I'm married to a peacock which for me means a gleeful inseminator. Men who are so pleased when they release at the proper point and time and end up impregnating a woman. Woot! They did it! Peacocks love the fact that they have created life and smile modestly when congratulated on their impending child, all the while they are humming the theme to ROCKY in their heads. Don't get me wrong, I love me some peacocks (one in particular fluffs my feathers). I love how excited they get knowing that their creation is earthbound. And the really great peacocks know that the chest puffing can last for a lifetime and even deepen as they evolve as fathers as their children grow into adults.
And it is truly magical to watch a proud papa with their progeny. The delight they take in the development and antics of their children makes them parents that are fun to be around. The involved dad is a great peacock partner.
Yet, as a new mom I cannot tell you the number of times I have heard Tim (i.e. my peacock) complimented simply for chasing our toddler through Target. The approving smiles and comments are warranted (Tim IS a great dad) but I have never received similar accolades for the same actions. So while moms are being torn apart for their decision to work or breastfeed or other assorted hot-topic issues, involved dads are basking in all sorts of love just by...being there. Doing what great dads do: feeding their babies, playing with them, reading to them, rocking them to sleep, bathing them, etc.
I truly don't mean to sound ungrateful for my own love, and I certainly don't take for granted how amazing it is when he comes home and whisks the babies away so I can regroup; but do I need to think of him as extraordinary for doing this? Should it not be the expectation of a co-parent? According to the reactions I've witnessed, it has NOT been the expectation of fathers and therefore an involved dad is a novelty to be celebrated.
True story: I was speaking to my Oma a few hours after my 27-hour labor with Wyatt and she gushed for minutes on end about how awesome Tim was for "hanging in there" the whole time. An extreme and funny example but I do think it is a propos of how lauded men are when they move past their initial peacock perch and start to nurture their little chicks. And, to throw in the martyr gauntlet, is it fair that mothers have to do these things or risk being called "incompetent"and/or uncaring?
As a final aside, just to prove how funny and awesome my peacock is, THESE are the types of things he'd buy for our babies: fart shoes.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The Parenting Book Club
I used to belong to a lovely book club. I'd get together once a month with lovely people and we would talk about lovely books while drinking lovely wine and eating lovely food. I was even tolerant and accepting of those members who did not read the books and just wanted to be there for the fun. Normally I'm such a righteous student that I would greet this type of lackadaisical attitude toward books with total snobbery; but Book Club Dell was a forgiving sort ;)
I miss that book club which eventually dissipated although I don't know how I would manage to read a book a month with two babies under two. Yet, the thought of sitting around and having a dialogue with other adults about tantalizing books is a delicious, if unattainable one. For now, I acquiesce to my new primary label, MOTHER, and accept that my new book club happens extemporaneously every time I am around my friends who are either parents or nice enough folks who care about the development of my children.
My new book club eschews the works of Eliot, Alvarez, and Hosseini in favor of the child-rearing books of Sears, Ferber, Karp, etc. An English undergrad, I relish reading of any type. Yet, I miss my literary friends. The day I was hospitalized for hyperemesis while pregnant with Wyatt was not a fun one BUT I read two entire books. Her Fearful Symmetry and The Birth of Venus kept me occupied. and I loved the opportunity to be forced to slow down and enjoy my favorite way to pass the time.
Of course, both book clubs are ultimately linked. The reason I love literature is its ability to capture the human existence in its most beautiful and ugliest forms. Along with characters, great books also reflect the society, culture, and time in which they are written, offering keen insight into life. Parenting books are similar, no? They certainly offer invaluable detail into different types of parents and children (i.e. the characters) and they always reflect how the author was raised and who they are as a parenting educator. Sears and Bucknam could not be further apart in their parenting views and surely this is due to either rejecting or accepting their own childhoods.
For now I know I will certainly spend more time investigating parenting books, although I surely miss the wide-open days where books were my constant companions. It's enough for me that last week I was allowed a sublime Monday where I laid in bed all day with my three-month old boy and read The Middle Place all day long, from cover to cover--delicious.
I miss that book club which eventually dissipated although I don't know how I would manage to read a book a month with two babies under two. Yet, the thought of sitting around and having a dialogue with other adults about tantalizing books is a delicious, if unattainable one. For now, I acquiesce to my new primary label, MOTHER, and accept that my new book club happens extemporaneously every time I am around my friends who are either parents or nice enough folks who care about the development of my children.
My new book club eschews the works of Eliot, Alvarez, and Hosseini in favor of the child-rearing books of Sears, Ferber, Karp, etc. An English undergrad, I relish reading of any type. Yet, I miss my literary friends. The day I was hospitalized for hyperemesis while pregnant with Wyatt was not a fun one BUT I read two entire books. Her Fearful Symmetry and The Birth of Venus kept me occupied. and I loved the opportunity to be forced to slow down and enjoy my favorite way to pass the time.
Of course, both book clubs are ultimately linked. The reason I love literature is its ability to capture the human existence in its most beautiful and ugliest forms. Along with characters, great books also reflect the society, culture, and time in which they are written, offering keen insight into life. Parenting books are similar, no? They certainly offer invaluable detail into different types of parents and children (i.e. the characters) and they always reflect how the author was raised and who they are as a parenting educator. Sears and Bucknam could not be further apart in their parenting views and surely this is due to either rejecting or accepting their own childhoods.
For now I know I will certainly spend more time investigating parenting books, although I surely miss the wide-open days where books were my constant companions. It's enough for me that last week I was allowed a sublime Monday where I laid in bed all day with my three-month old boy and read The Middle Place all day long, from cover to cover--delicious.
Monday, July 12, 2010
The Body Politic
I seriously love my babies but don't feel nearly the same affection for the body I was left with after their pregnancies and subsequent births.
A public list of grievances:
1. baby pounds, too numerous and embarrassing to enumerate
2. Pregnancy mask that takes me aback every time I see it because it is so dark and expansive
3. Stretch marks! Thank you, Wyatt; Mama was pristine and smooth until the final days of being pregnant with you.
4. Symphosis Pubic Dysfunction http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symphysis_pubis_dysfunction A tough one to bear BUT I did meet an awesome chiropractor
5. Swelling
6. nausea and vomiting from the eighth week until the day the babies were born
7. hyperemesis
8. PUPPS
9. and, finally, congestive heart failure after Wyatt's birth
My new post-baby body disappoints me as much as my babies thrill me. Just as I realize that I have the right to not like what I see, I know that one of my most important jobs as a mom is to get rid of my own body issues before I transfer them to my own baby girl. Plus, those babies look at me and see this woman who loves them, NOT a body heavily flawed.
A public list of grievances:
1. baby pounds, too numerous and embarrassing to enumerate
2. Pregnancy mask that takes me aback every time I see it because it is so dark and expansive
3. Stretch marks! Thank you, Wyatt; Mama was pristine and smooth until the final days of being pregnant with you.
4. Symphosis Pubic Dysfunction http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symphysis_pubis_dysfunction A tough one to bear BUT I did meet an awesome chiropractor
5. Swelling
6. nausea and vomiting from the eighth week until the day the babies were born
7. hyperemesis
8. PUPPS
9. and, finally, congestive heart failure after Wyatt's birth
Shimmy, shimmy, shake, shake
Last week my 19-month old shimmied in the middle of Baby Gap. The Gap conglomerate does tend to play a totally rad soundtrack, but the shimmy was new...but not necessarily unexpected. Raising Evangeline means to expect the unexpected; I think this is an ad campaign and it must be good as it is seared into my brain enough that I am using it to describe my child.
She is our first baby and from the moment she was born she demanded attention. Any baby that takes 31 hours after water breaking to appear is clearly not willing to be told what to do. I'd read so many books in preparation for this baby yet she required that I read even more when she arrived as I had not prepared for this kind of baby.
I cloaked myself in Dr. Sears' Parenting the High-Needs Baby and took comfort that there were babies even MORE demanding than my sweet baby; babies even MORE insistent than my darling girl. I felt horrible that others harrowing stories brought me solace, but they did. I used to repeat the belief that babies that are high needs tend be very smart, focused, motivated, and successful kids and adults. No one needed to outline the studies for me, point me to the research on high-needs babies versus the dullard ones (kidding, kidding)--I NEEDED to believe that it was true.
Yet, the proof woke me up every morning by screaming for attention and bursting into giggles and sun-filled smiles when I picked her up. This baby nursed voraciously and gave me blinks and nods of approval while eating away. This baby started walking at ten months. This baby resisted all efforts at a sleep schedule. I adored this baby. She wore us out, caused much worry and questioning (what in the HELL were we thinking?!), but she consumed our hearts.
I just realized this is in past tense. I must be reflecting the realization that she is not a high-needs baby anymore. As a toddler, she is a force of nature, yet her mercurial behavior has subsided (mostly) leaving behind a very loving, delicious toddler. Again, just when I thought I knew what to expect...
She is our first baby and from the moment she was born she demanded attention. Any baby that takes 31 hours after water breaking to appear is clearly not willing to be told what to do. I'd read so many books in preparation for this baby yet she required that I read even more when she arrived as I had not prepared for this kind of baby.
I cloaked myself in Dr. Sears' Parenting the High-Needs Baby and took comfort that there were babies even MORE demanding than my sweet baby; babies even MORE insistent than my darling girl. I felt horrible that others harrowing stories brought me solace, but they did. I used to repeat the belief that babies that are high needs tend be very smart, focused, motivated, and successful kids and adults. No one needed to outline the studies for me, point me to the research on high-needs babies versus the dullard ones (kidding, kidding)--I NEEDED to believe that it was true.
Yet, the proof woke me up every morning by screaming for attention and bursting into giggles and sun-filled smiles when I picked her up. This baby nursed voraciously and gave me blinks and nods of approval while eating away. This baby started walking at ten months. This baby resisted all efforts at a sleep schedule. I adored this baby. She wore us out, caused much worry and questioning (what in the HELL were we thinking?!), but she consumed our hearts.
I just realized this is in past tense. I must be reflecting the realization that she is not a high-needs baby anymore. As a toddler, she is a force of nature, yet her mercurial behavior has subsided (mostly) leaving behind a very loving, delicious toddler. Again, just when I thought I knew what to expect...
Holy Crap! That's me!
Last week I was driving my two babies around as we completed a cycle of endless tasks when it all of the sudden hit me: holy crap! I. Am. The. Mom. Seriously. It took me two years to realize this. Unbelievable.
My older baby is 19-months old and I still often write "Judy Adams" when I am asked to name the mother at the pediatrician's. I mean, afterall, she is MY mom so surely that's who they are asking for, right? Much to my continuing disbelief, they mean ME! I. Am. The. Mom.
My younger child is almost three months, yet on the family tree his first-year calendar asked me to complete, I named MY grandparents instead of my parents as grandparents. So oblivious was I to the obvious, that I considered writing the company and asking them to "fix" the family tree portion as they had not provided enough spaces.
Eventually it becomes real, right? Do I struggle with it because it means accepting that I have entered a remarkably different stage in my life? Will I start wearing mom jeans? I already wear sensible shoes and am not a fashion maven; does being a mom mean my fashion standards will fall even further? I've already realized that my family wants to see my babies more than me (totally ok) and that gifts from everyone except my husband will mostly take the shape of family or baby gifts (again, totally ok). Will my car choices always reflect the number of car seats and space we need for assorted accoutrement that accompanies a growing (literally!) family.
Does this mean that I always have to be selfless? patient? controlled? Three traits that I struggled with before children . Maybe that's the ultimate challenge of being a mom; having to embrace and excel at those characteristics that we struggle with before we have children. Will I think of the "mom" label every time I lean in to kiss my husband or we get handsy with each other?
How do the labels interact? Can I fit "wife, mom, professional, closet dancer, car singer, book lover, vegetarian, earth advocator, friend, daughter, sister, animal owner" all on one card? Is that the order that I see myself? Does this fluctuate? For the last five years, "wife' was my dominant label; now, for survival's sake, "mom" overpowers the others. What does it mean if "mom" is not always my favorite?
My older baby is 19-months old and I still often write "Judy Adams" when I am asked to name the mother at the pediatrician's. I mean, afterall, she is MY mom so surely that's who they are asking for, right? Much to my continuing disbelief, they mean ME! I. Am. The. Mom.
My younger child is almost three months, yet on the family tree his first-year calendar asked me to complete, I named MY grandparents instead of my parents as grandparents. So oblivious was I to the obvious, that I considered writing the company and asking them to "fix" the family tree portion as they had not provided enough spaces.
Eventually it becomes real, right? Do I struggle with it because it means accepting that I have entered a remarkably different stage in my life? Will I start wearing mom jeans? I already wear sensible shoes and am not a fashion maven; does being a mom mean my fashion standards will fall even further? I've already realized that my family wants to see my babies more than me (totally ok) and that gifts from everyone except my husband will mostly take the shape of family or baby gifts (again, totally ok). Will my car choices always reflect the number of car seats and space we need for assorted accoutrement that accompanies a growing (literally!) family.
Does this mean that I always have to be selfless? patient? controlled? Three traits that I struggled with before children . Maybe that's the ultimate challenge of being a mom; having to embrace and excel at those characteristics that we struggle with before we have children. Will I think of the "mom" label every time I lean in to kiss my husband or we get handsy with each other?
How do the labels interact? Can I fit "wife, mom, professional, closet dancer, car singer, book lover, vegetarian, earth advocator, friend, daughter, sister, animal owner" all on one card? Is that the order that I see myself? Does this fluctuate? For the last five years, "wife' was my dominant label; now, for survival's sake, "mom" overpowers the others. What does it mean if "mom" is not always my favorite?
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