What kind of mother paints her toddler's toenails?

Me!

Moving on from foolish debates to a more useful focus

I still have alot of good posts in me, but I think for a little while at least I have to move on to other pursuits, those that are more likely to position me to be where I want to be in coming years. Maybe I can post once a month on current mothering/feminist issues and such, but in my day to day, I need to focus back on my career—graphic design.

See, the reason I was well-positioned enough to be able to live out my ideals of staying home with my daughter til she was in school is because I was doing what I should be doing when I should be doing it. In my case, that was working and saving before the baby came. Now that I am home and working part time, I need to use more of my free time to beef up my skills, keep my creativity fresh and maybe even do some networking. There is so much information on the web available to me to enhance my skills and knowledge base with regard to graphic design (this includes web design and related stuff, in my definition) that it really is too much of a waste of time to get embroiled in debates over idiotic questions like is breastfeeding better than formula.

I know I said something like this a last week in my Noise post, but I keep getting roped in!

And, it seems like that crazy beyotch Hanna Rosin is not going to quit. She's like a dog with a bone—as evidenced by her most recent post on Slate: Breastfeed more, earn less. Here she again overinterprets, or misinterprets, a single random (not randomized, or even peer-reviewed as far as one can tell) "study" that tends to conclude that women who breastfeed longer earn less money. That's a shocker.

My unscientific guess is that women who breastfeed longer earn less because they choose to shift their priorities during their child's earliest years. From my perspective, that's just what they should do, ideally. From Rosin's perspective, earning power is the top metric of women's success, apparently. To her, this study "...means that breast-feeding now loses its free pass into the feminist cause." I say, breastfeeding doesn't need a "free pass" into anything. It's how our bodies are programmed to work under normal conditions, as mammals. It is the norm. Secondly, nature and appropriately feeding a baby come before feminism and if they fit in great, if not, then feminism must change. Why expect that biology should be altered or denied in order to "fit in" to some narrow idea of what's best for women?

This discourse is tired and I am not going to give the bitter shrew any more of my attention. Check out the rest of my day's web play on my other blog: Logo My Life. Other than that, I am going to research some new CSS tricks and spend my time building my business so I can maybe continue to work from home even after my kid's in school. The Hana Rosins and other narrow-minded feminists of her ilk can continue the futile (and in my opinion anti-feminist) pursuit of making women's biology fit into man's (the universal sense) constructed constraints of the marketplace. I, on the other hand, am going to figure out how to make the marketplace work for me on my terms.

Dirty diaper secret

Diaper rash!

Until last week I could proudly claim that my 21-month-old daughter had never had a diaper rash. For what that's worth. Whether that was attributable to my astuteness about changing her diapers, the fact that we'd switched to cloth, or just the kind of skin she had, I don't know. But, when she did get her first rash last week, I was horrified. I remembered hearing somewhere that antibiotics could cause diaper rash, so I quickly looked into that possibility and sure enough, it was true. Phew! OK. That probably explained the rash of rash. My kid was on a nine-day course of antibiotics to combat her pneumonia. Now, what to do?

Because of the kind of fabric her cloth diapers—Fuzzi Bunz— are made of, it's a no-no to use any kind of cream or ointment with them. But, I deemed some good, old-fashioned, creamy Desitin, with the zinc-oxide and cod liver oil was necessary to protect her skin and fight the rash, so, I decided we'd temporarily go back to disposables til the rash cleared up. And slather on copius amounts of ointment.

At the grocery store, the child immediately spots some old friends in the baby aisle—Elmo, Bert and Ernie! We grab the pack of Pampers Cruisers (our preferred brand before switching to cloth at 9 months) size 5. Unlike with her cloth diapers, she is very excited about these. The diapers themselves are decorated with pictures of Elmo, Grover, Ernie, and other Sesame Street characters. She now asks for her diaper to be changed instead of running around the room and making me chase her with a Fuzzi Bunz in hand. She'll go over to the linen closet where I've been keeping the temporary supply of disposables and cry out "Elmo! Elmo!" or she will say "Diaper need! Diaper need!" (She probably got this last bit from a song I sing for her where I say "I am here for your diapering needs!" which sprung from a dialogue we used to have with a stuffed rabbit, Clifford, who was there "for all of your diapering needs.") She'll look at the diaper and say "coot" (cute).

So the rash is clearing up and I'm now wondering whether I should just ride out the rest of her diaper-wearing days with disposables. I've kind of enjoyed the lessened laundry load and not having to do battle every time she needs a diaper change. It could be a coincidence that she has found a new awareness and desire to be diapered at the same time we were using disposables, but that's not so likely. I'm about to buy a potty anyway and start heading in that direction, so I'm guessing within a few months she may be out of diapers anyway.

I love the Fuzzi Bunz and am happy to do my part for the environment, however, I'm not super-committed to it. As I mentioned, we used disposables for my kid's first 9 months. My thinking was that I'd be busy enough as a new mom and I didn't want to deal with laundering diapers. I thought cloth diapering was crazy. I figured, since we were only having one child and used limited energy, were otherwise not putting a big drain on the environment, this could be our "pass", our allowed transgression. Then, at 9 months, my little one's thighs had gotten pretty chunked out and the disposables were cutting into them and leaving marks. This, I could not tolerate, so I started researching cloth and fell in love with the cute styles and accoutrements of cloth diapering. It was fun. Like with so many things, though, the fun wears off. I don't mind the laundry that much, and if she showed no preference, I'd probably go back to cloth once the rash was all cleared, but now, I just don't know...

My crunchy credentials may be tarnishing!

Noise

I am fairly sensitive to noise and I have really good hearing. So, when there was some unidentified droning coming from...where...the other night when my husband and I were trying to have sex, I found it very distracting. I kept getting up and having a look around, going to different windows to see if I could determine where it was coming from. I gave up and came to the conclusion that the neighbor was playing a saxophone or something and with that thought was able to get back to what I was doing.

Later that night, when I went to check on the baby who'd woken up and lay down with her for a while, I couldn't relax and sleep because I heard another droning sound. It was different from the first one. It had odd pitch changes and was really driving me crazy. I remembered once that a lightly running sink downstairs made a noise that got on my nerves before, so I went down there to check it and discovered that the noise was coming from a clock radio that was blasting pretty loudly in the extra bedroom. When I was dusting earlier that day, I must have moved the knobs on the clock radio from "off" to "alarm" or something. What could it mean that that noise I thought was coming from somewhere else was actually originating from inside my own house—from a radio I had unwittingly turned on?

When I was laying there with the baby, before I identified what it was, I was really disturbed by the strange sound and not knowing what it was. This same night, my daughter wouldn't sleep for almost 4 hours, about 9:30 pm til after 1 am. She kept tossing and turning, getting off and on the breast. I have to admit she really upset me and I got mad. Previously she acted really bratty at dinner and I had really had enough. After a little over 3 hours trying to help her sleep, I ended up having to leave her room and make her fall asleep on her own, crying her eyes out, wailing, til she finally slept. It took about 45 minutes of crying. I had tried to lay with her, tried to nurse her. I even tried the reset button, turning on the lights, reading her a couple stories, to do the bedtime process all over again. But she was just too restless.

I didn't realize til going over my utter frustration the next day that maybe the weird sound had gotten to her. I wonder if it had anything to do with her problems going to sleep. I mean, she probably had heard the sounds and maybe her unruly behavior persisted even after I turned the radio off because she didn't know, like I did, where it came from and that it was over? I know she has very sensitive ears, like I do.

That night, amidst all the aggravation and sadness, and the day after, I was also thinking of the virtual "noise" I've been exposing myself to lately in the form of my near obsessive searching out and reading bits on the web about babies, children and parenting. The more controversial the better. Bottle or breast. Homebirth or C-section. Who hits their kids? Who's doing AP? How to get toddlers to do what you want. How to love them unconditionally. Parents are too lenient today. We coddle them too much, are too focused on their self-esteem. If you don't discipline them now, they will sour forever. Blah blah blah. What can get me riled up? What can stir me to expound my opinion about something? Why was I so into all that?

Then, there was my own "noise"—from within my own house, just like that radio. I had to really listen and look inside my own realm to find out where the truly annoying droning was coming from. I felt like such a loser and a hypocrite because I didn't really like the negative feelings I had about my daughter that day, nor did I like the way I acted or the way I treated her.

In my "talk", I had vowed to eschew authoritarian parenting, yelling, hitting, etc., but in my "walk", I was being brutish and not at all the strategic, gently guiding force in her life that I wanted to be. I decided I needed a serious break from the noise and that I myself would not add to it for at least a little while til I found time to get my heart right and my head right about my kid.

Hopefully when I come back I will be less confrontational and snarky, have a more positive outlook and can be more honest.

Maternal Desire

I’ve been reading Maternal Desire by Daphne de Marneffe, a book that looks at motherhood as something worthy of desire, that brings pleasure, rather than an obligation. I often ask myself why I stay home with my child. I do believe in my choice as being better for very small babies, and probably to some extent better for her even at this age, but there’s so much more to it. I do it for me. I like it. It’s hard. There are lots of challenges and long days. I do think working outside of the home in an office is definitely easier. But, I would not give this up. A phrase in the book describes one small part of it, saying “many mothers endorse the value of intensive mothering in part as an explicit protest against the dehumanizing aspects of the marketplace.” And yes, I do stay home partially because I believe a family should be able to make it on one salary. (The fact that many can’t being more a problem with U.S. policy and programs than with the people struggling on two incomes to raise families.) However, I have to be honest and say that when my child is a little older…4, 5? who knows…I will go back to working full time.

The book has some other interesting information about how even though we Americans feel like we have a time famine, we actually have reduced work hours and gained free time in the last 30 years. (OK, this seems unbelievable to me, but I will go with it.) The researchers, Robinson and Godbey, looked into what people actually do moment to moment with their time, and as it turns out, they watch alot of TV. Yeah, me, too. And then there’s the Internet. Double the time suck because online you can take it in as well as dish it out. So, I am going to try and cut down (this means TV, unnecessary and excessive checking of e-mails and Facebook and other stuff, no more watching the Dow plummet all day, etc.)

One more excerpt from the book before I go. It talks about how our culture has become one of having rather than being. “We consume not only material goods, but also information, education, and experiences, and we define ourselves by what we consume,” it says. The book provides a lovely example of the being mode as illustrated by a children’s book, which I found heartwarming and charming.

In the book, Peek-a-Boo, “a baby plays peek-a-boo with his family throughout the day—when he wakes up, at breakfast, during chores, at the park, at supper, at bath and at bedtime. What charms me as a reader is how messy the house is. The mother and father in every fram are tending to the tasks of life—washing the windows, ironing, cooking, feeding children, bathing the baby—with no illusion of completion; around them are a jumble of children’s toys and shoes, heaps of dirty laundry, open drawers, and sponges soaking in the sink. The pictures burst with the process of living, with the thousand undone jobs that betoken the priority of responsiveness over efficiency that makes for a happy family.” De Marneffe adds, “A starker contrast to the pristine, lifeless tableaux of Martha Stewart Living could not be found. Though Martha’s surfaces seduce, you need no more than a nanosecond to determine which emotional world you’d rather live in.”

All this, I find very encouraging!

Probably not going to go out for a beer with Dr. Laura, but...

Ugh. The latest taking head in the, ahem, discourse, between working moms and stay-at-home moms, Dr. Laura Schlessinger, is making the rounds on daytime TV and in print interviews promoting her new book, "In Praise of Stay-at-Home Moms." In the book, she "unapologetically urges mothers to remain at home instead of juggle a career and motherhood." O.K...but...

Anyone who knows me or has read my blog knows that I have made the choice to work at home so I can be with my daughter. I know this is a fairly uncommon arrangement, and that some women need to work full time to support their families. That said, I do think it is best for a child UNDER THREE to be with his or her mom all the time, just like Dr. Laura says. Because I am lucky and we've done some planning, I think I will be able to extend this period to age five. Beyond that age, I don't really agree as strongly with Dr. Laura about the necessity or importance of a mom being at home all the time.

Here's what she says, from a Wall Street Journal interview:

WSJ: At what point do you advise mothers to go back to work?

Dr. Schlessinger: The answer is never. One woman asked me the other day when I think mothers should be home, and I told her, "Whenever your kid is at home." When [my son] Deryk started kindergarten, it was from 8 to 3. So I arranged to be on the air from 11 to 2. That was it. He always had a mom. Quite frankly, my mom was one of the least warm mommies out there. Nonetheless, when I came home from school, she was always there and it made me feel safe.

I'm happy for her that she was able to work just when her kid was in school and that's something that I am going to try and do, too, to some extent. I might continue to pursue building my independent consulting, taking on more hours gradually as my daughter gets older. Or, if I do work for someone else, outside the home, my husband and I have discussed doing slightly staggered work schedules so he might go in for a 7-3:30 and I might go for a 9-5:30 or something like that. Still, we may have to take advantage of at least part of the hours of an after school program. I honestly think school-age kids enjoy such programs and benefit from being able to bond more with their friends outside the structure of classrooms during the school day. I think maybe the kids that aren't in the after school programs could be left out, even. I don't really know, but what I do know is that I want to be able to send my daughter to a good college. I want to be able to take her abroad on vacations. Maybe even buy her a (modest) car (don't tell Dad I said that). We're really more into experiences than things, but sometimes experiences cost, too. And, in reality, I am not sure we could really afford even an average life without me working more, for like 18 years! In addition, I want my daughter to see her mom working at things other than "the home". And, I like to work! I like to make money and I like for people to notice me for the work I do. There, I said it.

That's not to say that raising a child is not important work. Or, that, if we were totally rich, I wouldn't NOT work. I think I would not work for money, maybe, but would do more artsy things, you know, fine art instead of design. Or do charity work. Or I'd start a restaurant or something. I like to do stuff. I think kids like when their parents do stuff, you know, have lives. That's why the path I've take is the perfect solution—for me anyway. But, I would highly recommend it to others, if they can make it happen: the three to five year "sabbatical". Be close to your babies when they're babies, then ramp up. Of course, this is not for everyone, and I am well aware that not everyone has been so fortunate to have the luxury to make the choices I, or ol' Dr. Laura, have made. That's why I bristle a little to hear her talk. And she, too, talks of sacrifice, a concept I have become very wary of.

The editorial notes for her book say that by reading it one will learn, among other things, "to realize that the sacrifices you endure now will make for lasting bonds and a stronger family, in addition to a more cohesive community." What's with the sacrifice? I hate that word when it comes to women's choices and their families. I am doing exactly what I want to do. It's no sacrifice. It's a luxury, as I said before. For her to act like people just aren't willing to make the sacrifice is mean, and naiive, I think. And some women just aren't cut out to be home with their kids all day. One might argue that perhaps they should not have had kids, but that's a whole other discussion and one that I don't want to get into.

Bottom line, people need to do what they want and what works for them. Women should, though, look deeply into their hearts—and minds—and budgets, and if they can afford it, consider being with their babies when they're babies. At the very least for one year! I wish this country would give us just that, one year of paid or highly-subsidized maternity leave. Beyond subsidizing maternity leaves, I would observe that many Americans have probably become a little too materialistic. However, I'm not sure Dr. Laura does as good a job as she should in differentiating those who would have both parents working 50, 60, 70, 80 hours a week in order to afford Hummers, designer clothes and Cristal from those who have to each hold down a job just in order to make rent or student loan payments. She says her heart aches for the moms who want to stay home but can't, but...what about the suggestions for policy change? I keep asking, when did it become necessary for two adults to work full time (or more) in order to maintain an average middle class home? And why do we tolerate it? That's another post, I guess.

Dr. Laura did make some interesting comments on the Mike and Juliet Show, which I saw while on the treadmill this morning. She was asking, how low does a woman's confidence about herself as a mother have to be for her to think that hired help could give her child as much love as she could? That struck a chord with me, as I wondered how much the confidence question comes in to play with some moms today who choose to go to work very early in their child's life. I had the example of a stay-at-home mom (who later when on to get a Masters and is now a speech pathologist). Many women did not. A friend of mine confided that she was glad to go back to work because, frankly, she just didn't know what to do with the baby all day—this was at, like fourth months!

One reason I have chosen to stay at home during my daughter's youngest years is that I really believe nobody could do a better job with her than I can, right now. To me, there is just something very primal, animalistic and intimate about mothers and babies, much linked to the nursing relationship. And I want the chance to get her attached to me, to build that trust and to give her the balls to know who she is so that when she does go out into the world for kindergarten, she is strong, knows where she comes from, who's got her back (me!) and won't take crap from anybody. As far as teaching her math, how to get along with her peers, chemistry and all that stuff, I will leave that to the schoolteachers and to her and the other kids, when that time comes, supporting her with homework help—although Dad will most likely deal with the calculus. I will be there for her in the morning and at the end of the day to give her what I can in the way of love, support, advice, companionship, direction, and will go out into the world (or reach out to clients in the world) during the day while she is at school to be a good example in that regard. And, I will always be a cell phone call away. (My husband and I had a good argument about phones before she was even born, and I insisted, no matter what the school rules are, my daughter will carry a phone so she can get me if she needs to. As a former teacher, he is big on school rules, I am not.)

So, odd as is may be, this progressive, bohemian hipster has a few things in common with ol' Dr. Laura. That's a little scary, but at the same time, it's cool. I'm not a big fan of her style, though, and so I don't think we will become BFFs any time soon, though.

Husbands say the darnedest things

My husband sent me the nicest e-mail a couple days ago. I'd confided in him that I was feeling a little out of sorts reminiscing about a time in my life when I wanted to move back home with my parents after splitting up with my abusive husband at age 20. They said no. I had to make it on my own. I would be too much of a disruption to their house. Now my sister, who is 27, is moving back home. I guess things change. Times have changed. We're in a recession now. They don't have any kids living there any more. Me and my sister are different people. Anyway, my husband wrote alot of sweet things to me and applauded my strength for making it on my own saying, "you may not be a feminist, but you are a strong woman, which is more important." This was also in response to my sharing with him my ambivalence about and disappointment in the feminist movement, especially with regard to how it interfaces with mothering young children.

At first I laughed to myself sarcastically...of course, a man would say it is more important that I am a strong woman. That means less for the man to do. He doesn't have to worry about me. He knows that when push comes to shove, I can take care of my damn self. But, I think I agree with him, actually. It is more important to be a strong woman than a "feminist". Maybe I say this because so much of what I encounter in feminist voices I read doesn't sound so much strong as it sounds whiny. I have become so turned off by all the whining that I am compelled to take any amount of crap and unequal distribution of work and childcare in my relationship with my husband just so I am not one of those whiny women. This is an issue that's come to a head as of late. On one hand, I know this is kind of lame, but on the other hand, if time and again the whining (or complaining, or whatever you want to call it) doesn't work, then it just gets old and life is much more pleasant if I just suck it up and deal with it. Be happy, be strong and move on. At the end of the day, I love him and its not his fault if I choose to work, work, work. I guess I just want someone to notice and say how good I am. But maybe him saying I am a strong woman is his way of saying this. I wish he could be more specific and direct, though, and yes, sometimes give me a little more help than he does, or have his help me a little more competent.

In another conversation, the one where I was telling him about how I was irritated at the question always being what women lose when they have kids, versus what they can gain, he listened and observed that some people just don't like that parenthood is all about sacrifice. Whoa, I thought. This is exactly what I didn't think. That was my whole point, that it's wonderful. Hard work sometimes, yes, but in the final analysis wonderful, with everything to gain and nothing to lose. He said it was a sacrifice that was worth it, but still a sacrifice. I think this is a little funny, since, as I said, my life has changed a whole lot more than his. Maybe the thing he has "sacrificed" most is me.

I asked him what he meant and he just gave a list of all the things we "couldn't" do anymore. It seemed like alot of these things were things I couldn't do anymore, not him. Like go to rock shows. Like work in an office. (In reality, I could do both of these if I really wanted to but I chose not to right now). But, he mentioned, we can't go to Cap D'Adge (a nude town in France with sex clubs that we went to on our honeymoon, and no, we did not sleep with other people, and yes, we went other more "pure" places on our honeymoon trip, too, like Florence, Venice, Barcelona and Paris), stuff like that. And I was like, I don't even want to do that right now, do you? Sure, he says! It's not that I don't want to do that ever, just not now. I can see us doing that when Ava is in college or something. But, I digress. There's plenty of things we can do in the mean time. But not everything can be done. right. now. That's just the reality of having a child. It's just another example of there being "a season for all things", like I keep saying about being a part-time work-at-home mom, extended breastfeeding and all those things that seem like they tie women down. We only really need to do them for such a relatively short time.

It's interesting, though, how some people consider it a sacrifice and others don't. Or, maybe the word "sacrifice" means different things to different people. It's funny, though, when I look it up, the very definition mentions parenting in its example:

"3 a: destruction or surrender of something for the sake of something else b: something given up or lost <sacrifices made by parents>"

I guess I just don't see it that way. I will be honest, in moments of frustration and weakness when I have given my all and then some, I may have cried to Ava "but I've sacrificed so much for you, can't you just go to sleep for today..." or something like that. But, when I really think about it intellectually not emotionally, it's no sacrifice at all. (Uh oh, isn't that an Elton John song? Yikes!)

I recently came across something in the Ariel Gore book, The Mother Trip, that quoted Muriel Rukeyser from The Life of Poetry, that said:

I think there is a choice possible at any moment to us, as long as we live. But there is no sacrifice. There is a choice and the rest falls away. Second choice does not exist. Beware of those who talk of sacrifice.

Beware, indeed. We are in a phase where I don't like him very much, sweet e-mail notwithstanding. I blew up at him, as I am wont to do. I think in the course of my crazy day I forgot to take any vitamins, or my valerian. So it was one of those high-anxiety blow ups. For his part, he said stupid things that undermined what is most important to me in life. A little he said/she said, as recalled by me:

Him: You only work and stay home because of your big ego to show you can do it and other people can't. Our lives would be easier if you were like normal people. Our lives would be easier if you didn't work.

Me: My life would be easier if you just helped me in the ways I asked. I like working and I need to work. I like the connection I have to the outside world. I like to earn my own money. It's good for my self-esteem.

Him: See, self-esteem=ego.

Me: That's just one part of it.

Him: You would be nicer to me if you weren't so stressed from work.

Me: Work doesn't stress me out. I enjoy it. You stress me out.

Arghhhhhh! With all my praise of work, I am sounding quite like the angry feminist! Seriously, though. He once implied that if I didn't work from home I'd have more time to play with his dog and clean. (He doesn't want a cleaner house, he justs me not to nag him about being a slob or helping me keep it clean.) Well, those are not things I want to do. I love the balance of my time spent with Ava and my time spent working from home. His comments are just so off-base and insulting.

I know he doesn't mean them in a bad way, though, and he is just frustrated. I know if I am nice, then all the argument points will be moot because he never starts an argument. It's always usually me, when I ask for more or when I blow because I am not getting more. So I will do what everyone else is doing these days and get by with less. I know we will make it out of this phase, and probably quickly. We'll be fucking by the weekend (its Friday). But it will involve mostly me "sucking it up" and just being nice in order to move on. I can do it. I am a strong woman, after all. And it's no sacrifice.

Crunchy by convenience

Today when I was sitting on the floor playing with A and got a glimpse of my hairy legs, I got to thinking of all the ways I am "crunchy" and how funny it is that my crunchiness is not exactly driven by strong convictions.

I haven't shaved my legs, underarms or any part of my body since 2001 when I learned that my husband (then boyfriend) liked naturally hairy women. We went for a bike ride on, I think, our second "date" and stopped for a break. Sitting on the bench with him, the sun hit my thighs and some hairs glistened. "I guess I need to shave," I said nervously, the dutiful girl hoping the guy is not grossed out by my body hair. He shrugged it off and it wasn't til later that I learned of his love for women in their natural state. Now for me, the aesthetic preference is probably for smoothness. Whether this is my pure preference or its been irreversibly colored by the society in which I was raised, I don't know. But, it's easier not to shave and if that's what my husband prefers anyway, why not? I kind of like the fact that I am "breaking the rules" of what a woman is supposed to do, even if I prefer the smooth aesthetic, so it's all good. He often tells me my hairy legs are sexy. He acts like he would be sad if I shaved.

Other ways I am crunchy include the fact that I had a home birth, use cloth diapers and am breastfeeding a 21-month-old toddler. Again, none for the reasons one might expect.

Today

Unlike for ol' Ice Cube, for me, today is not shaping up to be such a good day.

Little A puked this morning (twice yesterday) so I decided to keep her home from the play room at the gym, which meant no "break" for me. Worse, no cardio stress-relief. She wanted popcorn for breakfast. Why not? It's a whole grain. Popcorn and breastmilk. She ate a couple pieces and lost interest. She maintained great interest in the breastmilk, though. Ouch. When a toddler nurses as much as a newborn, it can be very draining.

She then insisted on watching Dance Party for five minutes, then Elmo. After Elmo I had to pull the plug (literally) on the TV. I am not by any stretch an anti-TV mom (especially DVDs and "educational" programming), but I was not going to let her sit there and watch hours of TV. Honestly, the sing songs were just getting too aggravating for me.

I decided we needed a change of scenery so I went to rearrange and straighten up my office while she colored and played. She colored her $75 Made-in-China German piano with expo markers. Luckily they wiped off. Meanwhile, Theo got into the leftover popcorn in the living room. There was a constant cleaning up (me) and mess-making (child and dog) dance going on all morning. Then the child wanted oatmeal. Awesome. She has an appetite. Somehow the lid flew off and oats snowed down all over the kitchen. Another clean up. She ate about 3 bites of oatmeal. More breastmilk.

OK, we had to get out for a bit. I wanted to return to the library the books that were kind of burning a hole in my brain (Opting In, Parenting from the Inside Out, and The Mother Trip) and be free of them (and decline the one I'd previously had them holding for me, The Mommy Myth). I wanted to deposit my tax refund, grab a fancy water bottle at Starbucks as a treat to myself, and some flowers to plant. All stops within just a few minutes of each other. We finally got out the door and all was going well til we were in line to buy the water bottle and poor A projectile vomited a beautiful pink puke all over her and me. (Blueberries mixed with oatmeal.) Lovely. We quickly got cleaned up. Hardly anybody noticed except some guy who handed me a napkin. We managed to complete all our errands. (Starbucks was second to last, and I figured why not just grab the flowers since we were right there.)

So, the day is getting better. A even ate a little quesadilla at lunch and is now napping. The funny thing is I felt so annoyed with all the mess/clean up/mess/clean up earlier, and I was thinking grrrrr my husband is going to another rock show tonight that he originally sold his ticket to, but when he heard a different opener was playing the second night of the local stop, he had to re-buy a ticket to that show...and I was thinking how I should be cranky about that, since I don't get to go out that much (my own choosing, I don't insist) but then I came back to the fact that on normal days, I am just really content to go through my daily life of hanging out with A, working out, doing my design and writing work...so that even having a "bad" day is just not really so bad after all.

Then I saw this...

A different perspective

This morning while getting together breakfast for me and A, it came to me why the questions swirling around "Opting In" and all the rest were so frustrating and a little bit annoying to me. It's because it is coming at life, and motherhood, from the wrong angle. The title that speaks of "Having a Child Without Losing Yourself" automatically assumes a loss. It comes from a place of negativity and talks about how to overcome (sort of). I say, why not instead ask how having a child might help you find yourself. Or for those who have found themselves, ask how it can help you find out more about yourself, find a richer self, a deeper self, a different self...or maybe even find a way to look at life that is NOT centered around ones self! (Buddhist philosophy tends to eschew the "self".)

Now, an aside that will take us all the way across the Atlantic...
Truth be told, I first learned of the "Opting In" book through a great article on Paris I was reading in Condé Nast that said:

Women age better in France, and they are better admired as they age. One worries about being objectified by pornography, but the danger of being objectified by maternity is far greater, it seems to me. Hidden behind Hummer-size baby carriages and camouflaged in colorless sweat suits, mothers can become shadow people. Americans go for books like Amy Richards's Opting In: Having a Child Without Losing Yourself. The French have such books internalized.

The characterization of American motherhood in that clip is overgeneralized for the sake of making a point, but the article as a whole has intriguing undercurrents. Here's more:

It occurs to me that this is part of the reason French women enjoy the reputation they do—for sexiness, coolness, confidence. It's not just a matter of personal temperament but of public policy, the fruit not only of individual style but of country and culture.

"A toast for the baby girl!" exclaims a man at the table opposite. "What would you like to drink?"

"A kir?" I offer, thinking it a modest suggestion—made as it is with crème de cassis and a simple sauvignon blanc.

"But it has to be with Champagne," he hollers—and presently the waiter delivers a bubbly glass of pink.

In America, I think, I would have been ignored, sitting as I am with an infant. At any moment, after all, I might suddenly have spit-up on my shoulder. "But even President Sarkozy picked a woman with a child for his new bride!" says the beauty next to me, when I offer this remark to her. "It's true," I say. "If he were a public figure in the States and the sort of man people claim he is—vain, a show-off—he'd have picked a twenty-year-old trophy girl. As it is, he chose a fortysomething with an eight-year-old boy in tow."

And later:

I muse about the magic of all this sexual ambiguity. Waiters routinely make gallant remarks to taken women—thus reminding their partners of their perpetual appeal to rival suitors. What would be counted an insult in more macho countries, like Greece or Italy or the United States, is considered simple civility in France. Sexual relations in this country are fluid and unregulated; you are not out of the dance just because you have children, or indeed because you are married. Moralists can argue that this is a problem—but I wonder if it's not also, in some ways, a solution. The members of long-standing couples in France flirt with each other. They labor to impress one another. They seem to understand that love is complex; it is free; it answers to no law, however reasonably imposed. Relationships, therefore, become balancing acts, feats of imagination, works of art. Nothing is taken for granted, so everything is earned.

Things to think about...

Living by my authentic choices, independently

I thought I was interested in discussing the big questions of motherhood—choices in birth, breast or formula feeding, staying home or working, etc. etc.—but I don't think I really am. I don't know if it's boredom or frustration, but I am tired of it all, and it's cutting into my work time and creativity. It all seems to be the same arguments back and forth. Every day I read something where women are bickering about their choices, defending themselves, blah blah blah. I think I have achieved the goal of living as my "authentic self". I love it and so that's what I am going to write about, and what I know best—me. Hopefully, I can bring some universality to it all. But first, a bit about what precipitated this.

It's all about options

My latest exploration into the politics of mothering was in feminist Amy Richards' book "Opting In: Having a Child Without Losing Yourself". The Salon article nicely summarizes her message, explaining "Each woman wants different things; thus the feminist goal should be figuring out what you want."

Richards says, "...what distinguishes someone as a feminist is the person brave enough...to step outside the bounds of expectation and discern for themselves what is an authentic choice."

Check. Most of my peers who earned 50% of their household income go back to work sooner. (I think I need to be clear that I work part-time from home and do intend to ramp up to full time, or work outside the home as my daughter gets older.)

And later, "The authenticity of our choices may never be truly revealed, but that matters less than trusting that women are empowered to make their own decisions."

Check. I greatly value the fact that women have choices in this country.

Although it seems I fit Richards' definition of a feminist, since I feel as though I am living what I truly believe to be the right thing for me, I just don't identify with feminists anymore, based on the majority of representative voices. I think the problem is that I don't necessary care about equality, just fairness in civil matters. Men and women will never be equal and we'll never be the same. But the basics—right to vote, right to own property, get an education, things like that—I am in favor of those things for all people. I am in favor of women being empowered to make choices, just like Richards says; and I believe that women currently have that power in appropriate measure for the most part. I get the impression, though, that some things are never enough for some people and not only do they want the power to make decisions, they want everyone to agree with them and to support them (financially even) in these decisions, no matter how wacky.

Why is it that I don't feel the need to justify or defend my choices? Maybe because I don't need other women's, or society's approval (or financing) for what I choose to do. So why do other people? I pretty much do what I want to do. Ultimately, I think most people do. I am looking for a way to talk about the choices I make and celebrate them because I am really happy with them and proud of them, and in many cases just grateful that I was able to make them, yes. However, I feel like whatever I say, there is potential to offend someone. This seems to be the case in online discussions or blog postings when women talk about their choices—someone out there is going to whine about how people are mean or judgmental or something or get defensive about their own choices. But, isn't it natural to think that a choice one makes is the best choice? Or at least the best choice for one's given circumstances at that time? If not, why would you make it? Yes, sometimes we make "bad" choices, but then, take we must take our lumps, learn from them, try to repair things as well as we can, and move on.

Challenges, real and brought on

Sure, there are lots of challenges in today's world especially in tough economic times, but each adult must make choices to shape their lives. For example, I often read accounts of harried and financially struggling moms talking about their three, or four, or five kids. The first thing I wonder is why they chose to have so many children. That's their business, of course, and there is no magic number of kids to have, but these same women often complain about their careers suffering or make calls for government program to subsidize their leaves, and on and on. As a woman committed to having one child, who scrimped and saved with her husband for four years before getting pregnant and who took more than a 50% pay cut to stay at home with her child while working late into the night to make work work—and who pays taxes on this money that I earn—I wonder what responsibility I really should have toward someone else's choices.

I believe, as a member of a society, I bear some responsibility and naturally, from the heart, I lean toward more socialist philosophies. However, when I read much of the contemporary feminist rhetoric and working mothers' commentaries on their expectations of what others (the government, businesses, taxpayers) should do for them, I am majorly turned off.

Example: Universal daycare vs. Mom's "sabbatical"

I particularly don't like the call for universal daycare because I don't even believe kids under one should be in day care at all, and my personal ideal is the three to five year "sabbatical" for moms. I wish more moms would plan for and do this "sabbatical" thing. This time would be a great chance for women to do what they really should be doing in the early years of their child's life—breastfeeding, bonding, nurturing, getting to really know their child and themselves, etc.—and could also give the moms an opportunity for personal growth and reflection, professional growth by exploring new ideas in their field (or maybe a new field) independently or with professional groups, former employers,community groups, etc. Of course, this is harder when a woman wants more than one child depending on how she's going to space them. And even in the best cases, it takes ingenuity and self-motivation on the part of the mother. Oh, and if someone wanted to flip the script, a Dad's sabbatical would be just fine, too. The point is for the young child to have exclusivity of attention and for at least one of the parents to really get to know the child. I'd be more in favor of subsidizing something like this than subsidizing daycare. Or a even a scenario where adults partners could job share and each spend half time at home with the young child. When did we ever get to the point where it took two full time adult salaries to run a home? Why? And does it have to be that way? Is this what people really want? What can we do to change it?

My goal here is to present different ideas, not to judge. Daycare is often not "bad" for babies, of course, although sometimes it can be, but being at home with an unfit parent can be bad for a baby, too. And what about what's good for a parent. I wonder how many parents just numb themselves to the loss they feel when they bring their baby to be cared for by someone else all day long? What about the enrichment the parent might find in spending more time with their young child? I honestly think some people just assume they have to work full time outside the home their whole adult lives and give no exploratory thinking toward other alternatives.

My choices

For all things there is a season. That's why I have shifted focus the first three to five years of my daughter's life on raising her the way I feel children her age need to be raised—intensively with a parent on-call almost all the time. I am also setting a general example that women work (she sees me on the lap top all the time), have their own interests, are strong, independent, self-sufficient and all that, but a baby/young child doesn't need that played out in bright, bold detail. Work is not the most important thing in my life right now by a long shot. It just can't be right now (perhaps never, but as my child gets older I believe it can be more so). A baby/toddler/preschool child mostly needs their mom around to pay attention to them, expose them to every day things around the house and around the world and cuddle. We're laying the foundation now and when she is school age I can step up my consulting hours or go back to work for someone else, then she can do her work of being in school and have me in this new phase of my life as an example.

But that's just me. I don't expect other people to make the same choices. However, I need to be able to extol the benefits and pleasures of my choices without worrying about offending people. We all have to live our authentic lives.

Wimpy women

So many women are whining wimps—they really make me wonder how we ever got the right to vote or own property and important stuff like that. Just hearing them moan and groan about how they would never consider giving birth without an epidural, or that breastfeeding is so hard, or listening to them bitch about how they need to get away from their kids and have their spa days and girls nights out are things I can' relate to at all. I think the women who worked for the right to vote and such were cut from a different cloth than today's "feminists", which is one reason why I don't identify with the tag.

That said, some men just kid of hang on the sidelines of this parenting thing and don't step up to support their partners wholly, or are just simply unaware of the challenges women face. All in all, though, I think American men are a flexible and willing lot. So many of the men in my peer group I see are much more involved with their kids and the household than what was typical when we were all growing up.

I have a daughter and I want her to be able to do anything she dreams, and I really believe that she can. I am so grateful to live in the U.S. where women are respected and valued and we really can do anything we want if we work hard enough. (Contrast this with many poor Asian countries where young girls are routinely sold as prostitutes or where they kill baby girls or give them up for adoption because sons are more valued.) There are definitely room for policy improvements in our country, yes, but the conversation has got to change to be a little more robust and include fresher ideas.

Depression? Naw, I'm just crazy.

Sometimes, at the end of a tiring day, I will sigh to my husband, "I am so depressed!" He will tell me I'm just tired, not dismissively, just matter-of-factly. And you know, he is right. I don't think it actually is depression that I'm feeling when I say that. It's just that depression is such a common concept in today's world, especially for women, that when you're not at the top of your game, even for a short time, you can run the risk of wallowing and over-diagnosing. I recently came across bits about women's depression—real depression—in my web wanderings and in Ariel Gore's "The Mother Trip: Hip Mama's Guide to Staying Sane in the Chaos of Motherhood" and had the opportunity to ponder my part in this while pedaling away on the stationary bike at the gym this morning. I came to the conclusion that I probably have not been depressed in the true sense of the word in a long time (perhaps not even at my lowest points). I never felt like totally giving up. I never felt like I couldn't get out of bed. I always had a little fight left in me. I think I just get tired, restless and anxious and none of it is ever that serious compared to some of the things I read that some people go through. Serious chemical stuff, serious reactions to realities far worse than even the worst I've had to deal with.

I did have quite a meltdown mid January, though. It was the night of Barack Obama's inauguration. Should have been all happy. The start of something new and wonderful. Instead, for me, it was the end of a long weekend in which my husband was home with us two extra days, kind of throwing me out of whack, messing with the schedule me and my kid usually keep. I don't remember details of what was bothering me anymore. Probably it had something to do with him not helping enough around the house, me feeling like I was doing too much, and that whole mess. Having him home with two extra days off for MLK day and the inauguration while I still had to work (running my own business, taking care of the house, the baby, etc.) and having it all in my face kind of wore me down. When I'm alone, it just doesn't bother me as much. At the end of the day, I had alot of trouble getting the child to go to sleep and I just wanted to get her to sleep and have some down time to myself. But instead it was a huge struggle. I cursed the fact that I'd set this up for myself—extreme attachment, nursing her to sleep, making it my job to put her to sleep, even if my husband was willing to help. (When my head is clear and I am well-rested I am firmly committed to and happy with these decisions.) I just wanted to be alone. The whole toxic mixture ended up with me yelling wildly at both my child and my husband, throwing a glass in the kitchen (baby was safely in her room) and hitting myself in the face repeatedly because I wanted to punish myself for the former two things. OK. So maybe that sounds kind of serious. Sounds like a break down.

I called a few friends that I was supposed to have over at my house the next day and canceled. I was forced to tell them the truth because I couldn't come up with any legitimate excuses. I really couldn't bear to be around moms and their kids after I had so badly failed as a mom the night before. I would feel so fake smiling at them and their babies, serving cookies and tea like I was a happy little homemaker. I didn't want to have them over to commiserate, either. I am really not big on commiseration. I don't like dishing about husbands and how rotten they are. I don't even really think mine is so rotten. We just have different approaches to some things. So, I canceled and decided to go get therapy.

I was really serious about the therapy this time. Well, as serious as someone like me can be. I'd tried it a couple times before. Once, when I was in Chicago in my late teens with an abusive husband. The therapist was late for our first appointment. I left. It was insulting. I don't really tolerate lateness from people who I am paying. I tried again in Georgetown when I was living with my Jewish financier boyfriend. She was OK, but between my first and second appointment with her I negotiated a 15K raise for myself and suddenly my problems were all over with (for the time being). I then tried a group thing a few years later. No good. So I tried again this time, but driving 30 minutes each way, paying a $30 co-pay each time, and having to go when my husband was around to watch our kid didn't seem like the most fun use of free time I had to squeeze so much to get. I'm glad it never worked out for me. I just don't think I am a therapy person.

I am from a lower middle class blue collar family. We don't do therapy. We do beer. Seriously, though, last summer I had started taking the herbal supplement valerian after talking with one of my friends about anxiety and her taking anti-anxiety meds. I somehow learned that valerian, which is more commonly used to help people sleep, is also helpful for anxiety. I think I do have a bit of anxiety issues (as do so many women of my ilk, it seems). The valerian really helped. Somewhere along the line between last summer and inauguration day, though, I dropped off the valerian. I decided to start again after my meltdown, and it again has helped alot.

The valerian in combination with alot of reading, writing and getting in touch with my feelings has made things pretty OK since my meltdown. (I always exercise regularly anyway, so that was nothing new to add to the mix.) I feel like I can't really complain or claim depression because the things I read other women go through seem so much more serious and deep than my issues and I genuinely feel so much for them. I have no real problems. I have a healthy, easy kid, no money troubles, an overall decent husband. I should not complain! I can easily identify why I get upset if I stop for a minute and process it. I can trace bad bits from my past and childhood that linger to sometimes taint my now peaceful life. And so its just a matter of managing my emotions and my responses to things. Not letting myself get too tired. Asking for help when I need it (from my husband, because there really is nobody else around to help me). Taking work-work in stride. (I actually tend to get more "depressed" when I have less work, oddly enough.) Knowing that good enough is good enough. Reveling in my beautiful daughter. Facing the fact that toddlers are wild and woolly and not meant to be controlled, and laughing it off instead of stressing out. And making sure to take that valerian!

I remember in my 20s, some snobby dude in my circle of friends telling me I wasn't smart enough or deep enough to be depressed. At the time, I was slightly insulted but brushed it off and went up for round two at the Chinese buffet. Now I believe that I am smart enough to transcend depression and deep enough to understand that the richness of blessings I have in my life would make it an embarrassment for me to claim depression. Maybe I am a little crazy, but I'm not depressed!

Supporting a child's dreams—one small step at a time

It's 8:15 am and already we've had a dance party, built a railroad, ate some waffles and did yoga (albeit all on "toddler time"—about 10 minutes each). I got a little work-work done, too. I seriously don't know how it all happens, but that's the magic of living with a toddler.

As I was making coffee this morning and getting our waffles warmed up (Daddy had made them for us earlier before leaving for work), my little A was yelling out "Boot! Boot!" She was trying to put on some boots. We weren't going anywhere yet. It's not boot weather. But, she wanted those boots on. She's at a stage where she can kind of do it herself, but not quite, and so I heard her getting really frustrated the way she does. She let out the little angry scream-growl. "Boot! Boot!" She cried. So I went over and helped her get them on. Then she did a little dance. Mission accomplished.

It then occurred to me that we can help our kids achieve their "dreams" no matter how small, just by being around and helping them out a little. It doesn't have to be a big deal and it doesn't have to make sense. It especially doesn't have to make sense when they are toddlers. She really wanted those boots on and it made her happy to have them on. I only hope I can approach helping her achieve bigger things later in life with the simplicity of putting on some boots. And I hope I can be a support to what she wants, rather than imposing what I want.