Il faut faire le point, maman…

The French have garnered some parenting interest lately thanks to the book Bringing up Bébé.  But I am not here to defend or critique  that book—smarter and better writers than I have tackled that hoopla.  Rather, this week, my internal Francophile has been musing over a great French expression, faire le point. It has a number of meanings: finding one’s bearings, re-setting your compass, or taking stock of the situation at hand. 

Ever have one of those weeks where you feel like you got up on the wrong side of the bed, day after day after day?  When everything seems to get on your nerves? Waiting for the guy at the coffee counter who is more interested in flirting with customers than serving coffee…the lady in the fur coat in front of me at the grocery store fishing for that 24 cents of exact change in her enormous fanny pack (incongruous image, I know), the coffee leaking from that “spill-proof" mug into my overstuffed shopping bag…those little moments test my patience.

We all have those not-on-the-ball kinds of days, weeks, or god forbid, months.  But combined with a willful independent-minded 2 ½ year-old toddler, and it can be combustible.  Such was last week with my son.  Imagine: lots of throwing toys around, tackling his baby sister, and general misbehaving to get my attention. Already grouchy, I found myself at a loose end more than once, trying to keep it together for the both of us.  Not my finest hours of parenting. As I tried to take a deep breath during one difficult moment, I found myself thinking, Il faut faire le point.

I gave myself a time-out to get some perspective.  First, a little rant via email and voicemail to my two closest friends—both have young children and were able to give some reassurance: “Throwing and hitting aren’t acceptable. It’s good you are setting some limits,” and “It’s ok to be mad at your kid sometimes. We’re only human.” 

I also turned to some good old-fashioned bibliotherapy.  I took advantage of a couple of rare free hours in the afternoon midweek to go to a coffee shop, drink a latte, and read a little of “Positive Discipline” which helped me to find those bearings again. One of the phrases I thought was especially helpful was the guiding principle of being “kind and firm” with our budding preschooler. 

Not to say that we didn’t have more bumps in the road after that self-imposed time-out.  We muddled through a couple of more challenging situations, but also I tried out some new strategies, and slowly I am getting out of that rut I was in. My time-out was kind and firm to myself, which has translated to my being more kind and firm with my toddler.

The French have it right: Sometimes we gotta faire le point.

Learning to teach body image

Last week, my sister sent me this article: How to Talk to Little Girls. I think you should read it.

Some good points, huh? In the article, Lisa Bloom claims that adults tend to talk to little girls in terms of how they look or what they wear. This is not a great start in a world where more and more we value appearance over quality of person, where how thin you are seems more important than how kind or intelligent you are.

She points out that when she sees an adorable little girl, her first instinct is to complement her hair, dress, smile, whatever. I totally do this. I am going to try to stop.

(not stop making sincere complements, mind you, just stop using a comment about appearance as my default greeting)

Now that we have a baby girl, I am realizing I have a new responsibility to teach body image. I am also realizing that apparently I am old and crotchety, and nowadays high school girls routinely go out without any clothes. Those are not shorts! Those are panties! Where are your parents!?

Anyway, ahem. Back to my daughter.

How can I teach her to love her body, even if it turns out she has one like mine that was taller and thicker than the popular girls'? How can I keep her from looking at a skeletal fashion model or a skinny high-schooler in short shorts and thinking that is what all women are supposed to look like? How can I teach her that what actually matters is the kind of person you are, when so often appearance is rewarded over goodness?

I think my only chance in having some success here is to be a good role model. I have come a long way with my body issues, realizing a few years ago that I was totally buying in to this idea of appearance (especially thin-ness) over any other quality and it really pissed me off. I looked at myself and said hey! I just ran a half-marathon! And it was awesome!

And I'm supposed to feel badly about myself because my pants size has two digits!? NO WAY.

I refuse.

Around that time, I stopped weighing myself and stopped dieting. My life has been much better since. I eat a lot of vegetables and I exercise a lot, and happily things have been reasonably stable since then. I have had two babies and made it back to my pre-baby pants. Which are in a size that has two digits, and that is fine with me.

My anger at the weight-loss culture has allowed me to work on eating healthy food and exercising in the frame of how it makes me feel, instead of focusing only on thinness. Because this focus on thinness pisses me off. I am very happy I have been able to shift my mentality in this way, because for me, dieting was a big problem. I would become obsessed with food and what I could or could not eat and drop a bunch of weight. Then I would binge eat and feel awful. I was hungry all the time. Eventually I'd get burned out about dieting and the weight would come back, and I'd feel bad again. I was spending a whole lot of energy thinking about how my body looked, and was never really happy with it.

This is basically the exact opposite of what I want for my daughter. I hope that I have come far enough that I can show her an example of someone who eats (the right amount of) healthy food and exercises because it makes me feel good. I want to show her that I love my body because of the remarkable things it can do. We can go for a walk in the woods! I can play volleyball! I can GROW AND GIVE BIRTH TO AND FEED TWO ACTUAL LIVE HUMANS!!

And if I'm not totally at peace with my body yet because of the spider veins on my thighs or my not-exactly-perfectly toned triceps, you had better believe I am going to fake it. Where is my daughter going to learn to worry about whether or not a dress makes her look fat? It is not going to be from me. I hope to teach her to find clothes that she likes and that fit and that are fun, because clothes can be lots of fun. I hope I can be a reasonable role model for this, because I'm sure she will be hearing a different message from the media, and probably from her friends.

Starting solids

Ah, the magical time in an infant's life when they get to try solid foods. Parent’s first glimpse into the minefield that is Feeding Your Kid. Also known as the third item (behind breastfeeding and sleep training) on the list of things about which parents like to judge each other. Our baby girl is starting solids this month and boy does that bring back memories.

Mommy says rice cereal is good for my complexion

The American Academy of Pediatrics used to recommend only breastmilk (or formula) until 6mo. In 2005 they changed their position to state that complementary foods could be introduced between 4 and 8 months, depending on the particular infant. If you ask the internet when you should start to feed your baby solid foods, you will be given the conflicting advice to either start between 4-6 months or wait until after 6mo. Also, if you don’t start before/wait until after 6mo you are ruining your child, you heartless monster.

We started our older son on solids shortly after 4mo. Our pediatrician recommended it, our son did fine. Around 5mo I attended a “make your own baby food” class at a breastfeeding resource center near my home. Out of around 15 parents there, I was the ONLY one who was (or who had admitted to) starting solids before 6mo. During the introduction portion, when I said we had started solids at 4mo on the advice of our pediatrician, the guy next to me actually laughed. At me.

WOAH there, Daddy McJudgypants. Who, by the way, has brought 10 month old baby McJudgypants to a class that runs from 8-9:30 pm. Oh yes, I went there. I am not only a better parent than you, but also a better parent judger. You may be a heartless monster but I am a better heartless monster.

See how quickly these things can escalate?

I was really upset after this class, both by the jerk next to me and because this really hammered home for me that no one knows what the heck they are doing. With the exception of a few key issues (e.g. don’t shake your baby) we are all making this up as we go along. As a new parent, I wanted a definitive answer about everything. What do you MEAN I have to decide if I am ruining my child by letting him cry or by not letting him cry? How am I supposed to make that decision with no experience and everyone giving conflicting advice? What if I make the wrong call and then I am the heartless monster?

How am I going to justify my parenting decisions when someone accuses me of doing the wrong thing?

I have to say that for me, it is only with the luxury of time and experience that I have gained the confidence to brush off implications that I am making parenting mistakes. It was great for me to watch our friends with kids make different parenting decisions than we did. What do you know, their kids are fine. Huh. Perhaps the mom who lets her kid watch a bit of TV to unwind isn’t a heartless monster after all. Twenty-five years ago my mother in law mixed rice cereal into her babies' bottles the night they came home from the hospital. She loved her kids just as much as I love mine. I expect in another twenty-five years our kids will be advised to feed our grandbabies only avocado mixed with space-seaweed starting at 13.5 weeks exactly. These decisions are important, but we can only do the best we can with the information we have at the time.

My advice to new parents* is do the best research you can, and then go with what you think is right. You are the only one in charge, and if you are actually worrying about these things chances are you are doing a great job.

Besides, the people who question your decisions probably only let their kids play with gender-stereotyping toys and don’t buy organic grapes. They are totally heartless monsters.

*please humor me and pretend you asked

Radio Silence and the Art of Being Present

This weekend, my husband and I took the kids to a retreat with our synagogue. We stayed in a cabin, took walks in the woods, sang with the kids and made some new friends.

I was pretty nervous about going on this trip, since our kids are so young (2 years and 4 months). We weren't sure how they would do sleeping in the same room (they were great) or whether there would be other kids that young (there were) or if it would rain the entire time (it did, it didn't matter). But taking two young kids into the woods to uncertain sleeping and potty conditions was not the scariest thing we did this weekend.

Oh no, in the spirit of really getting away and observing shabbat, we turned off our cellphones. The entire time we were there.

I am a little embarrassed to tell you that this was even a big deal. What do I do on my phone that is so important anyway? Tool around on facebook? Be alerted that crocs are on sale at zulily? Schedule playdates for next week? Really. I am not determining the fate of the free world here. I am just so used to having the phone at all times, whipping it out to take pictures, look up the answer to a question, or read a book or some blogs.

Or check the time. My husband doesn't wear a watch and not having the phone clock totally stumped him.

I am most guilty of being addicted to the phone while nursing. Having the phone makes the time I am tied to the rocking chair a little adult break for me. Of course, when I am having that break, I am not paying attention to my daughter. I'm nursing her, but a good portion of my attention is on the palm of my hand.

It is important to me that my children feel like I am fully engaged with them. But I struggle with activities that honestly don't require my full attention, like nursing my daughter or watching my son take a bath. My mind wanders to the things I could be taking care of, the phone call to the roofer, the mess in the kitchen, the load of laundry that needs to go into the dryer. I like the idea of being fully present and really appreciating the little moments I have with my kids while they are so small. But there is just so much to do - those sippy cups really do have to be washed or my kid can't drink his milk later. And trying to be fully engaged in some of our daily activities is just mind-numbingly boring. Seriously, kid. Just eat the yogurt and let's move on.

The work of mothering is interesting like that - one moment you are bored to tears because FOR GOD'S SAKE GET OFF THE POTTY ALREADY YOU HAVE BEEN SITTING THERE FOR A HALF HOUR AND NO I DON'T WANT TO READ HOP ON POP AGAIN and the next moment you are totally overwhelmed because THERE IS ONLY ONE OF ME I KNOW YOU NEED YOUR MILK RIGHT THIS SECOND JUST HANG ON &*@*&% I AM COVERED IN POOP AGAIN.

ahem.

What I am saying is one second I'm really struggling the stay afloat, and the next I'm struggling to stay awake. What kind of crazy job is this? How am I supposed to be fully present when my day never seems to progress at the right pace for me?

If you have any answers for this, please leave them in the comments. Seriously - how does this work for you guys?

For me, I guess I'm going to practice. I am going to start by really cutting back on the phone. I may have to multitask between answering my 30th "why" question in a row and making dinner because we really do have to eat. I don't have to multitask between tummy time and twitter, because when it comes down to it, twitter just isn't important enough.

A Figment of Imagination

Image: Ashley Cox / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

My 2 year old son, N, has an imaginary friend. His name is Hoti (N is too young to tell me how to spell it but it’s pronounced “ho-tee”). I am assuming the fact that he is imaginary means I don’t have to worry about privacy concerns and that Hoti won’t sue me for using his name on the internet. Or if he decides to sue, he’ll at least use an imaginary lawyer.

Anyway, Hoti has begun to make appearances over the past month or so, and it is basically the cutest thing ever. On the way into the car, N will announce “Hoti is getting in first. Here you go Hoti!” We were going for a walk yesterday afternoon and N was pretending to hold Hoti’s hand. All of a sudden he turned around and walked the wrong way for a few steps, then said “No, Hoti! That’s the wrong way! This way!” and turned around with this big smile on his face like he knows he’s being clever.

I don’t think I ever had an imaginary friend and a quick conversation with my mom earlier this week confirmed that my sisters never had one either. I’m not sure why N has developed one – I suspect it is because he likes having someone who is totally under his control. His attempts to boss me around are met with “how do you ask nicely?” His attempts to boss his sister around are met with a gleeful coo but no action (at 4 months old she adores him, but can’t yet do his bidding. She is definitely in trouble once she can.) His attempts to boss the cats around result in a terrified scramble of cat hair out of the room. So I guess I can understand his wanting to be in charge of someone. N wants to feed someone, Hoti goes into the high chair. N wants to be better behaved than someone, Hoti runs into the street and N gets to scold him. You get the idea.

Since N gets to manipulate Hoti in order to fit his needs, this week I decided to do the same, and am starting to become convinced I am a parenting genius. At our house, we struggle with transitions a LOT. Now I have a new weapon! I just say fine, if N doesn’t want to stop playing and get in the bath I will give Hoti a bath instead. Poof! N is splashing around in 10 seconds or less. N doesn’t want to put his shoes on and I tell him fine, I’ll take Hoti to school instead. Poof! N is sitting on the rug with his socks!

It’s awesome. Though possibly manipulative. I figure I am entitled, since this is guaranteed to only work for about a week until I’m back to stuffing my kid kicking and screaming into his pajamas.

Author note – I let my husband read this post and he informed me that I according to the section on imaginary friends in our parenting book I am not supposed to do this. Sigh. FOILED AGAIN.

A fall from Grace

Last week, my daughter S fell off the bed. She is 16 months old and is generally very adept at getting on and off the bed. My husband and I left her unattended for just a moment and she tripped (we think) and fell. And she was knocked unconscious.

It was the scariest thing I've ever experienced in my life. My husband ran down the hallway with her limp body in his arms (she was out for about 15 seconds) screaming her name. I was in the bathroom with the door shut (a rare occurrence). I wasn't sure what was happening - it sounded like he was chasing her down the hallway or playing. When I opened the door he was standing there with her in his arms. She was not moving or responding.

We ran down the stairs to our neighbor and friend, a NICU nurse, who came charging out of the shower. We thrust our daughter into her arms, willing her to wake up. She came to, but was definitely groggy and rattled.

After a frantic call to the pediatrician, we got in the car to go to Children's Hospital. I sat in the back with her intent on keeping her awake. We made it there, and after many hours, we were able to get a successful and clear CT scan that declared S was fine.

Throughout the day, I was racked with emotions - guilt, pain, love, frustration, anger. How could this have happened? Why did it happened? What if something is permanently wrong? It's not fair, we're good parents. We love our daughter.

One of our doctors (who was also a mother) took me aside and told me to hang in there and not beat myself up. It was an accident and with children, they happen. We can do everything in our power to try to stop them, but we can't. We just need to be careful, do our best and have faith in them.

I'm writing this publicly because while I never, ever want my daughter (or anyone's child) to go through this type of physical (and emotional) pain, I'm sure we will again. She has an amazingly fearless streak in her (one doctor described her as having "verve") so I know there will be other times.
But this accident is exactly that - an accident. We need to be careful and not put her in danger, but we are not bad parents. We maybe had an overconfidence as to her abilities, but that doesn't make us bad. And as parents (and even more specifically, mothers) we have to stop beating ourselves up for not being "perfect."

Here's to health and happiness.