Posts tagged motherhood

The Night an Episode of Mad Men Caused Me to Have an Emotional Breakdown

When we finished watching “The Other Woman,” I got up out of bed to brush my teeth. Standing at the sink, ruminating on the episode, I started to cry. It wasn’t the emotional final scene between Don and Peggy that had upset me, but something deeper. While watching the show I kept wondering jealously what it would feel like to be that valued, to be a respected employee, the sort of person one made overtures to, the kind of person on the receiving in of a salary offer scribbled on a piece of paper. 

All of my life what I did had some sort of immediate value, whether it was in the form of an A on a test, a comment of praise from a professor scribbled on the margins of a paper, a paycheck, a kind word from a client. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I don’t have that anymore. There is no such thing as an A in diaper changing.

Last week I read an article in Slate about a study that showed that stay at home moms were more depressed than working mothers, and it really resonated with me. According to the author, it mostly came down to a lack of recognition. Caring for children is undervalued in society. That’s just how it is. But putting society’s attitudes aside, there is also the fact that being a parent also lacks any sort of timely gratification, the sort that comes from being a student or an employee. I have my child’s love, yes, but so do working mothers. She won’t even remember all that I do for her now. She would appreciate me just the same if I was at work and she was at daycare. I have the hope that my day to day efforts will yield the long term results of a healthy, happy, well adjusted adult, but that’s waiting twenty years for payday, and the results would likely be the same whether I was at home or not.

So why am I even doing it? Because I really want to. I want to be there with her, every day. I want to be the one feeding her lunch and pushing her on the swings. I don’t want to miss it all. But you know, it’s hard having nothing tangible to show for so much daily effort. It’s hard and it’s scary, because having taken this hiatus of being a full time parent, who knows if I will ever be able to find my way to gainful employment again, let alone become well respected, and above all, valued. That is what I really crave, knowing that I am valued.

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That awkward moment when…

You are on your hands and knees picking sticky food scraps up off of the floor after your baby ceremoniously threw them from her high chair tray to signify that she is done with lunch, and you find yourself saying out loud to her and her yogurt covered face, “I went to college, you know, ” in a vain attempt to regain some of your dignity.

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So I recently did something that every woman hates to do. I went shopping for a new swimsuit. Worse even, I went shopping for my first post-baby swimsuit. Days later I come to Tumblr and find it all a buzz with talk of positive body image, mombods, and swimsuits. I couldn’t resist jumping in.

Before I had a baby, even though I was thinner and more toned, I wouldn’t have been caught dead in a swimsuit. I haven’t had what most magazines would consider a “beach ready body” since I was probably 18, and I was too ashamed of my tummy and thighs to be seen that close to naked in public. In fact the last two times I went to the beach, I wore bermuda shorts and tank tops. 

We have a beach trip coming up in just a few weeks, and I considered doing the old shorts-shirt thing, but having a baby has made me much braver. I decided to find a suit that made this mombod look as best it can and just rock it without consequence. I want to have fun at the beach, dammit! Who cares what strangers think of me? Who cares that I’m not perfect and skinny? This body grew, birthed, and nursed a baby, and it will never be the same because of that beautiful miracle.

#swimsuitsforbagel and swimsuits for moms everywhere!

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Nostalgia Overload

One year ago today, we brought our newborn baby home from the hospital. 

I feel the nostalgia all around me, and it is so bittersweet. I thought once the actual birthday was over I would be fine, but now I keep finding myself thinking back to one year ago today from any given moment and wondering what I was doing, and trying so hard to remember what newborn Eleanor was like. When will I stop thinking back to one year ago today?

Now that we are back from our trip, I’m having a harder time keeping my emotions in check. Last night I cried so hard while I was nursing Eleanor to sleep that she thought I was laughing and started laughing herself.

In those first few days postpartum when my hormones were off the charts I would hold her and cry, knowing how much I would someday miss her smallness. Now I keep looking back through the photos from her first few days of life and my arms ache to hold my tiny newborn again.

I wonder why my heart feels so heavy. Watching a child grow up should be a happy event. I’m almost ashamed of how sad I feel. Is sad even the right word? I don’t know. I know I have so much to look forward to, but I pine for the past. I’m sorry that I keep writing about this over and over again. I guess I’m just trying to process this intense flood of emotions. I wish I wasn’t having such a difficult time. I wish I felt like my baby turning one was no big deal, because the rational part of me knows that in fact it isn’t a big deal at all, but my poor aching mother’s heart isn’t getting the message. And so my mind goes back to thinking again that it was one year ago today that we brought her home from the hospital.

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Women who breastfeed their children for three years are outliers, but they are not spectacles, and we shouldn’t hold them up as either Madonnas or freaks. Women who do not breastfeed are not monsters, and we should not condemn them, or really have any opinion about their decision at all.

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Mom Enough?

Alright, I’ll weigh in on this TIME magazine cover story. I usually avoid giving my two cents regarding trending parenting stories because of sheer overkill. Big ones come and go every few months or so and it seems like everyone wants to dissect them and give their own opinion, leaving absolutely no ground uncovered, no facet unexamined. But this one is really bugging me, so I’ll have a go at it.

First of all, the cover photo is very disheartening to me. Regular readers will know I am a really big fan of extended breastfeeding and self weaning. Just a few weeks ago I wrote a post on the subject. I feel like the biggest obstacle for mothers who want to breastfeed into toddlerhood is the notion that nursing an older baby is creepy or gross or weird or whatever else, when in fact nursing a toddler, just like nursing an infant, is natural, sweet, and very personal. The cover photo seems to me to deliberately reinforce the idea that nursing a toddler is creepy by playing up his size and age. Imagine how different the image would make you feel if instad of standing on a chair which clearly exaggerates the boy’s height, he was curled up in his mama’s lap in his pajamas. A cover shot like this could have helped normalize extended breastfeeding, but instead it sets it up like a carnival side show. It is so disappointing.

The story itself isn’t available without a subscription, so I can’t even speak to the meat of the subject yet, but it has certainly already fanned the flames of what commentators like to call “the mommy wars.” This phenomenon baffles me. Who are these mommies that are warring against one another? I’m a mother, but I’ve never seen them. I’ve never encountered them. I interact with all sorts of different mothers, both in the real world and online, and I have never seen anyone trying to push their view on someone else or criticizing any aspect of another mother’s parenting style. I only ever see it in print. I read about the “wars” on blogs and magazines over and over again and constantly see the cries of “Can’t we all just get along?” I don’t know, maybe I’m naive, but it seems to me like we really all are just getting along, and that all of this belligerence and outrage is completely fabricated.

The mom friends I have are so completely different from me in our parenting choices, and yet there has never been even a tiny hint of judgement from either side. My friend asked me if Eleanor sleeps well in her crib, I answered, “No, we cosleep.” She went on to tell me about how they used cry-it-out to get their daughter to sleep on her own. We both feel that the other’s way of doing things isn’t the way we would do it, but guess what? We are mature adults and can handle the fact that some people have different opinions and different lifestyles. We take it even further, because we actually enjoy hearing about our differing philosophies and experiences. 

I would hope that all parents realize, regardless of their own ethos, that no matter how children are raised as long as they are loved they turn out remarkably well. I practice the tenets of Attachment Parenting (breastfeeding, cosleeping, baby wearing), but I do not think for even one second that those things will make Eleanor a better person than she would be if she was raise a different way. I do those things because I find them natural and easy. They make sense to me. I would be doing them even if I hadn’t read anything by Dr. Sears, and I continue to do them because they happen to work really well for my family.

In my opinion, Attachment Parenting is just one of the many strategies for getting through the baby and toddler years as easily as possible, yet one of the most common criticisms is that it is difficult, increases a mother’s workload, and in the processes undoes decades of feminist progress and subjugates women once again (Elisabeth Badinter anyone?). If I felt like something like cosleeping was subjugating me instead of making my life easier I wouldn’t be doing it. Who are these supposed mother martyrs who make inordinate sacrifices for their babies? We all sacrifice for our children, and breastfeeding them isn’t any more of a sacrifice than going back to work to put food on the table for them. Aren’t we all just trying to survive and make our lives as easy as possible? What is anti-feminists about that?

Married with the concept of attachment parenting as a modern mother imprisonment is the idea that these issues are really only in the domain of rich, privileged people who can afford to stay home with their children. Let me tell you, while I am lucky that my husband’s salary alone can support us, I am far from rich. In fact, I don’t really have much of a choice about being a stay at home mom because the price of childcare where we live would cancel out my salary. In some cases being a stay at home mom is actually the most frugal thing a mother can decide to do, not a luxury reserved for the upper tiers of socity.

I know this post is all over the place, but I just had to get it off my chest. I am an Attachment Parenting parent, and yet I am not judgmental, I am not self-righteous, and I do not think I am better than any one else. I am not deluded about the effects my parenting style will have on my child, I am not of the opinion that this is an all-or-nothing game, and I am not a breastfeeding Nazi. I am not rich, and for the love of all that is good, I am indeed a feminist.

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That Moment When You Realize You’ve Made a Tiny Copy of Yourself

I was holding Eleanor. We walked into the bedroom. The cat meowed. We both said “Hi!” at the exact same time with the exact same intonation. 

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Mom Bod

So I’ve been back to my pre-pregnancy weight for a while now, but I’m still really flabby in my midsection. I do a lot of walking during the week, but I am really not an exercise person. I decided to go against my nature and start doing a daily ab and core work out routine to try to tighten up a little. Eleanor likes to help keep me motivated by climbing on my legs during scissor kicks and blowing raspberries on my belly blubber while I do crunches and tilts. Mommy’s little helper!

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Mom Confession #4

I wish I could always have a baby. I wish that as soon as my current baby turned into a toddler, I could just get pregnant and have another one. I wish that was feasible. If it was, I just might do it. 

Then this morning I saw a glimpse into my future via this Huffington Post article on Reborn Dolls and the crazy, let’s just call them eccentric, women who collect them, hoard them, and carry them around as if they were real babies. You guys, I clicked on the article thinking I’d have a nice laugh, and then I realized I totally identified with the crazy passionate Reborn ladies. They’re talking about how therapeutic it feels to hold a baby, and I’m nodding my head. They’re talking about how they miss when their own children were babies, and I’m thinking “YES!” 

As totally crazy eccentric as it sounds, I can totally picture my menopausal future self hiding one of these dolls in my closet and pulling it out when I’m feeling sad or nostalgic or just needing to cuddle something. But then I remembered that is what cats are for. Phew. 

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And another thing…

Andrew took Eleanor for a walk to the book store and I’m heading off soon to go see a movie with my friend. It will be the first movie I’ve seen in the theater since I was pregnant. It will also be the longest I have ever been away from the baby. The only other time we’ve be apart is when I had an hour long dentist appointment. She’s days away from being 10 months old and of course I know she will be totally fine. She’s such a Daddy’s girl lately, I don’t even think she’ll notice I’m gone. But it’s shocking how even now, even though she is nearly a year old, being away from her makes me feel so strange. I’m sitting here trying to relax and enjoy a little “me” time, but I feel so oddly nervous. My heart is racing. I can’t stop thinking about holding her. It’s really remarkable how physical and primal a mother’s connection to her baby is. My mind is glad for the break, and my body is panicking because she isn’t within eyesight. 

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