So the Bug is starting to get to an age where she can tell the difference between suitable television programing and my secret pleasure, the Real Housewives. (I can't get enough of 'em, although I totally think all the New Jersey Housewives are completely whack-a-do.) She's been a bit under the weather the past few days, so I've been letting her watch more TV than usual, since she hasn't been as into chasing the dog around the sofa as she is when her energy level is normal.
So I've been watching Sprout and Nickelodeon.
Okay, so it is time to date myself a bit. The TV I remember watching when I was a preschooler is pretty much Reading Rainbow and Sesame Street. Beyond that, my mom watched Days of Our Lives and Another World.
Some things I have learned from this new generation of children's shows.
1. Australians are really freakin' weird.
Example 1a: Dirt Girl World
Okay, so it is actually a co-production of the CBC and the ABC, but all the creepy little people and bugs have Aussie accents, so I lay this at the feet of the Aussies.
2. Brits are a bit odd as well. (Perhaps I should have combined these into one and just laid it at the feet of the entire Commonwealth. Perhaps this oddness is the lasting influence of the royal family?)
Example 2a: Rubbadubbers, a series that takes place entirely in a bathroom in stop motion.
Example 2b: Fireman Sam. It seems that Fireman Sam and his cohort are Welsh, and it is interesting to note that when the show originally aired, it was in Welsh. Even for a kids show, however, the morals seem a bit tidy. Also, I find a few of the voices a bit off, and the Welsh accents make me think of the show Torchwood, so I keep waiting for Capitan Jack Harkness to swoop in and blame the rift, and possibly hire and/or sleep with Fireman Sam or his sidekick who is, inexplicably, named Elvis.
3. Math can solve anything. The Bug loves a show on Nick called "Team UmiZoomi" in which 2 Smurf-sized children and their handy Robot solve Umi City's problems with their Mighty Math Powers. The show actually reinforces important skills for preschoolers like shapes, pattern recognition and counting, but the breadth of problems they solve with math is nothing short of stunning. They've found lost toys, gotten planes off the ground, made sure Grandma got her "I Love You Day" cookies. The part the Bug likes best is the song at the end.
4. It's all good if you can end the day with a song. Just ask Team UmiZoomi or Dora the Explorer.
I still want to know what Dora would do if she didn't find her objective and couldn't sing the "We Did It" song at the end of an episode.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Stupid Stuff I Love
So I have this in-law. She knows everything. Just ask her, and she'll tell you everything there is to know about everything. When presented with any question, this particular relative will emphatically tell the asker why her opinion is RIGHT. When I seek out friends to help me edit my dissertation, I won't ask her, largely because she will suddenly develop a deep knowledge of my field and attempt to debate points of methodology with me.
When I registered for gear for the Bug, this particular relative called me to critique roughly half of the baby stuff I had picked out. She has 2 kids, and of course she knew what we needed. She has, in fact, given us a lot of hand-me-downs, and I'm not saying we don't appreciate them, but I'm also a grown person and I would like to make a few decisions on my own for my child. And while I am all about the frugal, one of the advantages of a middle-class existence is that one has the means to get a few frivolous things.
Indeed, there is at least one baby item that DH and I use in part to spite this particular relation.
In light of this, thanks to the anonymous nature of the internet, here is a short list of baby stuff that I have loved so far that she thought were dumb.
1. Our wipe warmer. It is pretty frivolous in its own way... after all, the Bug survives when we are out and about and she has to deal with a room-temperature wipe. But the warmed wipes are particularly nice when she has a diaper rash or when she has woken up in the middle of the night and needs to be changed, as it eases the shock of suddenly being unwrapped down to a naked bum. If you get the right sort and maintain it correctly, it doesn't dry out the wipes.
2. The Boppy Newborn Lounger. This thing was awesome when the Bug was smaller. She was never one for chilling out in mechanical moving things (i.e. bouncy seats or swings), and has always been one for being near people.
We were able to put her on it next to us where ever we were and she could just chill out. I loved this thing, the Bug loved this thing.
3. The nursing cover. I happen to have one by Balboa Baby. We like it, mostly. It is either appropriate or an evil thing of covering my child. I prefer this to the know-it-all relative's approach, which was to nurse her children in public restrooms. I'm sorry, but that's kind of gross, if you ask me.
4. Newborn sized diapers. In these days of 8 and 10lb babies, there are a number of kiddos who never need these. The bug was 6lbs 5oz when she was born. For the first few weeks, the size 1s were just way too big. Sure, the size 1s mostly kept poop off of us, but the newborn ones fit so much better. We didn't need a massive case of them or anything, but they did the job so much better than the size 1s, which the nosey relative assured us were all we would need.
When I registered for gear for the Bug, this particular relative called me to critique roughly half of the baby stuff I had picked out. She has 2 kids, and of course she knew what we needed. She has, in fact, given us a lot of hand-me-downs, and I'm not saying we don't appreciate them, but I'm also a grown person and I would like to make a few decisions on my own for my child. And while I am all about the frugal, one of the advantages of a middle-class existence is that one has the means to get a few frivolous things.
Indeed, there is at least one baby item that DH and I use in part to spite this particular relation.
In light of this, thanks to the anonymous nature of the internet, here is a short list of baby stuff that I have loved so far that she thought were dumb.
1. Our wipe warmer. It is pretty frivolous in its own way... after all, the Bug survives when we are out and about and she has to deal with a room-temperature wipe. But the warmed wipes are particularly nice when she has a diaper rash or when she has woken up in the middle of the night and needs to be changed, as it eases the shock of suddenly being unwrapped down to a naked bum. If you get the right sort and maintain it correctly, it doesn't dry out the wipes.
2. The Boppy Newborn Lounger. This thing was awesome when the Bug was smaller. She was never one for chilling out in mechanical moving things (i.e. bouncy seats or swings), and has always been one for being near people.
We were able to put her on it next to us where ever we were and she could just chill out. I loved this thing, the Bug loved this thing.
3. The nursing cover. I happen to have one by Balboa Baby. We like it, mostly. It is either appropriate or an evil thing of covering my child. I prefer this to the know-it-all relative's approach, which was to nurse her children in public restrooms. I'm sorry, but that's kind of gross, if you ask me.
4. Newborn sized diapers. In these days of 8 and 10lb babies, there are a number of kiddos who never need these. The bug was 6lbs 5oz when she was born. For the first few weeks, the size 1s were just way too big. Sure, the size 1s mostly kept poop off of us, but the newborn ones fit so much better. We didn't need a massive case of them or anything, but they did the job so much better than the size 1s, which the nosey relative assured us were all we would need.
Monday, December 6, 2010
The Nine Month Old
So every time the Bug goes for her check ups, our pediatrician (who we love), gives us a hand out about what she should be doing at this stage. I thought I'd share where she stands on the milestones that they outline in this month's hand out.
1. "Sits Alone"
What you can't see there is that she is actually leaning forward from the back of the crib, not just leaning on the headboard.
2. "Crawls or scoots, then pulls to standing."
The poor dog. Dude can't escape if the baby gate is up.
And the list of stuff she can mess with just tripled.
3." Picks up small objects with thumb and forefinger... and feeds self..."
What they fail to mention is how pleased she'll be with this particular skill or she will feed herself paper.
4. "Babbles 'ma ma' and 'da da' and enjoys music."
They don't mention that she will also imistate inflections and start sounding like a miniature professor.
They also don't mention that baby ninja will cut her mommy in the middle of the night as some sort of warning. (Sweat heart, if you didn't like the Turkey Vegetable puree, you could have just told me.)
Ninja baby gives her target a warning slice while the target ... on Twitpic
They suggest that she might be afraid of animals. (See above.)
1. "Sits Alone"
What you can't see there is that she is actually leaning forward from the back of the crib, not just leaning on the headboard.
2. "Crawls or scoots, then pulls to standing."
The poor dog. Dude can't escape if the baby gate is up.
3." Picks up small objects with thumb and forefinger... and feeds self..."
What they fail to mention is how pleased she'll be with this particular skill or she will feed herself paper.
4. "Babbles 'ma ma' and 'da da' and enjoys music."
They don't mention that she will also imistate inflections and start sounding like a miniature professor.
They also don't mention that baby ninja will cut her mommy in the middle of the night as some sort of warning. (Sweat heart, if you didn't like the Turkey Vegetable puree, you could have just told me.)
Ninja baby gives her target a warning slice while the target ... on Twitpic
They suggest that she might be afraid of animals. (See above.)
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Attachment Parenting and the Real World
So recently, feminist Erica Jong published an essay called "The Madness of Motherhood" in the Wall Street Journal. In essence, it decries the form of parenting known as Attachment Parenting (or, in internet-speak, A.P.) as stifling to women, something that families choose out of guilt or a misguided sense that they can make their children more perfect through perfect nurturing.
I've read it. I've also read Ph.D. in Parenting's refutation of it.
Then I read the comments that followed her entry in response to it. When I read the comments in response to things on the internet, this is often where I get into trouble. I don't fully agree with the author of Ph.D. in parenting, but I see her point that Jong made some flawed assumptions based on a limited understanding of attachment parenting. But one of the commenters said this about attachment parenting:
Wait. Let's back up. I'm going to assume for a few minutes that some of my tens of fans don't know what A.P. is. So, first, a quick and dirty primer on it might be useful. Attachment Parenting is a style of parenting largely advocated by pediatrician William Sears and his wife, RN Martha Sears, that argues that the best way to raise a child is for them to have a secure emotional attachment to his or her parents. The most concise reading material on the subject is the Sears's book The Baby Book. But in a nutshell, they advocate bonding as soon as possible after the child's birth, breastfeeding, baby wearing, sleep sharing, respecting a baby's cry as a communication tool, and finding balance with parenting and oneself. It does put, if one were to aspire to the ideal presented in the books, a large portion of the parenting duties in Mom's lap.
In a lot of ways, this sums up how we're parenting the Bug. She sleeps in our room, sometimes our bed, she's breastfed, we don't let her "cry it out," and the Sleepy Wrap is still one of our favourite things. But I am wary to say that I am an "attachment parent." I am wary of this, because any number of unfortunate things have been perpetrated in its name over the years. Ideally, it is not overly permissive. But in practice, sometimes it is. I've seen how this ends in college students who have never, not even once, been told "no." This isn't how AP should be practised, but sometimes it is. This is certainly a large part of the media portrayal of AP and the "easy" way to interpret it.
My whole goal as a parent is to put myself out of business. I want to raise the Bug to be an independent woman who knows her own mind and can deal with the pressures of the real world. To do this, DH and I will have to craft our own style that deals with the Bug's unique temperament and communication style. Right now, a lot of our tools come from AP. Later, they may come from elsewhere.
But I read the Sears Parenting Library books as references because they give me useful tools. Because I live in the real world, not fantasy mommy-land where magical faeries provide us with food and shelter, I am not the ideal AP. I fall out of balance. I get frustrated. I use the stroller instead of the carrier. I occasionally fantasize about how, in some ways, bottle feeding would be easier. (No public nudity. No fear that I am the cause of any discomfort she may have.)
I read the AP literature and handbooks for the same reason I buy the special edition Martha Stewart holiday cookie magazine every year. (Dudes, it just hit news stands. That's like my porn.) I can't do everything in there. I'm not going to hand pipe 100 gingerbread reindeer then sprinkle them with disco dust or sparkle sugar so they look perfect. But I will use some of what I learn. I won't do every AP thing 100% of the time. I will use other caregivers, I will start solids "early."
Because I live in the real world. And sometimes you just have to admit that you aren't going to make the cute little cookie mice with the licorice tails and almond sliver ears. Sometimes you can't cope with the baby crying, and let someone else handle it. Sometimes your back hurts and baby wearing is just out for the day. But you need the whole tool box to know what does and doesn't work, what you can and cannot balance with your real life.
I resent the hell out of parenting sometimes. And sometimes, I think if we had chosen a different way to parent the Bug, I'd resent it less. But, in the end, I know the tools we've chosen are the ones that will let her grow up into the kind of adult that we want her to become. Sometimes it isn't freeing.
Because in the real world, everything is a pain in the ass sometimes.
I've read it. I've also read Ph.D. in Parenting's refutation of it.
Then I read the comments that followed her entry in response to it. When I read the comments in response to things on the internet, this is often where I get into trouble. I don't fully agree with the author of Ph.D. in parenting, but I see her point that Jong made some flawed assumptions based on a limited understanding of attachment parenting. But one of the commenters said this about attachment parenting:
No one I know who practices A.P. to any degree feels like it is stifling. On the contrary, we feel it is freeing because it is easier and creates fewer battles with out [sic.] childrenHere's the thing. A.P. can be stifling.
Wait. Let's back up. I'm going to assume for a few minutes that some of my tens of fans don't know what A.P. is. So, first, a quick and dirty primer on it might be useful. Attachment Parenting is a style of parenting largely advocated by pediatrician William Sears and his wife, RN Martha Sears, that argues that the best way to raise a child is for them to have a secure emotional attachment to his or her parents. The most concise reading material on the subject is the Sears's book The Baby Book. But in a nutshell, they advocate bonding as soon as possible after the child's birth, breastfeeding, baby wearing, sleep sharing, respecting a baby's cry as a communication tool, and finding balance with parenting and oneself. It does put, if one were to aspire to the ideal presented in the books, a large portion of the parenting duties in Mom's lap.
In a lot of ways, this sums up how we're parenting the Bug. She sleeps in our room, sometimes our bed, she's breastfed, we don't let her "cry it out," and the Sleepy Wrap is still one of our favourite things. But I am wary to say that I am an "attachment parent." I am wary of this, because any number of unfortunate things have been perpetrated in its name over the years. Ideally, it is not overly permissive. But in practice, sometimes it is. I've seen how this ends in college students who have never, not even once, been told "no." This isn't how AP should be practised, but sometimes it is. This is certainly a large part of the media portrayal of AP and the "easy" way to interpret it.
My whole goal as a parent is to put myself out of business. I want to raise the Bug to be an independent woman who knows her own mind and can deal with the pressures of the real world. To do this, DH and I will have to craft our own style that deals with the Bug's unique temperament and communication style. Right now, a lot of our tools come from AP. Later, they may come from elsewhere.
But I read the Sears Parenting Library books as references because they give me useful tools. Because I live in the real world, not fantasy mommy-land where magical faeries provide us with food and shelter, I am not the ideal AP. I fall out of balance. I get frustrated. I use the stroller instead of the carrier. I occasionally fantasize about how, in some ways, bottle feeding would be easier. (No public nudity. No fear that I am the cause of any discomfort she may have.)
I read the AP literature and handbooks for the same reason I buy the special edition Martha Stewart holiday cookie magazine every year. (Dudes, it just hit news stands. That's like my porn.) I can't do everything in there. I'm not going to hand pipe 100 gingerbread reindeer then sprinkle them with disco dust or sparkle sugar so they look perfect. But I will use some of what I learn. I won't do every AP thing 100% of the time. I will use other caregivers, I will start solids "early."
Because I live in the real world. And sometimes you just have to admit that you aren't going to make the cute little cookie mice with the licorice tails and almond sliver ears. Sometimes you can't cope with the baby crying, and let someone else handle it. Sometimes your back hurts and baby wearing is just out for the day. But you need the whole tool box to know what does and doesn't work, what you can and cannot balance with your real life.
I resent the hell out of parenting sometimes. And sometimes, I think if we had chosen a different way to parent the Bug, I'd resent it less. But, in the end, I know the tools we've chosen are the ones that will let her grow up into the kind of adult that we want her to become. Sometimes it isn't freeing.
Because in the real world, everything is a pain in the ass sometimes.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Authors of Baby Sleep Books are Big Fat Liars
Because the truth, as I have discovered it, wouldn't sell books. It would be boring and depressing.
The truth of baby sleep is this: their little brains are developing, their little bodies are developing, and their sleep habits are constantly changing.
It doesn't matter what you do, if you let the poor little dear cry until they vomit, come console them at regular scheduled intervals, snuggle with them in a family bed, or some hybrid of the above. They're going to do what they're going to do and not consult the adults whose very sanity lies in their precious little hands as to what would make those adults happiest. Sometimes they're going to go down easily at 8pm and sleep quietly until 7am, and sometimes they refuse to even consider sleep until 10pm, and then wake up at 1am and 6am.
The one thing I have found is that snuggling seems to keep the crying at a minimum, and I just don't see how letting the Bug cry it out would change anything, except possibly to get me put on blood pressure meds. I have friends who are firm believers in cry-it-out, and they deal with the same sleep issues we do.
The problem with the sleep books is that they lead a mother to believe that she is a moral failure if her child doesn't sleep a beautific 10 hours at night and take two easy two hour naps during the day, promptly at 10am and 2pm.
I am not a moral failure. Those guys (and they are, for the most part, men) are just assholes.
The truth of baby sleep is this: their little brains are developing, their little bodies are developing, and their sleep habits are constantly changing.
It doesn't matter what you do, if you let the poor little dear cry until they vomit, come console them at regular scheduled intervals, snuggle with them in a family bed, or some hybrid of the above. They're going to do what they're going to do and not consult the adults whose very sanity lies in their precious little hands as to what would make those adults happiest. Sometimes they're going to go down easily at 8pm and sleep quietly until 7am, and sometimes they refuse to even consider sleep until 10pm, and then wake up at 1am and 6am.
The one thing I have found is that snuggling seems to keep the crying at a minimum, and I just don't see how letting the Bug cry it out would change anything, except possibly to get me put on blood pressure meds. I have friends who are firm believers in cry-it-out, and they deal with the same sleep issues we do.
The problem with the sleep books is that they lead a mother to believe that she is a moral failure if her child doesn't sleep a beautific 10 hours at night and take two easy two hour naps during the day, promptly at 10am and 2pm.
I am not a moral failure. Those guys (and they are, for the most part, men) are just assholes.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Pendulum Swing
Back in 1963, Betty Friedan published a ground-breaking work of American feminist literature, The Feminine Mystique. In that book, Friedan suggested that many American women felt trapped as housewives, in part because the vast majority of housework (the expected primary occupation of women) could be accomplished by an 8-year-old child. She decried the infatalization of women and the several intellectual systems (including Freudian psychoanalysis and certain social sciences) which created a belief in society that women were less capable than their male counterparts.
The Feminine Mystique is not without its problems. It over-simplifies the issues, has a marked middle-class bias, and the writing could be better. But it raised an important point, than now, in watching the early seasons of AMC's Mad Men can be seen acted out in lovely costumes and exciting plot lines. Women were treated like small children, first by their fathers, then by their husbands. Anyone who existed outside this mold was likely a lesbian or otherwise mentally ill.
In the nearly 50 years since the publication of that book, society has changed. Women now have higher rates of achieving university degrees and have access to fields they didn't in the 1960s. Our mothers were told they could have it all, by the women's movement, then later by the manufacturers of hair colour and cigarettes.
As women have taken more responsibility outside the home, however, something odd has happened. They haven't let go of their responsibilities in the home. Instead, many women work what has been called "the second shift," coming home and bearing the responsibility for kids and household. And our popular culture represents men as idiots.
That's right. Watch any family sitcom, listen to any stand up comic who talks about his family, and... well, if the space aliens are learning about us from our television, they must assume that the average married American male is functionally retarded.
This clip is just one of dozens of examples.
My point is this: we've gone from treating women like infants to treating men like infants. We find it funny when men can't manage to change a diaper or clean a kitchen, but a woman must do this in heels, while supervising everything her children do and holding a full time job.
If said woman fails at any of these things or asks for help, she is a failure. I know dozens of intelligent women with university degrees who spend much of their time trying to keep all of these plates spinning.
But I don't think I should have to ask for help. Simply put, when I have to ask my husband to help, that is one more bloody thing I have to do. Furthermore, it creates an unequal power dynamic. All at once, it sets me up as the weaker party: I am coming to him because I cannot handle my role in the household. (As opposed to his role which is to bitch about the water bill and overstimulate the baby.) It also, however, sets me up in a supervisory capacity for things that regard our child-- he does it and asks me if he did it right.
And I'm supposed to be proud of him for getting a diaper on right, or not letting her drown in her bath, or cutting her nails without damage to either party involved. I'm just over it.
We need to treat men like adults.
The Feminine Mystique is not without its problems. It over-simplifies the issues, has a marked middle-class bias, and the writing could be better. But it raised an important point, than now, in watching the early seasons of AMC's Mad Men can be seen acted out in lovely costumes and exciting plot lines. Women were treated like small children, first by their fathers, then by their husbands. Anyone who existed outside this mold was likely a lesbian or otherwise mentally ill.
In the nearly 50 years since the publication of that book, society has changed. Women now have higher rates of achieving university degrees and have access to fields they didn't in the 1960s. Our mothers were told they could have it all, by the women's movement, then later by the manufacturers of hair colour and cigarettes.
As women have taken more responsibility outside the home, however, something odd has happened. They haven't let go of their responsibilities in the home. Instead, many women work what has been called "the second shift," coming home and bearing the responsibility for kids and household. And our popular culture represents men as idiots.
That's right. Watch any family sitcom, listen to any stand up comic who talks about his family, and... well, if the space aliens are learning about us from our television, they must assume that the average married American male is functionally retarded.
This clip is just one of dozens of examples.
My point is this: we've gone from treating women like infants to treating men like infants. We find it funny when men can't manage to change a diaper or clean a kitchen, but a woman must do this in heels, while supervising everything her children do and holding a full time job.
If said woman fails at any of these things or asks for help, she is a failure. I know dozens of intelligent women with university degrees who spend much of their time trying to keep all of these plates spinning.
But I don't think I should have to ask for help. Simply put, when I have to ask my husband to help, that is one more bloody thing I have to do. Furthermore, it creates an unequal power dynamic. All at once, it sets me up as the weaker party: I am coming to him because I cannot handle my role in the household. (As opposed to his role which is to bitch about the water bill and overstimulate the baby.) It also, however, sets me up in a supervisory capacity for things that regard our child-- he does it and asks me if he did it right.
And I'm supposed to be proud of him for getting a diaper on right, or not letting her drown in her bath, or cutting her nails without damage to either party involved. I'm just over it.
We need to treat men like adults.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Working Mama
That's right, I got a job.
I'm going to be an adjunct instructor of *insert liberal arts discipline here.* Translated from academic-ese, that basically means I get paid peanuts and am considered one, very tiny step above the cleaning crew in importance. My office, assuming I get one, will be in a basement of a building no where near where I teach or where my department resides, and will be tiny and mostly likely shared with 2 or 3 people who likely bathe infrequently and need said office exactly when I do.
But it is a job. Three days a week, I will have to get up early, leave the house alone, and converse with grown ups regularly about topics other than the Bug's bowel movements and sleep habits.*
I am terrified. Of leaving her, of realizing I like working more than I like being at home with her, that I will no longer like the work I enjoyed before her.
But I don't really have time for that. We have to find daycare instead. Yikes. Also, I have to relearn how to walk in big girl shoes.
*Please note that I use the term "grown ups" a bit loosely here: I will be teaching college kids. According to the law, they are adults. In my past experience, they don't behave as such, but they won't generally talk about poop with me. Nor, in fact, will they poop on me.
I'm going to be an adjunct instructor of *insert liberal arts discipline here.* Translated from academic-ese, that basically means I get paid peanuts and am considered one, very tiny step above the cleaning crew in importance. My office, assuming I get one, will be in a basement of a building no where near where I teach or where my department resides, and will be tiny and mostly likely shared with 2 or 3 people who likely bathe infrequently and need said office exactly when I do.
But it is a job. Three days a week, I will have to get up early, leave the house alone, and converse with grown ups regularly about topics other than the Bug's bowel movements and sleep habits.*
I am terrified. Of leaving her, of realizing I like working more than I like being at home with her, that I will no longer like the work I enjoyed before her.
But I don't really have time for that. We have to find daycare instead. Yikes. Also, I have to relearn how to walk in big girl shoes.
*Please note that I use the term "grown ups" a bit loosely here: I will be teaching college kids. According to the law, they are adults. In my past experience, they don't behave as such, but they won't generally talk about poop with me. Nor, in fact, will they poop on me.
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