Summer is coming to a gentle end. The nights are cooler, the days are ending earlier, the afternoon sunlight has taken on its singularly autumnal angle. Just recently, we celebrated the first birthday of our beautiful curly-haired boy. This has been the most challenging year of my life, but I have also experienced more miracles than at any other time. I was fortunate to have an extraordinary and brief birth experience- I think that if I was given the chance to live any day over again, it would be that day, when our tiny son rocketed so magically into the world.
Since that day he has been such a joyful little light being. His little sleep smiles graduated into intentional and illuminated expressions of delight. What were once uncoordinated, involuntary (though still charming!) movements have evolved into more refined abilities like waving, walking, brushing hair, kicking soccer balls, and taking all the cards out of mommy's wallet and throwing them on the floor at Starbucks. And instead of a limited vocabulary of cooing, sighing and crying sounds (the sweetness of which I miss so much), we are now treated to a variety of meaningful babbling sounds, proto-words (ba ("ball"), ta ("cat")) and words (mama, dada, byebye). It's just astonishing to watch babies grow and learn- they pick things up so fast that it seems an inevitability, not learned behavior- certainly not anything I can take credit for!
I have changed, too. I left a job that paid well, but that wasn't very inspiring and didn't feel altogether important (to me personally), and took on full-time mothering (no pay, more inspiring, very important). This time last year, I was learning how to breastfeed, change diapers, understand my baby's cries and operate on a sleep deficit. I guess I've gotten those skills down for the most part (though I don't know what the tantrum in Chipotle this afternoon was all about). I have gone from hyper-vigilance ("Is he still breathing?") to plain old vigilance ("Has he eaten enough vegetables today?" "Is that paper in his mouth?").
Looking ahead (what's a retrospective piece without some looking ahead?), I expect this year will also be filled with challenges and adventures, magic and muddle-brained chaos. I am filled with anticipation as I see our toddler toddle and hear him making ever more intelligible sounds. As for me, I would like to set aside more time for myself this year, to write or paint or work- I have missed feeling a part of the world; I have missed having finality on a project; I have missed contributing something concrete at the end of the day (or the week, or the month). There must be some kind of balance for us, wherein we can feel confident about our jobs as mothers, yet also continue to pursue other passions, interests or objectives that make us who we are. That will be my Two Year's Resolution: Find balance.
Suggestions welcome.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Hushabye and Goodnight
Okay. It's almost been a year. Our little one cannot sleep on his own. Some people say, "So what? He'll grow out of it eventually." It's not that he won't sleep in his crib that is getting old; it's that he can hardly sleep without us holding him or nursing him; it's that we don't get any time as individuals or as a couple after he goes to sleep because we can't put him down; it's that we haven't had one night of uninterrupted night of sleep in a year. Of course caring for an infant involves sacrifices and challenges, but some of us hit a wall and feel like we can't take it anymore- what do we do?
I have been very resistant to the idea of letting our son "cry it out." I cannot bear the idea of letting him cry- hearing him cry makes me want to cry. When he cries and it seems like he's suffering, how can I not pick him up and comfort him? That's problem number one.
Problem number two is my fear of harming our relationship. Attachment parenting advocates are strongly opposed to this sleep technique. First of all, they say, if your instinct says to pick up your baby when he cries, then that's what you should do. Dr. Sears feels that letting a baby cry it out damages the baby's trust in his or her parent because the baby learns that the parent cannot be relied upon to respond to its needs. This can cause lasting damage to the parent-child relationship, and to the child in the long term. I certainly don't want that to happen.
I have read the attachment parenting sleep techniques and have not had any significant success using them. Our pediatrician and a child psychologist have both recommended letting the baby cry for a few minutes, checking in on him and comforting him, then leaving again, for a slightly longer time, and repeating until he falls asleep my himself, allowing longer periods of time to elapse between each check-in. My husband and I feel like we could try this out, but are afraid to start because of how hard it is to hear our baby cry in his room by himself.
Some glimmers of hope have come from friends or other mothers. One of my dearest friends, who is trained in international disaster psychology and knows what attachment disorders look like, told me that when she was a baby, her parents finally let her "cry it out." Her parents hadn't had any trouble when her older brother was an infant, but she refused to sleep without being held and they were worn out. It only took a few nights, and it was excruciatingly difficult, but it worked. Moreover, of all the people I know, she has the closest, most open relationship with her parents.
Other mothers that I know have tried different sleep techniques with varied results. One mother said that she never let her older child cry, but she did let her younger child cry- the younger child is a better sleeper. Another friend has started letting her baby cry it out and she has gone from sleeping only two hours at a time, to four hour stretches. None of them have reported negative effects on their relationships with their babies. All of them are sleeping better than I am.
I have been very resistant to the idea of letting our son "cry it out." I cannot bear the idea of letting him cry- hearing him cry makes me want to cry. When he cries and it seems like he's suffering, how can I not pick him up and comfort him? That's problem number one.
Problem number two is my fear of harming our relationship. Attachment parenting advocates are strongly opposed to this sleep technique. First of all, they say, if your instinct says to pick up your baby when he cries, then that's what you should do. Dr. Sears feels that letting a baby cry it out damages the baby's trust in his or her parent because the baby learns that the parent cannot be relied upon to respond to its needs. This can cause lasting damage to the parent-child relationship, and to the child in the long term. I certainly don't want that to happen.
I have read the attachment parenting sleep techniques and have not had any significant success using them. Our pediatrician and a child psychologist have both recommended letting the baby cry for a few minutes, checking in on him and comforting him, then leaving again, for a slightly longer time, and repeating until he falls asleep my himself, allowing longer periods of time to elapse between each check-in. My husband and I feel like we could try this out, but are afraid to start because of how hard it is to hear our baby cry in his room by himself.
Some glimmers of hope have come from friends or other mothers. One of my dearest friends, who is trained in international disaster psychology and knows what attachment disorders look like, told me that when she was a baby, her parents finally let her "cry it out." Her parents hadn't had any trouble when her older brother was an infant, but she refused to sleep without being held and they were worn out. It only took a few nights, and it was excruciatingly difficult, but it worked. Moreover, of all the people I know, she has the closest, most open relationship with her parents.
Other mothers that I know have tried different sleep techniques with varied results. One mother said that she never let her older child cry, but she did let her younger child cry- the younger child is a better sleeper. Another friend has started letting her baby cry it out and she has gone from sleeping only two hours at a time, to four hour stretches. None of them have reported negative effects on their relationships with their babies. All of them are sleeping better than I am.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Mother's stream of consciousness.
Why is the baby crying? What is that smell? Where did I put my glasses? When did the baby eat last? What did the baby eat last? What shall I make for lunch for him? What should I have for lunch? When was the last time I ate? Did I eat remember to eat breakfast? When was the last time I took a shower? That bump wasn't there yesterday. Where did I put the baby book? How many diapers have I changed so far today? What is that rash? No, baby, don't touch that. When did the baby nurse last? How long did he nurse? When was the baby's last nap? How long has he been asleep? Why is he sleeping so much? Why is he awake already? Does his diaper need changing? Is he hungry? Is he too hot/cold? Where is the sunscreen? Oh, there are my glasses. How did the cereal get all over the floor? Be gentle with the cat, baby, she doesn't like it when you knead her like that. Where is the phone? Where is the remote? Where is the baby's hat? What is that sound? I need to ask the doctor about vaccines. Put that down, please. Not in the mouth. I need a haircut. When was my last haircut? I should really have this bump checked out. Did I turn the stove off? Did I boil his pacifier? Are these carrots organic? What finish is on these blocks? Is it too hot/cold to play outside? Why am I so tired? I feel overwhelmed. Where are my glasses?
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Attachment Parenting and Its Discontents (or my discontent, anyway).
Okay, let me preface this post by saying that I believe very strongly in the importance of creating strong relationships between babies and their parents and/or other caregivers. I will be the first to say that a strong bond between babies and parents is crucial to their development. In this regard, I support Attachment Parenting (AP) theories.
But I have found that all too often, proponents of AP are so intent on spreading the word about it, that they neglect some very real practical concerns that become apparent to most of us trying to implement AP methods. I want very badly for my baby to develop in a healthy and happy way, so I work very hard to be appropriately responsive; I carry him as much as I can (to the point of developing back and wrist problems- I can't get him in my carrier anymore). I play with him, talk to him, breastfeed, co-sleep (more like no sleep...), and I don't leave him with another caretaker for long periods of time. He's doing great. I, and this is hard for me to admit, am not.
I am burned out (and, did I mention, physically injured?). I cannot continue this level of attached-ness or I will lose my mind and/or break in half, neither of which will make for good mothering of any variety. I am doing too much, I tell myself. I need to allow myself to take some breaks once and a while. Here's the thing: I don't always have help when I need it; I can't always take time for myself. I don't have much of a support network besides my husband that can help me in this way. And besides that, when I have AP advocates telling me not to leave my baby and to avoid letting other people hold him (yeah, a woman at a recent talk said to "minimize the amount of time other people hold your baby"), where does this leave me except in a lose-lose situation? On the one hand, I am told to barely ever put my baby down or be out of arm's reach. On the other hand, I am supposed to make time for myself. I can't make time for myself without that entailing me being away from him and someone else holding him.
I'm not saying AP doesn't have the answer to this; but I am saying that I've been doing my reading, and I haven't seen an answer to this. Dr. Sears, whose Baby Book I really do like, does a nice job of evading this particular topic. I have all these suggestions for how to do a good job as an AP mother, but no real suggestions for how to prevent "mommy burnout."
Thinking through this conundrum has raised other questions that are important for AP proponents to answer, as well. First of all, if they are going to assert that babies not parented with AP techniques develop a host of social and cognitive problems, they need to be more specific: what problems, at what rate? Are we making a distinction between babies raised without any caregiver relationship and those raised with loving parents, but perhaps without AP methods in particular?
Because here's the thing: we can't all do everything AP suggests all the time. Some babies don't want to or can't co-sleep; some babies don't want to ride in a carrier after they get to be a certain age; some women can't breastfeed; some parents face physical challenges that make certain AP techniques unfeasible. To boot, what about parents- and this applies to more and more of us these days- who both have to work full time to make ends meet? To suggest- and AP advocates are at the very least suggesting- that the children of parents in these situations are going to have developmental problems is, to me, very bothersome. It's an unfair suggestion and one that only further serves to make parents feel that they aren't doing enough. Do we not have enough guilty and incompetent feelings even when we are getting it right?
Which brings me to the issue of "blaming the mother." AP supporters might say that they don't believe this, but the claims they make about the importance of following AP methods directly implicate "bad mothering" in social and cognitive disorders. This implication is an echo of times gone by, when it was believed that mental illnesses were caused by poor mothering during infancy. This belief is no longer supported by modern psychology, thankfully, and deserves to remain in the (dare I say) shameful history of mental health treatment in America. To imply that mothers who do not follow AP techniques are putting their babies at risk for addiction, developmental delays, etc., is to resurrect an archaic and obsolete idea. If this is not, in fact, what AP proponents mean to suggest, then it is certainly a point which they must clarify.
As I said, I support building strong relationships between caregivers and babies- not just mothers, but fathers and other family and friends, as well. AP has suggested some great ways to do this, many of which are things most parents do anyways, like talking to their babies, and breast-feeding. However, in pushing for this objective, I think that AP proponents have made it sounds like you HAVE to do all of these things all the time, or your baby will be completely ruined for the rest of his or her life, or at least until you get your AP act together. This adds unfair and unnecessary pressure on parents (especially mothers), who are taking good care of their children, to the best of their abilities, but who may not be following the AP methods all of the time. If AP wants to thrive, wants to seem both appealing and realistic to parents, it needs to address these challenges more adequately.
But I have found that all too often, proponents of AP are so intent on spreading the word about it, that they neglect some very real practical concerns that become apparent to most of us trying to implement AP methods. I want very badly for my baby to develop in a healthy and happy way, so I work very hard to be appropriately responsive; I carry him as much as I can (to the point of developing back and wrist problems- I can't get him in my carrier anymore). I play with him, talk to him, breastfeed, co-sleep (more like no sleep...), and I don't leave him with another caretaker for long periods of time. He's doing great. I, and this is hard for me to admit, am not.
I am burned out (and, did I mention, physically injured?). I cannot continue this level of attached-ness or I will lose my mind and/or break in half, neither of which will make for good mothering of any variety. I am doing too much, I tell myself. I need to allow myself to take some breaks once and a while. Here's the thing: I don't always have help when I need it; I can't always take time for myself. I don't have much of a support network besides my husband that can help me in this way. And besides that, when I have AP advocates telling me not to leave my baby and to avoid letting other people hold him (yeah, a woman at a recent talk said to "minimize the amount of time other people hold your baby"), where does this leave me except in a lose-lose situation? On the one hand, I am told to barely ever put my baby down or be out of arm's reach. On the other hand, I am supposed to make time for myself. I can't make time for myself without that entailing me being away from him and someone else holding him.
I'm not saying AP doesn't have the answer to this; but I am saying that I've been doing my reading, and I haven't seen an answer to this. Dr. Sears, whose Baby Book I really do like, does a nice job of evading this particular topic. I have all these suggestions for how to do a good job as an AP mother, but no real suggestions for how to prevent "mommy burnout."
Thinking through this conundrum has raised other questions that are important for AP proponents to answer, as well. First of all, if they are going to assert that babies not parented with AP techniques develop a host of social and cognitive problems, they need to be more specific: what problems, at what rate? Are we making a distinction between babies raised without any caregiver relationship and those raised with loving parents, but perhaps without AP methods in particular?
Because here's the thing: we can't all do everything AP suggests all the time. Some babies don't want to or can't co-sleep; some babies don't want to ride in a carrier after they get to be a certain age; some women can't breastfeed; some parents face physical challenges that make certain AP techniques unfeasible. To boot, what about parents- and this applies to more and more of us these days- who both have to work full time to make ends meet? To suggest- and AP advocates are at the very least suggesting- that the children of parents in these situations are going to have developmental problems is, to me, very bothersome. It's an unfair suggestion and one that only further serves to make parents feel that they aren't doing enough. Do we not have enough guilty and incompetent feelings even when we are getting it right?
Which brings me to the issue of "blaming the mother." AP supporters might say that they don't believe this, but the claims they make about the importance of following AP methods directly implicate "bad mothering" in social and cognitive disorders. This implication is an echo of times gone by, when it was believed that mental illnesses were caused by poor mothering during infancy. This belief is no longer supported by modern psychology, thankfully, and deserves to remain in the (dare I say) shameful history of mental health treatment in America. To imply that mothers who do not follow AP techniques are putting their babies at risk for addiction, developmental delays, etc., is to resurrect an archaic and obsolete idea. If this is not, in fact, what AP proponents mean to suggest, then it is certainly a point which they must clarify.
As I said, I support building strong relationships between caregivers and babies- not just mothers, but fathers and other family and friends, as well. AP has suggested some great ways to do this, many of which are things most parents do anyways, like talking to their babies, and breast-feeding. However, in pushing for this objective, I think that AP proponents have made it sounds like you HAVE to do all of these things all the time, or your baby will be completely ruined for the rest of his or her life, or at least until you get your AP act together. This adds unfair and unnecessary pressure on parents (especially mothers), who are taking good care of their children, to the best of their abilities, but who may not be following the AP methods all of the time. If AP wants to thrive, wants to seem both appealing and realistic to parents, it needs to address these challenges more adequately.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Post Script
In conjunction with my last post, I have had three experiences at the grocery store, with men, that I feel compelled to relay here, because they confound me.
1. Around Christmas 08, I ran into a man who had audited one of my grad school classes, a retired neurosurgeon. I had the baby with me and he said to me, I guess in reference to my "past life" in academia, "So, I guess you decided to turn off your brain for a while, huh?" Yes, now I am brain dead. Nothing goin' on up there.
2. Last month, I ran into an another acquaintance who is the father of a very precocious two year-old. He asked me if I was working. I said I was working very part time, but mostly taking care of the baby. He said, "You think that's hard; you should try working full time and taking care of a baby!" FYI, people, taking care of a baby full time is working full time.
3. Recently, I ran into someone I know somewhat better than the other two; we have known each other for a while. I didn't have the baby with me this time, and he said, "I almost didn't recognize you without the baby." Funny, because when I have the baby with me, people don't usually see me at all.
1. Around Christmas 08, I ran into a man who had audited one of my grad school classes, a retired neurosurgeon. I had the baby with me and he said to me, I guess in reference to my "past life" in academia, "So, I guess you decided to turn off your brain for a while, huh?" Yes, now I am brain dead. Nothing goin' on up there.
2. Last month, I ran into an another acquaintance who is the father of a very precocious two year-old. He asked me if I was working. I said I was working very part time, but mostly taking care of the baby. He said, "You think that's hard; you should try working full time and taking care of a baby!" FYI, people, taking care of a baby full time is working full time.
3. Recently, I ran into someone I know somewhat better than the other two; we have known each other for a while. I didn't have the baby with me this time, and he said, "I almost didn't recognize you without the baby." Funny, because when I have the baby with me, people don't usually see me at all.
To Market, To Market...
I guess because it's the place I go with the most predictable frequency, I have very interesting interactions at the grocery store nowadays. With baby in tow, I meet and converse with more moms than I did before, and have discovered how, for many of us, the trip to the grocery store is a significant social event in our weekly routines. There we are peeking down the aisles looking for each other, for solace and camaraderie as much as we are yogurt and granola bars. How did we get to be so isolated from our surroundings, from our neighbors and friends, that food shopping is where we find each other, bleary-eyed and starved for grown-up conversation? I have stood in store aisles laughing and crying with other new mothers. Yeah, crying. It happens.
On the other hand, maybe this habit is a continuation of historical practices, the modern-day version of hunting parties or foraging expeditions. The search for, or cultivation of, food has- out of necessity- always been a group activity; you can grow and catch and gather a lot more food as a group than you can on your own. That is, until grocery stores (and suburbs and all the conveniences of modern life) made us into self-sufficient animals... or so we thought. We still need each other, especially new mothers. We need support and comfort for and from each other. We don't live in groups anymore, for the most part; we don't have many group rituals left. I can't help but view my weekly trips to the grocery store as being as much about food-procurement as connecting with that social networking need, reminding each other that we are not alone.
On the other hand, maybe this habit is a continuation of historical practices, the modern-day version of hunting parties or foraging expeditions. The search for, or cultivation of, food has- out of necessity- always been a group activity; you can grow and catch and gather a lot more food as a group than you can on your own. That is, until grocery stores (and suburbs and all the conveniences of modern life) made us into self-sufficient animals... or so we thought. We still need each other, especially new mothers. We need support and comfort for and from each other. We don't live in groups anymore, for the most part; we don't have many group rituals left. I can't help but view my weekly trips to the grocery store as being as much about food-procurement as connecting with that social networking need, reminding each other that we are not alone.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Of Bellydance and Baby, or How I learned to Love My Body
I think I was about 11 or so when, like most other girls, I started to feel self-conscious and even embarassed by my body. I was a "tomboy" at that age, and I looked like it. Through middle school I read Seventeen Magazine, compartmentalized my body into segments, learned what was wrong with each one. I completed high school with a laundry list of what I perceived to be physical defects that I felt I would never be able to fix.
It was the summer of 2000 when I took my first bellydance lesson. I had seen Fire in the Belly perform a couple of times in years past and was in awe.; I wanted to learn how to do that. At that first lesson, the teacher said something that has meant a great deal to me ever since. The objective in bellydance, she said, is to develop two things: strength and grace. Grace is kind of obvious- you just don't look good dancing without it. You also can't bellydance well if you are not strong. You must have strong stomach muscles, obviously, but you must also have strong legs and arms. There are a great number of accomplished bellydancers who have "bellies" and who can roll them in ways that just don't look possible and it's because what lies underneath that curvaceous belly is some extremely strong muscle. After taking up bellydance, I started to appreciate my body because I saw it doing beautiful things, not in spite of being curvy, but because I was curvy. I discovered that I could do something extraordinary, beautiful and powerful with what I had.
In the subsequent years, as I have continued to study and watch bellydance, I have seen women of all ages and sizes take to the stage and demonstrate these qualities beautifully. More often than not we don't have lean tummies, or long, slender legs. We have curves, some of us more than others, and we are not afraid to use them. Some of us have stretch marks, and we are not afraid to show them. Bellydance taught me to say, to myself more than anyone else, "Hey, look what my hips can do! Look what my belly can do! Look how wonderful that jiggle is!" Strength and grace: that is what we have; that is what makes us beautiful.
Fast forward 8 years and I am pregnant. I begin, as any good student would, by reading everything I can about pregnancy. I read the week-by-week books, I scour online sources and I come away with a singular feeling: dread. Those books made me paranoid about all of the things that could (but probably wouldn't) go wrong with my baby's in-utero development and birth. I've always been one to assert that information is power and the more you know, the better; however, I make an exception here. There is such a thing as too much information, at which point you can start to stress about things you don't need to stress about, which does more harm than good.
So, I stopped reading the scary books and started reading birth stories. I learned how varied the birth experience can be, that sometimes scary things do happen, but that more often than not, things go just fine, as long as you take good care of yourself. Gradually, I stopped being afraid. I learned that my body was doing everything it needed to do and that the baby was getting everything he needed. The human body, in general, is an astonishing thing and women's bodies in particular, I have discovered, are particularly remarkable. Left to its own devices, it can do some pretty far out stuff.
As my due date approached, I became more and more excited about giving birth. I felt strong and calm, I knew I had good labor support, and most of all I knew that my body could do this. And it did. Better than I even could have imagined- my delivery, from start to finish, lasted 3 hours, and it would have gone by faster if I hadn't had to hold the baby in until the OB got there!
Yeah, now I have some stretch marks- I think of them as badges that prove that I did something profound and beautiful. And nursing a hungry baby is certainly hastening the effects of gravity on my cleavage, but hey, um, you know, I'm feeding a human being with them, which is, in my book, pretty and cool. My body isn't "perfect;" I'm still short, I don't have long skinny legs, etc. etc.- but I can bring life into the world, I can nourish it and I can dance like there's no tomorrow. Moreover, I see my body as a whole; instead of a composite of imperfect parts, I see the parts as connected, as integral to the strong and graceful functioning of the whole thing. Strength and grace. That's what I have, that's what makes me beautiful.
It was the summer of 2000 when I took my first bellydance lesson. I had seen Fire in the Belly perform a couple of times in years past and was in awe.; I wanted to learn how to do that. At that first lesson, the teacher said something that has meant a great deal to me ever since. The objective in bellydance, she said, is to develop two things: strength and grace. Grace is kind of obvious- you just don't look good dancing without it. You also can't bellydance well if you are not strong. You must have strong stomach muscles, obviously, but you must also have strong legs and arms. There are a great number of accomplished bellydancers who have "bellies" and who can roll them in ways that just don't look possible and it's because what lies underneath that curvaceous belly is some extremely strong muscle. After taking up bellydance, I started to appreciate my body because I saw it doing beautiful things, not in spite of being curvy, but because I was curvy. I discovered that I could do something extraordinary, beautiful and powerful with what I had.
In the subsequent years, as I have continued to study and watch bellydance, I have seen women of all ages and sizes take to the stage and demonstrate these qualities beautifully. More often than not we don't have lean tummies, or long, slender legs. We have curves, some of us more than others, and we are not afraid to use them. Some of us have stretch marks, and we are not afraid to show them. Bellydance taught me to say, to myself more than anyone else, "Hey, look what my hips can do! Look what my belly can do! Look how wonderful that jiggle is!" Strength and grace: that is what we have; that is what makes us beautiful.
Fast forward 8 years and I am pregnant. I begin, as any good student would, by reading everything I can about pregnancy. I read the week-by-week books, I scour online sources and I come away with a singular feeling: dread. Those books made me paranoid about all of the things that could (but probably wouldn't) go wrong with my baby's in-utero development and birth. I've always been one to assert that information is power and the more you know, the better; however, I make an exception here. There is such a thing as too much information, at which point you can start to stress about things you don't need to stress about, which does more harm than good.
So, I stopped reading the scary books and started reading birth stories. I learned how varied the birth experience can be, that sometimes scary things do happen, but that more often than not, things go just fine, as long as you take good care of yourself. Gradually, I stopped being afraid. I learned that my body was doing everything it needed to do and that the baby was getting everything he needed. The human body, in general, is an astonishing thing and women's bodies in particular, I have discovered, are particularly remarkable. Left to its own devices, it can do some pretty far out stuff.
As my due date approached, I became more and more excited about giving birth. I felt strong and calm, I knew I had good labor support, and most of all I knew that my body could do this. And it did. Better than I even could have imagined- my delivery, from start to finish, lasted 3 hours, and it would have gone by faster if I hadn't had to hold the baby in until the OB got there!
Yeah, now I have some stretch marks- I think of them as badges that prove that I did something profound and beautiful. And nursing a hungry baby is certainly hastening the effects of gravity on my cleavage, but hey, um, you know, I'm feeding a human being with them, which is, in my book, pretty and cool. My body isn't "perfect;" I'm still short, I don't have long skinny legs, etc. etc.- but I can bring life into the world, I can nourish it and I can dance like there's no tomorrow. Moreover, I see my body as a whole; instead of a composite of imperfect parts, I see the parts as connected, as integral to the strong and graceful functioning of the whole thing. Strength and grace. That's what I have, that's what makes me beautiful.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A New Start
It's been a couple of years since I started this blog or added anything to it, but now that I have started a new chapter in my life- motherhood- I have a lot of things to say and feel the need to start anew. Becoming a mother turns your whole life upside-down. Everything about my days and nights is categorically different than before my son was born, and in many ways my perspectives and ideas have shifted accordingly.
There is an interesting paradox here, because while almost everything about my life is different (no more desk job, no more late nights out, very different social scene...), I am and I am not the same person. I still have the same needs, dreams, and fears I had before (plus a few more, now that I have a baby!); I still love doing the same things I did before and I do miss being able to go to dance class, take a spontaneous day trip, or act in a play when I feel like it. My heart is the same, it just has more love in it. My mind is the same, it just has more to tend to.
So in many ways, I am still the same Me; but from my experience of early motherhood so far it seems as though people treat you as if you are altogether a different person, not just that you have a different life situation, once you have a child. To the extent that some people I used to be social with barely seems able to say "Hello" when I see them in public. I should qualify that: people that I used to be social with who don't have children- which is almost everyone since I am the first of my friends to have a baby. It's not like I suddenly don't know how to socialize with people who don't have kids.
On the other hand, I am also very different than I was before I had a baby, and necessarily so. Aside from the obvious child-related responsibilities, worries, and joys, I feel different. I feel like I get to be a part of something totally sacred, but definitely hard. Personally, I feel like I have been given a very big challenge, but a one that is also a blessing. I don't feel like I was ever the center of my universe, but I'm definitely not now!
I also relate very differently to my body now. Granted, I have been pretty fortunate with my post-partum figure, but I really feel like I care less about my body looking a particular way; instead, I am grateful for it and what it has been able to do. I am grateful for its ability to house a growing baby and then deliver it into the world with such strength power. I am grateful for the nourishment it has provided my son before and after his birth. I don't fuss over the imperfections anymore; rather, I see it as a whole and as an incredible system that has done amazing things about which I feel really good.
So I am not the same person that I was before- but maybe "same" and "different" are inadequate terms. I am growing, developing, adding to my repertoire. Starting anew, but not from scratch.
There is an interesting paradox here, because while almost everything about my life is different (no more desk job, no more late nights out, very different social scene...), I am and I am not the same person. I still have the same needs, dreams, and fears I had before (plus a few more, now that I have a baby!); I still love doing the same things I did before and I do miss being able to go to dance class, take a spontaneous day trip, or act in a play when I feel like it. My heart is the same, it just has more love in it. My mind is the same, it just has more to tend to.
So in many ways, I am still the same Me; but from my experience of early motherhood so far it seems as though people treat you as if you are altogether a different person, not just that you have a different life situation, once you have a child. To the extent that some people I used to be social with barely seems able to say "Hello" when I see them in public. I should qualify that: people that I used to be social with who don't have children- which is almost everyone since I am the first of my friends to have a baby. It's not like I suddenly don't know how to socialize with people who don't have kids.
On the other hand, I am also very different than I was before I had a baby, and necessarily so. Aside from the obvious child-related responsibilities, worries, and joys, I feel different. I feel like I get to be a part of something totally sacred, but definitely hard. Personally, I feel like I have been given a very big challenge, but a one that is also a blessing. I don't feel like I was ever the center of my universe, but I'm definitely not now!
I also relate very differently to my body now. Granted, I have been pretty fortunate with my post-partum figure, but I really feel like I care less about my body looking a particular way; instead, I am grateful for it and what it has been able to do. I am grateful for its ability to house a growing baby and then deliver it into the world with such strength power. I am grateful for the nourishment it has provided my son before and after his birth. I don't fuss over the imperfections anymore; rather, I see it as a whole and as an incredible system that has done amazing things about which I feel really good.
So I am not the same person that I was before- but maybe "same" and "different" are inadequate terms. I am growing, developing, adding to my repertoire. Starting anew, but not from scratch.
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