole self, and don't feel like it is a mere piece of my puzzle I want to remove or focus on, depending on the time or audience. Soon, pregnancy and ultimately motherhood, will just be part of the bigger picture that is me. Incorporation takes time, however.
And physically, there is no doubt things have changed. I like to think I am just as active as before, but my activities have changed, if not the frequency. Instead of the heavy lifting of the crossfit workouts I used to do with my husband, I find myself opting more often for the cheesy, but appropriate, Jazzercise pregnancy workout. I snowboarded once this season, but have replaced downhill sports for the safer and more peaceful snowshoeing. Less rock-climbing, more yoga. Jogging makes my legs cramp, so I swim laps. I know this is temporary, and I have every intention of taking up more strenuous hobbies as soon as my girl parts heal after delivery, but still...I will have the baby to consider before going out for a jog or heading to the bouldering gym. I know I can and WILL be active, but I also know it will take more effort and planning, and in a way, that is a loss to me.
Then, of course, there's the career to think about. I'm not even a career-oriented person. Those who know me know that I'm a job hopper. But, I take pride in working and strive to do well, regardless of my current position. I don't think I'm full-time stay-at-home mom material. But I really don't know. And how can I know how I'll react? I won't know until the baby comes and maybe many months beyond. However, I must decide soon, whether I plan on returning to work full time, part time, or not at all. Questions plague me, even as I happily think about names and make plans for the nursery. Can we afford for me not to work? Can we afford childcare if I do work? Do I have enough patience to be a full-time teacher and mother? Will my job performance suffer once I become a parent, or worse, will my ability as a mother be affected by the demands of my job? Will the dynamics of my marriage change if I don't work? If I do? Will others respect me more if I stay at home to care for a baby, or put a newborn into childcare to return to work? Which decision will I respect more?
I don't think there's any way to know these answers. But I know that at times it feels like a lonely journey. Regardless of how understanding my husband is (and he is the best), or how extensive my support system is, the decision is ultimately mine. It has to be that way. But still, I feel a bit guilty about sharing these thoughts. I feel the need to justify myself and convince readers that I AM totally thrilled to be pregnant, and extremely excited to meet and raise my child. I'm going to be a MOM! But, even good stress is stress, and having a baby is one of the biggest changes a person can go through. So, why DON'T we give as much air time to the concerns of mothers as we do to the little thrills and the big optimism that we expect throughout pregnancy? Why should I feel guilty for expressing these concerns, when I imagine they are totally natural? In Misconceptions, Wolf argues that women should have the freedom to talk about these issues without worrying about judgment that they aren't ready to be mothers, or that they are selfish. Let us mourn these losses of ourselves and our bodies, even as we rejoice in the wonder of what our bodies can do and how our psyches can adjust to becoming parents.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Clothes for the bigger-bellied woman
I went maternity clothes shopping today. I have tried it before, but had trouble b/c I wasn't really showing and felt it to be frivolous. I'm not a shopper anyway. I get bored in about 5 minutes. But, my sister got me a gift certificate, and my friend Erin, pretty much a professional shopper, was eager to accompany me as my personal shopping assistant. So we went.
The store was not that large. I remember thinking as I entered, "I doubt I'll be able to spend my gift certificate here." Left to my own devices, I would've probably bought a couple stretchy tees from the clearance rack, a couple bras for my own growing rack, and I would've called it a day, with my wardrobe no better off than when I started and an odd remaining balance on the gift card.
Thank god for Erin. She kept me busy. She brought shirts and skirts and dresses and pants. She encouraged me to try on the stretchy-belly pants that I thought I loathed. I was strictly AGAINST them. They just look so silly with that extra piece of elastic around the waste. On the hanger is just flops over, looking excessive and strange.
Wow, was I ever wrong. Those pants are soooo comfortable. It's like a soft, supportive hug for my growing belly. I can bend over without flashing my undies to the world. I can lean forward without the waste of my pants digging into my stomach. They "smooth everything out" as the saleslady said. I love them. I bought two pair.
In the end, I spent all of my sister's generous gift certificate, plus some extra of my own money. I eventually had to stop Erin from bringing me more candidates. I rarely wear skirts or dresses, so buying one of each was plenty. I tried on more than a dozen dress up items. "Enough!" I said to her, laughing, but loving her good taste and attentiveness.
I had more fun shopping (and bought more clothes) than I have in the last 5 years combined. But it was worth it for the comfort and feel-good factor.
The store was not that large. I remember thinking as I entered, "I doubt I'll be able to spend my gift certificate here." Left to my own devices, I would've probably bought a couple stretchy tees from the clearance rack, a couple bras for my own growing rack, and I would've called it a day, with my wardrobe no better off than when I started and an odd remaining balance on the gift card.
Thank god for Erin. She kept me busy. She brought shirts and skirts and dresses and pants. She encouraged me to try on the stretchy-belly pants that I thought I loathed. I was strictly AGAINST them. They just look so silly with that extra piece of elastic around the waste. On the hanger is just flops over, looking excessive and strange.
Wow, was I ever wrong. Those pants are soooo comfortable. It's like a soft, supportive hug for my growing belly. I can bend over without flashing my undies to the world. I can lean forward without the waste of my pants digging into my stomach. They "smooth everything out" as the saleslady said. I love them. I bought two pair.
In the end, I spent all of my sister's generous gift certificate, plus some extra of my own money. I eventually had to stop Erin from bringing me more candidates. I rarely wear skirts or dresses, so buying one of each was plenty. I tried on more than a dozen dress up items. "Enough!" I said to her, laughing, but loving her good taste and attentiveness.
I had more fun shopping (and bought more clothes) than I have in the last 5 years combined. But it was worth it for the comfort and feel-good factor.
Grow, baby, grow!
I'm more than 21 weeks now. Past the halfway point. I'm showing, but still not enough for the average stranger to be sure I'm not just weird-shaped and chubby. But it feels real now..."it" being the idea that I'm pregnant, not the baby inside. We don't have to say "it" anymore because we had our ultrasound. We're having a little girl. A little girl. And as one of my best friends, Jenny, pointed out, "It just feels right that you're having a girl." She said this mainly to honor my mom, who died of ovarian cancer in 2003. The baby will have my mom's name, June, as her middle name. But that's as far as we've gotten in the naming business. Lots of ideas floating around, but none I'm ready to share or commit to.
You see, we didn't really expect a girl. The deciding genetic material comes from the father, and the last 3 generations of Richter males created only...Richter males. I have a lovely and wonderful sister-in-law, begotten by adoption. So I was expecting a boy. But a little girl...? It took awhile for that to sink in, but I am oh, so happy about it. And I think Dave is proud of himself for breaking the all-boy trend. We're bringing the first grandchild into the family (on both sides) and the first biological daughter to top it off.
The ultrasound helped me connect what I've been feeling to her actual movements. Right now, we're calling her "Wiggles" because she is a squirmy, active little thing. Even at the ultrasound, she was doing sommersaults and moving from one side of my uterus to the other. I saw the little, gray, skeletal-looking images twitching around and I realized this was an actual child inside me. And now I'm hyper-sensitive to her movement. She's most active from about noon to the evening time. She seems to know when my bladder is full, and she likes jumping around on it. Already, Dave has gotten to feel some subtle movements through my belly. She's strong. A hard little ball of wiggly child that likes to hang out in my lower abdomen. I, and a couple of my students who have ventured to touch my belly, are surprised at how solid the mass is. Not the fleshy, squishy feel you might expect, but a firm baby ball.
I swim once a week, and last Friday, as I was doing laps, I could feel her- a warm, solid ball in my tummy. She's quiet when I swim, no wiggling around, and I like to imagine what she might be feeling or thinking. I'm sure I'm projecting much more intelligence than she is currently capable of, but it's a bonding experience for me. I can imagine it's just me and her in the pool, quietly coasting in the water. I can't wait to meet her.
You see, we didn't really expect a girl. The deciding genetic material comes from the father, and the last 3 generations of Richter males created only...Richter males. I have a lovely and wonderful sister-in-law, begotten by adoption. So I was expecting a boy. But a little girl...? It took awhile for that to sink in, but I am oh, so happy about it. And I think Dave is proud of himself for breaking the all-boy trend. We're bringing the first grandchild into the family (on both sides) and the first biological daughter to top it off.
The ultrasound helped me connect what I've been feeling to her actual movements. Right now, we're calling her "Wiggles" because she is a squirmy, active little thing. Even at the ultrasound, she was doing sommersaults and moving from one side of my uterus to the other. I saw the little, gray, skeletal-looking images twitching around and I realized this was an actual child inside me. And now I'm hyper-sensitive to her movement. She's most active from about noon to the evening time. She seems to know when my bladder is full, and she likes jumping around on it. Already, Dave has gotten to feel some subtle movements through my belly. She's strong. A hard little ball of wiggly child that likes to hang out in my lower abdomen. I, and a couple of my students who have ventured to touch my belly, are surprised at how solid the mass is. Not the fleshy, squishy feel you might expect, but a firm baby ball.
I swim once a week, and last Friday, as I was doing laps, I could feel her- a warm, solid ball in my tummy. She's quiet when I swim, no wiggling around, and I like to imagine what she might be feeling or thinking. I'm sure I'm projecting much more intelligence than she is currently capable of, but it's a bonding experience for me. I can imagine it's just me and her in the pool, quietly coasting in the water. I can't wait to meet her.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)