Gettin' Dolled up for Baby

The Washington Post recently printed an article about the quickly expanding industry for pregnant women who want to be pampered: Greater Expectation: Luxury Services for Pregnant Women Are Booming by Monica Hesse.

I admit to having enjoyed more pregnancy massages than I can rattle off. I had two facials and one pedicure while pregnant. There's nothing wrong with getting support to look and feel good. What struck me about this article was how very unmotherly all the intentions sounded. People were talking about pampering the mom just like she was a bride-to-be and then splurging on a baby nurse to make the honeymoon smoother. It was all about this being some different time in your life, so you might as well use it as an excuse to spend a lot of money on self-indulgence.

What about the kid? The reason she's pregnant? I'd have liked to hear some talk about how a calm, focused mother can positively influence her baby. If a mom has pain, massage can certainly help, and it can assist with labor. A baby can also benefit from massage, acupuncture, chiropractic, and craniosacral work starting immediately after birth -- and even before via the work the mom gets. I got plenty and feel like it helped me connect to my child.

I'm all for women feeling good about themselves, but I'd like to think they are actually going to pay attention to the baby when it comes. Why not start now? If pampering is about setting a positive role model to take care of yourself -- to pause admit a hectic life to breathe -- the new family is going to get off on a good foot. If having a big belly is just an excuse to try a new spa service, I'm concerned.

I feel like the article made it sound like all this pampering was fitting into the mindset of folks who stick the baby away in a crib when it's brand-new and let it cry itself to sleep -- as if wailing in an enclosed box is a spa service anyone would pay for! If the majority of women are heading to the spa solely for self and not with a healthier bod and healthier home for baby in mind, I can't say that I'm thrilled about this trend -- even though I'm interested to see what more options might be out there when and if I have another pregnancy.

Grandma's here. Get busy!

Some people I know talk about going to the zoo or on other equally adventurous excursions when their parents or in-laws are in town. These visits are a time for fun shared activities across three generations.

For me, Grandma time is all about the babysitting.

Here's what I've done since EJ's mom arrived in town52 hours ago: went to yoga, went running, got a craniosacral therapy appointment, got a facial, went to dinner with my husband, went to couples counseling with my husband, and cleaned the basement (including posting lots of items on Freecycle). I also cooked, cleaned some more, and did laundry. Most times I nursed the boy I spent at the computer so I could read postings and provide feedback to other writers in an online writing workshop I'm taking through MotherVerse magazine. Grandma and my husband played in the park while got groceries at My Organic Market. From my perspective, there is no time to waste.

She claims she doesn't need any entertainment or special events. She's retired and spoils herself and her husband, she assures me. "I can go anywhere to eat when I'm home," she says. "I'm just here to play with E." He loves playing with her, even replying that he wanted to "hang out downstairs with Gramma" when I asked him if he wanted to come upstairs and hang out with me while I got dressed to go out tutoring (oh yes, another thing I did).

Tonight my husband fell asleep putting the boy to bed, so my MIL went to bed early too. I thought we'd all chat once the boy was asleep, but I got bonus solo time and almost felt a little guilty. We did all go out for a nice meal before the grocery store, so there was a little time to chat then. But Grandma also spent the post-meal, pre-dessert lull chasing after our toddler who was making friends with other children and the fountain in the adjoining square, so she wasn't exactly off-duty.

My own mom's health is such that she doesn't get out to visit us at all, and there's no other family closer than my sister four hours up I-95, a drive neither side wants to make more than a few times a year. I do have a sitter who comes for 3+ hours one morning a week while her kids are in school, and my son is in a preschool that gives me 2.5 hours free another morning a week.

But those childcare options will soon both come to an end for the summer, so I'm milking this MIL visit for all it's worth. Any spare second the boy is awake and she is awake is a moment I want to be doing something I can't do with a toddler on the hip or a mind that has to stoop down to 33 inches. Give me jogging time that doesn't come out of my weekend allotment (i.e. the precarious balance of free time for me vs. free time for my spouse)! Give me free reign to prepare food without my son pulling items out of the refrigerator or practicing his "pick up!" mantra! Let me get to an exercise class without having to line up the sitter days ahead or reserve a spot at the gym's childcare!

Part of me feels bad that I can't conceive of family time as family time and am instead counting the minutes I can squeeze out of my mother-in-law. But on the other hand, I think it's great that she and her grandson just enjoy simple play in the living room and the backyard, that she can get to know my neighbors while he climbs on their swingset, that he can enjoy a stroller ride that doesn't come with an agenda and a timetable -- groceries and back home to make dinner -- like it does when he goes with me. If I planned special excursions, she wouldn't get quality time with her grandson one-on-one in his element, and I wouldn't get quality time with myself.

Maybe someday she'll tell us she was lying and really felt like she was under house arrest. But I'm riding this train as far as it will take me. When can we book your next flight, Grandma?

Getting and Spending

I'm a consumer. There is no way to deny it. I certainly use Freecycle as much as I can, and Craigslist and consignment sales, but I also get into cycles where buying stuff online is so appealing, it honestly makes me feel accomplished to click until my shopping cart's item count hits double-digits.

As a very petite woman, I waste a whole lot of time shopping in stores trying on sizes that don't even come close to fitting me. I gained a full 35 lbs. during pregnancy, and still most of my clothes were XXS and pants size 2 Ankle from The Gap.

Now I have 1) a two-year-old and and 2) few clothes that fit right or look like they weren't from a year with a 19 in front of it. So I am loath to give up whatever childcare time I've cobbled together on shopping that would have been frustrating even if I weren't paying so dearly for it. And I don't really consider taking my son with me an option for more than a quick trip I have reason to believe will be reasonably successful.

So, today, after I'd worn the same stained capris to music class that I'd already worn twice this week, I followed a message in my In Box to J. Jill. I spent $600 even after the 15% off -- most of which I fully expect to return. I can't get the stuff in the store even if I had the patience; they just don't stock my size.

But this is just one example of how I rationalize big purchases. It's saving me so much time to order the toddler garden gloves and watering can online! Of course these will work better than whatever I might randomly find at the store, if I could even get there, and we can't have the boy drowning the rosemary with the hose again! The neat hardware stores aren't near any other errands, and I need to keep my my in-and-out of car transfers to a minimum or I have to wrestle a slab of granite into his Britax! If I go instead to Target I can get a lot done in one place, but then I get, well, a lot.

When I went to the Green Festival, I made the conscious decision that I would buy whatever I liked that fit because it was there, it was organic, and the people who made it were selling it to me. We did find some stuff; just today I wore a black t-shirt and EJ wore some $5 organic pants that we got at the festival. His size, though also petite, is less of a hassle than mine, so I could certainly buy more organic, free-trade stuff for him if I spent more time. But how much time do I really want to spend figuring out where to spend my money. I want to support green businesses, but I get sucked by the spend-a-lot bug no matter where I go, and it's certainly going to hurt my Mastercard a lot more to go crazy at those retailers than at a consignment sale or store, which I've also done. The fact that he gets his shirts so dirty so fast only feeds my fire.

I hope that in my J.Jill bounty I find a few pairs of pants that fit. Maybe before E's organic short johns (on sale now!) and all the other random stuff I bought from Hanna Anderson come I will get out to Marshall's or a garage sale and find the same things for super cheap. The closing twisted aspect of my spending frenzies is that when I do return things that didn't work out, I get an additional kick, feeling like I just earned money. I was glad to read at http://chefdruck.blogspot.com/2008/05/finding-euphoria-in-all-right-places.html that people actually study the euphoric feeling that can come from shopping. Glad to know I'm not alone!

The Birthday Party Quandary

When my son's birthday approached, I knew I didn't want a big party. I had been to a few that handed out plastic trinkets whose environmental footprint -- not to mention choking hazard quotient -- turned my stomach. I also knew my own limits for comfort when it came to putting on a show for kids who won't really remember it. The web site Birthdays Without Pressure advocates simplicity and low stress for child, parents and guests. "Well, if other people are bucking the carnivalesque party train, so can I!" I thought.

Having grown up without a whole lot of friends around -- my own or any my parents had -- I've been committed to maintaining and modeling good relationships for my son. I don't want him to be lonely unless he does a 180 from his current temperament and turns out to be an introvert. These days, he's clearly excited to be around people, asking for his friends -- and their mamas -- by name, and often. I figured the best way to celebrate a gregarious child's special day is just to have all of his friends over.

So I wanted to get together all his little buddies in one place. For his first birthday, I invited all the moms and babies I'd met from various groups and classes. Our tiny living room was packed, and that was before most of the babies were mobile, This year, since my two-year-old now knows who's who and since there are so many people we know and see often (and they all walk!), I decided not to invite other more distant mom-friends of mine just because I wanted to see them. Instead, though I felt a little exclusionary, I just included just the large-enough group of people that matter to my son.

With respect to food, it was important to me not to throw my nutritional beliefs out the door for a birthday, but I also wanted my son to feel special on the day and be able to look back on the day and see something that looked like the typical birthday festivities. I wavered between making sweet potato fries and kale chips for the group on one hand, and, on the other, offering mainstream snacks that would be familiar to the kiddos, and just sticking a candle in a bowl of fresh fruit. In the end, I decided not to offer anything I wouldn't let my son eat -- so that meant nothing with gluten or dairy (except for ghee and a little cultured butter). But I also decided it might be fun to experiment to make a healthy version of a cake that tasted good and seemed like a cake, rather than the hockey pucks I'd previously produced on some muffin-making attempts.

I bought two mixes from Namaste: one cake mix with sugar and one muffin mix with no added sugars. I combined those mixes to get a lightly sweetened mix, and then I divided that mix and added a lot of hazelnut flour to one half so that I could have one high-protein cake for those comfortable feeding their kids nuts. In the batter for the nut cake, I added grated zucchini and carrot. In both batters, I added cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg.

The other question was how cutesy to get. I struggled between wanting to keep it simple and just having some fun with the whole process. Since EJ had shown such a fascination with trains, I attempted to make one -- the regular white cake was the train (modeled after a train piggy bank my nephew painted for my son for Christmas), and the caboose was the nut train.

My fantasies of making different colored frostings with carrot, greens, and beets didn't exactly pan out. I ended up just using some cultured butter, coconut oil and powdered sugar for the "white" frosting and adding some carob powder for the brown accents and wheels. For the caboose frosting, I attempted to use juice from boiled beets, but it was late at night, and in my rush, I added too much liquid and got a big gloppy mess that looked ugly when inconsistently smeared on the cake. I skimmed it off, but it left a bit of a rust color on the darker brown cake.

Lots of folks stopped by for our Friday morning playgroup, and no one could believe the cake was gluten-free. We all enjoyed eating it, and though there was a little sugar, I felt like I'd struck a healthy balance of indulgence in special treats and not going overboard to saturation.

A few friends brought small gifts, which we opened later (I'd requested no gifts). When I wrote out the thank you notes and had EJ sign them, it imprinted on him who gave him what. Whenever he plays with his wooden car, he always says "Susan-Sawyer gave this to you" (merging the names of the mom and her son).

I hope our birthday playgroup set some decent precedents for balanced and gracious living. Now if I can just keep that up!

"I said, 'Don't judge!'"

And I was just going to write about how my son has helped me learn to be less judgmental. Damn.

Now, I realize that meta-writing is passé in poetry, unless you’re Billy Collins, so I apologize if it’s similarly taboo to write about writing in a pseudo-personal essay/blog. But my point, if you’ll follow me there, is precisely that my thoughts were not merely thoughts but embryonic words, sentences in formation. I was seriously going to commit them to pixels.

I intended to wax rhapsodic about various experiences in which my son’s reaction to something or participation in something caused me to eat my own words, rethink my position on something, or at least have compassion for people I’d previously dismissed with a sneer.

There was the need for a c-section, which I used to think hardly anyone really needed; they just didn’t try hard enough, I was sure, until my son’s eight-inch umbilical cord holding him high in a breech position kept us from delivering naturally.

I took a vehement stance against cheap birthday party favors until my son fell in love with one, a plastic beach ball and the blown up fish inside, causing me to realize I needed to get him some rolling objects.

Attached babies are peaceful babies, I was sure, until my son started grabbing other kids’ hair and biting their hands so they would let go of a toy.

That first violent phase passed quickly, and I was going to write my vision that I could see him as a sweet teenager, perhaps with still uncut red curls spiraling down his back, strumming the guitar that now towers above his toddler stance when he plucks it like he’s waving his hand. “It’s okay, Mom,” he’d reassure me about someone I viewed as misguided. “They just do things differently.” Of course, I’d know he was right. “Thank you, honey,” I’d repeat for the umpteenth time.

But then I read Thursday’s Washington Post and thought not about writing a paean of gratitude to my eye-opening son but rather a pointed, know-it-all letter to the editor. First I growled at the graphic depicting how many bottles per year are used by twins, triplets and quintuplets. “Why do they have to assume these kids will be bottle-fed, god dammit!” Plenty of women have exclusively breastfed their multiples at the breast, though I certainly understand needing to pump to increase supply or to have a break from a feeding, and I realize some folks may need to supplement with formula.

Still, the twins whose bottles were pictured on the front of the Home section – three with the initial E, three with M, all six filled to just a few ounces – were only seven weeks old. I scoured the more detailed photo on page H4 and found Medela among the brands, raising my hopes that this mother was at least giving the infant girls some breastmilk.

But whether she is or isn’t, the problem I would like to correct is the assumption of the media outlet (and whoever put together, approved and edited the story) that bottles are a normal part of infant care. If a mother has to go back to work and there is no on-site daycare or an inflexible schedule for her breaks, then certainly babies do have to get used to taking nutrition from a source other than the breast. However, there are plenty of moms who stay home with their kids and make the choice not to breastfeed in part, I think, because alternatives are so accepted and pictured as normal and just as good.

The focus of this article was on staying organized with multiples. It would have been interesting to hear an attachment parenting proponent talk about how cosleeping, babywearing and breastfeeding on cue could contribute to a more peaceful home. Maybe they make some things more difficult in a family of multiples; I don’t know, but I would have liked to see that question explored.

In the same Home section, there was a small feature, as there is every week, with a photo of a poorly used space and the owner’s description of how they’d like to transform it. Then a designer offers a sketch and explanations of how furniture and colors will shape the newly conceived room. This week, the background blurb explained that the couple was expecting a child, and they wanted to make their upstairs loft into a master bedroom and their current downstairs bedroom into a nursery. “You want your baby on another floor from you!?” I wanted to scream! I can’t even imagine my almost two-year-old son in another room, much less another floor. Another mom I know recently made that switch, but she also acts like she doesn’t like her son a whole lot, saying things like “what’s wrong with you?” I want to ask her the same thing, and ask the question of the editors of this paper who didn’t turn down the family’s loft-space inquiry on the basis of it being a really stupid idea.

And yes, I realize how ridiculous that sounds. I just wish all this detachment from one’s kids and disrespect of them seemed more ridiculous to parents.

So, yes, I still judge. I judge other parents when I feel like they are harming their children for their own convenience, and I judge news outlets for promoting what I see as bad choices that will only contribute to kids feeling bad physically and feeling bad about themselves emotionally. Bottle-feeding and berating may not cause kids to get sick, but they sure aren’t providing the best possible start. As a former high school teacher, I know what it looks like at sixteen when you’ve been denied good nutrition and a nurturing environment. It ain’t pretty, and it’s not the future I want to live in or have my son live in.

However, as I admitted upon opening, I can be proven wrong. I thought I was a changed woman, fully open-hearted and willing to accept that I could learn from things I didn’t agree with on the surface. Now I come to find out that I’m as stubborn, opinionated and judgmental as ever. If I can be wrong about myself, maybe I’m wrong about these supposed evils of parenting.

Except that I know I’m not.

Note: This piece was originally written March 7, so the articles I reference are not from this week.

Boy, Meet Your Penis

I thought it was cute when my 23-month-old son tugged on his male member and said, several times in a row, “Hi, Penis.”

I thought it was funny when he pointed to his father’s post shower noodle and labeled, like he does so many other objects, “Penis.”

I did not think it was as funny, after my shower a few hours later on the same day, when my son stuck his miniature index finger into my scruffy muff and said, “Penis.”

What’s a good feminist to do? I was never the biggest fan of the French feminists but still didn't want to play into that Freudian trap of being defined by the lack – “No honey, I don’t have one of those things you know and love so well.” But does he really need to learn “vagina” right now?

It’s winter, and I haven’t bathed with him for months. Our body part discussion of late has been focused north of the equator. He points to my sorry chapped nipples and says, “Nurse!” and that’s plenty literal enough for me right now. What good will it do to add the word "breast" to his vocabulary just now? It’s bad enough that he starts to feel me up in public shouting “Wanna nurse you!” I don’t think anyone needs to hear an anatomy lesson on top of that, and I worry where “vagina” would come out if we introduced it in this developmental stage, which seems to be a cross between a coked up Adam in Eden pulling names out of his ass and then looking over his should to see if he's right and poor simple Tarzan tackling pronouns.

I expect that with my son's father and I both sporting dark brown triangles in the same spot, he is less likely to get the fact that mine doesn’t have a dangly than he would be if I were appropriately depiliated for the 21^st century. If I'd sported a Brazilian wax like I'm told Katherine Heigl does in Knocked Up (I haven't been to a movie in two years so I can't be sure), would the boy notice my folds and say whatever connected up in his brain what he saw? My mind scans his past culinary experiences to recall whether or not he’s ever seen a taco. He might know the color pink; I'm not sure.

Maybe I should have taught him “genitals” instead of penis. The boy clearly identifies the space between legs as penis-territory. Maybe we could have just generalized with the G-word, like saying “firefighter” instead of “fireman,” though so far that has not worked with "snowman."

If he were a girl, I think I’d be more matter-of-fact from the get-go. I might expect that she could take in the knowledge and deal with the fact and she and her mom shared something that Daddy didn’t. But this little boy is so attached, I’m not sure he can handle the idea that he wasn’t made in my image -- or that I don't match his.

I am surprised to find that, for all my graduate work in women's studies, it wasn't until I became the stay-at-home mom of a boy that I seriously, practically considered the formation of gender identity. But the matter is not entirely in my hands, so to speak.

Tonight I overheard my son on the changing table as his father readied him for bed. "Penis?" the boy said in that half-question that expects a big affirmation complete with italics, "Yes that is a penis." Knowing I was in earshot but ignorant of the bathroom vocabulary session the other day and of this blog post I drafted last night, my husband replied to our son, "Yep. Does Mommy have a penis?"

This posting is cross-posted on my other blog, http://www.mamasmouth.com

A Shot in the Dark

I haven't really done my homework on the vaccination debate. For most people, that means going with whatever the doctor says. For me, that means I chose a doctor who doesn't care whether or not I do any of them, except that he'll advocate spreading them out if I do. He doesn't ask when or why. He leaves the research in my hands, but he also doesn't check to see that I did it.

It's not that I'm clueless. I've read some articles and parts of the three books I own on the subject. I've read Yahoo group postings about Dr. Sears' newish book and figure I'll pick it up someday. But mostly I've surrounded myself with people who think vaccinations are pretty problematic and almost not at all necessary. This means I feel good doing nothing.

Well, it's not that I do nothing either. I feed my young toddler son a crazy healthy diet, including lots of things I've read are super good for his immune system and fighting yucky stuff, foods like bone broths and organic meats and produce whenever possible, in addition to probiotics and cod liver oil and coconut oil. Oh, and lots of breastmilk. If some benevolent bank in the sky paid me for all the hours I spend in the kitchen or nursing my son -- even minimum wage -- we could pay the architect to draw up plans for that addition we've been wanting.

But when people start to float around questions about vaccinations on mainstream email lists, I got nothin.' Since my non-decision-making may have such an impact on my son, and I think maybe in some states I could be charged with child endangerment, I really ought to know what I'm doing.

It's just that I think the mainstream medical community and most people paid to talk about nutrition in this country don't really know what they're doing. That makes it hard to listen to what they have to say. We have soaring rates of autism -- now up to one in 150 children or one in about 100 boys -- and as a former teacher, I can attest that kids today have serious issues with attention and ability to focus. I happen to believe it's because of all the junk their bodies -- and their parents' bodies -- have been exposed to from a young age, but I don't see many large research projects or governmental programs seriously working to change those problems, except with more drugs.

Over the past ten years, as I've address digestive problems, acne, depression, a thyroid disorder and what looked like it might be infertility, regular doctors have contributed to about 8% of my improvement, and that's being generous. The rest of the successes I've found were through hard work via alternative therapies. And most folks in that crowd just doesn't even consider vaccinations worth talking about. If I gave them to my kid, that would just cause a cascade of other issues he'd have to address when he got older. And I'd like to spare him that.

What gets me most is the idea of all the chemicals mixed in with the actual virus (or whatever biological piece is the focus of the shot) -- all that stuff going directly into such a little person's bloodstream. And then there are the claims I've heard around that most disease rates had already declined significantly before the vaccines came on the scene. Plus you hear of things like that mumps outbreak in Iowa, in which most of the affected parties had been vaccinated. So what's the point? If I really did my reading, maybe I would see it, and maybe it's just that I don't want to.

Some people would think I'm crazy for letting my kid's fever go up to 104.7 and doing nothing about it other than holding him and nursing him. But I really believe he's better off for it, for the "housecleaning" as one doctor put it at a nutrition conference I went to. My hope is that by letting his body fight out these small illnesses now, I'm making his immune system more capable of fighting bigger stuff in the future. I really hope I'm not wrong and that he doesn't catch a bad case of something a shot might have prevented.

But if I'm right that he's likely as sensitive in his body chemistry as I am, then shooting him up with all that stuff seems irresponsible. I won't give him wheat or dairy yet because I finally figured out that they made me pretty sick. The idea of his little body getting accosted with potential poisons at a young age when he can't really handle them ... well, that just sounds to me like a pregnant woman riding a horse. She's probably not going to fall, and if she did on her own, it might not matter. But if she falls carrying a fetus, there could be major damage.

Most kids aren't going to have major reactions, but if there is something else going on in the body and it gets assaulted with a shot, it just might freak out. A joint isn't going to kill you, but if you smoke it on top of being drunk and driving a few blocks home, that last toke just might be the thing to shove tree bark up your nose and windshield glass through your eyeballs. Kids who are already on the edge of something, I think, are the ones who really suffer from vaccinations, and we can't always know who those kids are.

Whenever people in mainstream circles talk about vaccines, it seems to come back to the autism link. "But there isn't any mercury anymore," they'll say or "It's been proven that vaccines don't cause autism." But if we stopped living in a black/white dichotomy, we might see some shades of gray. It takes someone like Jenny McCarthy going on Oprah to make moms feel like perhaps those disorder-vaccine-link claims are not only coming from us crazy lefty moms who deprive our children of blue and green Goldfish crackers.

I wonder now what, if anything, will be the public reaction to the disclosure that the US Government has conceded that the mercury in two of an 18-month-old's nine vaccinations may have "aggravated" a mitochondrial disorder and led to her eventual diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder. The Division of Vaccine Injury Compensation found that "compensation is appropriate" for the family. I'd like to think it would get people thinking more about the complex interplay of factors that go into a child's development, factors that get more complicated the more our world gets complicated.

I know I should have statistics at the ready, but, for once, I want to just pretend I can keep things simple.

Read an article -- yes, it's the only one I've read -- on the Federal Claims Court decision at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-kirby/government-concedes-vacci_b_88323.html