What You Don't Know Can Hurt You: Parenting Myths Edition

There is one myth in the parenting world that holds more sway than any other. One myth which leads people to do horrendously stupid things. One myth which spurs parents to take action in direct opposition to the recommendations of national and global health organizations.

And I'm going to tell you that myth.

Before I let you in on this secret, I just want to be clear about my intentions here. I don't intend to shame anyone. I'm not saying anyone I do or do not know may or may not be a bad parent. I'm simply pointing out this myth in an effort to help others. I want to expose the reality of this horrible misinformation to the benefit of new, old, and future parents everywhere.

Got it? Good. Let's get started.

MYTH: The best way to parent is to follow your gut.

Let's do another quick round of Things I'm Not Saying With This Statement (cause defending myself against trolls is my most favorite game!) I'm not saying that following your gut instinct is stupid. I'm not saying that you should ignore your parenting instincts. I'm not saying that mother doesn't know best.

So what am I saying? I'm saying that following your gut instincts without educating yourself on the possible options is not a great idea. Here's an example situation:

A new mom is wondering why her baby won't sleep for longer stretches. All the parenting books and the other (obviously perfect) parents tell her that the little bundle should be sleeping through the night by now - he's four months old. Her gut instinct tells her to listen to these older, wiser, friends who have been through this all before. So when they tell her to feed her baby solid food to get him to sleep, she does. Unfortunately, her friends were misguided and now her young son is constipated from the rice cereal she gave him. It turns out that the food her friends recommended had less calories than the milk he was getting so it didn't help him feel full at all. But it did give him gas and tummy troubles which are keeping him up at night even more than before.

This hypothetical mom, who has no other information, is now wondering what she did wrong. CUE MOMMY GUILT

This situation isn't helpful for anyone. If this woman had googled The American Academy of Pediatrics or The World Health Organization, she would have had access to a plethora of information that basically said "he's a baby, babies don't sleep through the night." And that's it, that's the answer to her problem, there WAS NO PROBLEM. And this is why I'm frustrated, this is why I'm writing this post. Because our gut instincts can be horribly misguided sometimes; just like any other input, they should be vetted.

Unfortunately, we are parents and not researchers. So many parents feel alone and scared and tired, they just want to find an answer to the problem. It's not as simple as that. It's not enough to read one article about sleep training and rush home to try that method. What if that method doesn't work? How many parents would go back and dig deeper to find more information? It seems like not enough, unfortunately. A lot of people would be livid if they read this post. "But every baby is different!" is the battle cry of the Warrior Mama and it's true. Which is EXACTLY why I'm saying that parents need to educate themselves. Every child is, in fact, different. So if you are determined to make Cry It Out work, you will keep plugging away at it, having no idea that there are other methods out there. And when you find yourself, listening to your baby cry for the fourth straight hour, weeping outside of the nursery, you will blame yourself when you should be looking for another solution.

So, young padawans, go forth and raise your progeny. Good luck, have fun, and follow your gut (after you do the research, of course.)

New Mom Confessions, or: How I learned to stop worrying and love the accident.

This morning, Caro fell off the couch and landed on her head. I'm sure the neighbors heard the loud thunk as her skull made contact with the floor, and I'm sure they heard the hysterical sobbing that took place directly afterward. What they didn't hear was me quietly congratulating myself for letting her do it.

record scratch

Yup, you heard me. I'm GLAD she fell off the couch and hurt herself, and I'll tell you why in two words: Experiential. Learning. No amount of me telling Caro "we sit on the couch" was going to make her, well, *sit* on the couch if she actually wanted to stand on it. She's a toddler, they are little scientists, fucking up and learning from it is kind of their bag. I spent about two weeks repeatedly telling her to sit down when she was actually standing on the couch and it got me exactly nothing except a low level of frustration. I had three choices:

1: continuously provide verbal cues to direct her behavior
2: remove the opportunity to make an unsafe choice
3: let her learn through the consequences of her own actions

I was sick of telling her what to do, not to mention that I can't always be watching her climb on the couch to catch the behavior in time for a verbal cue. What happens if she gets up on the couch while I'm washing dishes or sorting laundry or in the bathroom alone (what luxury!)? Well, she would learn that I didn't always tell her to sit, so it clearly wasn't always important and could be disregarded. Not gonna work, next option.

I'm not getting rid of my couch so she won't fall off of it and bust her ass. Nope. Not gonna happen. NEXT!

This is where you come in, dear reader. I let her climb, I let her fall and I let her cry (for a moment or two, anyways). We'll see how this plays out, of course, but I'm betting that she'll only hurt herself one or , max, two more times before she either A) sits the fuck down or, more likely, B) starts paying enough attention to stand on the couch without taking a header off it. Suits me either way.

Ooh, this brings up another interesting anecdote. Last week, I let Caro eat chalk. Yeah, because she does this thing where she's a toddler and PUTS EVERYTHING IN THE UNIVERSE INTO HER MOUTH. While I totally get that this won't happen forever, I have officially let go of my control over this. I can't possibly scour every environment for gross things that I don't want in her mouth, at least not while maintaining my current level of sanity and caffeine consumption. And, guess what? I am willing to bet that 90% of the stuff I don't want in her mouth, she also doesn't want in her mouth. She just doesn't know it yet. So, yeah, she ate chalk and it was gross and she got pissed and got over it. I've got $10 that says she doesn't eat chalk again. Although it was cute when her tongue was purple...

This I Believe

This past weekend, I gave a homily during a lay-lead service at our church. I felt like a minor celebrity, with all those lovely people congratulating me and telling me how much they enjoyed it; several people asked for copies, and one even said it should be published! So, by popular request, here is my homily, entitled "This I Believe":

Good morning. I’m Kim Hersey, and I believe in you. I believe in people, and I trust that they are good. I know we’re selfish and imperfect, but that’s ok. In fact, I prefer my people that way.

I believe in Love, and I believe It is good. I believe we're all going to the same place, but how much we enjoy the journey is up to us. I believe in priorities – I believe that being happy should be priority number one.

I believe in the miracle that is my daughter and I believe man alone cannot make that brand of perfect. I believe that childhood is beautiful. I believe in magic and whimsy, so I can give them to my children before they lose the faith. (Sometime around when they stop thinking kissing is gross, I imagine.)

I believe in wearing sexy underpants, even if no one will see them.

I believe in the healing powers of music, water, coffee and friends. I believe that work goes more smoothly with love, and wine goes better with laughter.

I believe in reading.

I believe cardio isn't the only necessary exercise for your heart.

I believe in honesty in communication. I believe in communication in relationships. I believe first dates don't have to be awkward but that, sometimes, it's part of the fun.

I believe in small victories: finding a good parking space; having all the ingredients for dinner; remembering to pack something needed; a hug just when you wanted one.

I believe that the greatest deficit our country faces is that of love for one another and I believe we need to start working on that now.

I believe in community. As Margaret Mead once said: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” The community you build has a unique advantage over your family - you get to choose them. Life is a team sport, y’all, pick a good starting lineup.

I believe in ice cream. Especially chocolate kinds. I believe that people are like flavors of ice cream. They might not be my favorite, but they’re all pretty good and I believe it’s important to remember that someone likes them best.

I believe in ritual and spirituality. I believe everyone needs these elements in their lives. You may count brush strokes when you’re brushing your teeth, or kneel in prayer at the same time everyday, but everyone has ritual. Humans thrive on it, and I think that’s beautiful.

I believe that everything happens for a reason, but there may not be logic to that reason. I believe that every tough situation will work out. But that doesn’t mean it will work out the way we want it to.

I believe that we all have deep-seated geographical preferences of which we are oftentimes unaware. I think it’s important to take note of where your body feels most at home, where your spirit feels most at peace.

I believe that catharsis - the process of releasing emotion through or because of art - is a necessary, wonderful, freeing aspect of the human condition. How lucky we are to see a play, watch a film or read a book and cry for the characters! How attuned we are to the collective to feel such empathy for figments and imagined hardships! If we can cry for the fictional characters we meet, what can’t we do for one another?

I believe in body modification. If our bodies are temples, I believe we deserve to decorate them for worship however we see fit. Somebody once asked me if I thought God had given me a nice enough body. I responded that Frank Lloyd Wright designs beautiful houses, but if I lived in one, I’d still want to put up my own curtains.

I believe that as long as a person is being safe, sane and consensual, it’s not my place to judge or tell him or her what to do. This is a struggle, and it only gets harder as I get better and better at using my mom voice. On the other hand, I fully believe that people tell others what to do not out of a sense of coercion or manipulation, but out of love. This might be foolish of me, but I can’t help it. I also believe that when people drive dangerously, it’s because someone they love is having a baby and they must arrive in time. It’s nice to believe the best of people, if only because it makes road trips easier.

I believe children are far more capable than adults generally give them credit for. I believe we are robbing the next generation of their self-confidence and courage by insisting they are unqualified and unskilled and need our help. I believe in free-range parenting.

I believe that hydration is happiness and sunscreen is your friend.

I believe it’s a waste to chew bubblegum and not blow any bubbles.

I believe that something doesn’t have to be real to be true. There are lots of examples of this, and they mostly come from Star Wars.

I believe in gratitude. I’ve found that the two easiest ways to be happy are to be grateful and to perpetuate kindness through my actions. There was a preschool in Montana that gave the kids capes and called them “superheroes of kindness.” Three and four year olds ran a food drive and passed out flowers to strangers. Best. Superpower. Ever.

I believe we can all find peace within ourselves, and I believe that my journey to that includes helping others find theirs. I look forward to hearing what you all believe, in time, as I get to know you individually. Also, I have a sewing machine in case you’d like to make capes.

"Are you in some special club or something?"

Yes. Yes I am. I'm in the special club of women who wanted to make friends with their bodies after having kid(s). And this, girls and boys, is why I bought myself a corset for my birthday.

I could have gotten myself anything, and I tend to go for the more useful gifts (for myself, anyway). But not this time, oh no. This year, I was going for pure decadence, pure luxury, pure sensuality. I loved my pregnant body with a passion. Before pregnancy, I had only been really, truly, happy with my body on the rare occasions when I was corseted (Ren Faire, anyone?).

So, for my first birthday post-baby, I went to Ren Faire and I bought a corset. And, I'll tell you something: I. Looked. HAWT. I had missed my tiny waist so much! I had missed my huge boobs being huge (?). I had missed my hips swaying and being all...hippy. I think I just got off topic.

Anyways, here are some pictures of my birthday trip to Ren Faire:


Caroline loved Mama's hip scarf :D

Happy Fucking Mother's Day or, sometimes having a kid is like having an abusive husband.

Do you remember, way back last August, when Caro was barely a month old, and I wrote about how obsessed I was with her? Well, I think it's safe to say that the honeymoon is over. I'm realizing now that having a child is less like being secretly in love with your best friend and more like having an abusive husband. They have a ridiculous amount of needs that you need to meet for them and you can rest assured that you'll never be good enough for them and they will let you know when you disappoint.

As frustrating as it sometimes is, and as exasperated as I undoubtedly become, she is still totally worth it. You know what's not worth it, though? Getting all worked up for Mother's Day. Here's a realization: Mother's Day is just like a birthday or any other greeting card holiday - pretty much just another day. I still have to do laundry and be the sole care provider for aforementioned abusive husband-esque infant. So, please, do everyone a favor and stop asking moms what fabulous plans they have for today. Chances are they're just getting on with the business of being moms and keeping shit together for everyone else. Maybe they'll get a card, though.

The things they don't tell you about parenting

I could write a freaking book, y'all. It would have chapter headings like:

Moving When You Have a Baby, or: How Paying a Babysitter Will Save Your Sanity
Human Gestation takes 10 months, Not 9 (Joke's On You, Preggo)
Teething: A Primer in Losing Your Sanity and Sleep Simultaneously
Who Needs a Lover When You Can Have Coffee

I just wish there had been some book or something that could have prepared me for this. Why do we have so many parenting taboos? Where was my parenting sensei? I wanted to be a grasshopper, dammit. I wanted to know what it was really going to be like! Lots of moms say "but you can never really be prepared for what it's going to be like the first time, you just have to do it." Maybe I wouldn't have been able to fully understand the implications of any information thrown my way, but it sure as shit would have been helpful to have it. Like after I got pregnant my mom decided to say "Oh, yeah, all the women in our family are extremely fertile." THIS IS INFORMATION THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN HELPFUL TO ME YEARS AGO.

This begs greater questions: why is there a culture of silence surrounding parenthood and especially motherhood? Why do we feel the need to show an outward face of perfection to even those closest to us? We have these conventions, and then we get online or with a group of other parents and we vent about all the awful parts of parenthood because we have no other outlet. We talk to childless people like our lives are perfect, and talk to other parents like we're on the verge of alcoholism or baby shaking.

These issues are connected to other problems: our parenting culture has started presenting a face of fear mongering and unfair judgment. We scare the shit out of each other, and appraise others' value as parents based on how seriously they take these imaginary or bizarrely perceived threats. Amongst the more offbeat parenting community, there is sometimes an "eco-machismo" attitude. "Your parenting choices are killing the earth, and mine aren't;" "how can you let your kid play with plastic branded crap?"

We are so afraid to honestly and openly talk with each other about our experiences, we're afraid we're doing it all wrong. And that fear won't allow us to seek knowledge to help us on this path; instead, we lash out at others' in judgment to hide our own insecurities. We join parenting sites and forums to dish out our advice to others and quietly compare ourselves to them to feel better about our choices. We have a great lip service: "you make the choices that are best for your family," "if it works for you, that's great." But, secretly, we're thinking how lucky our children are to have us are parents and some of these other yahoos that are procreating without a clue about what to do. Here's the best kept parenting secret: none of us know what we're doing. We just wake up everyday and love our kids and try to make it through. We're doing our best. Our choices are informed by our parenting philosophy, previous experience, and our own needs. I, for one, don't think those choices should be informed by fear of mortification or appraisal by other people - parents or not.

Parenting is a mixed bag, and that's ok - so is life. Some days are great, and you never want them to end. Some moments make up for the bad days. And sometimes it's all you can do to get the baby in bed and have a glass of wine and force yourself to let it all go. The challenges of parenting are nothing compared to the challenge of making hard choices and standing confident in those decisions in our current parenting culture. Go ahead, y'all. Open up. Tell me the bad and the good and let's brainstorm creative solutions to your parenting problems. Let's help each other through this. We're all lost in the woods here - there's no sense in us wandering alone.

I was a great parent (before I had kids...)

Before I had Carrie, I knew I was going to be a great parent. I didn't understand how some people let their kids get so dirty. Bananas in their hair? How could they let their kids do that?

How could some people give their children painkillers around the clock? Sure, the kid is teething, but that level of medication surely isn't necessary.

How could some people ignore their children when they cry? Can't you see that love and affection is a basic human need just like food? Clearly, that child was crying out for a little bit of attachment parenting.

And then I had a baby and went back to work and guess what? It turns out I'm some people, too. Do I wash Carrie? Yes. Every day? HAH! I wish I had time for that craziness. Do I let her get bananas in her hair? Um, she self-feeds now, so she gets all manner of crap in her hair and I'm just happy that some of it makes it into her mouth. Do I dose her with motrin when she's teething? You're damn right I do, or we wouldn't get any sleep. Do I snuggle her every time she cries? Nope. Cause Mama's gotta pee sometime.

I find myself watching Carrie smear snot and apple juice all over herself and everything within reach while I blithely sip coffee and text my best friend about the details of my life. I somehow register the dropping of a sippy cup from a high chair, but I don't stop typing or break my train of thought to pick it up until a meltdown is imminent. On the other hand, I take Carrie to the museum to meet a guinea pig and tell her about the relationship between the animal she's babbling to and a capybara. Also what "ovoviviparous" means. So maybe I'm doing alright, even if I am some people.

Lifetime Cribs - Love 'Em or Leave 'Em

So Carrie and I are (finally) moving out of my parents' house and my mother is graciously buying a crib as a housewarming present - score! I went to Babies R Us and picked exactly the one I wanted. When my choices are finite like that, and I need a specific and hard-to-find feature (low sides), choosing is easy. And then my mom asked me to look on Diapers.com and pick something from there (hello, free shipping on this insanely large and heave purchase!) And that's when the (proverbial) shit hit the fan.

See, this is a big purchase. I'm looking at lifetime cribs, they convert into toddler beds and full-size beds; which means I'm looking at a piece of furniture that Carrie will be using until she's my age (Goddess willing and the creek don't rise). That's a lot of pressure to put on me. What if she hates it later on? What if the finish is all wrong for her personality or the headboard just isn't compatible with her favorite pair of handcuffs? How do you choose something for a baby to last them their whole life? This is getting nuts.

Add to that the fact that I'm just over five feet tall and need a crib I can lower her into on the lowest setting - sans stepstool because I'm not a fucking toddler - and what do you get? I'm staring at a selection of 441 different cribs with absolutely no idea which one to pick. Dammit.

In the end, I'll probably pick something I like the look of and she'll just have to like it. And feel terrible about it forever. Ah, the joys of motherhood.

THWUMP THWUMP THWUMP

The air is filled with that sound. The sound of helicopter parents.

THWUMP THWUMP THWUMP as they carry their kids' backpacks and lunchboxes after school

THWUMP THWUMP THWUMP as they put away their kids' laundry

THWUMP THWUMP THWUMP as they zip up every jacket, button every pair of jeans and tie every shoe

THWUMP THWUMP THWUMP as they micromanage how their children can sit, stand, talk, sing and play

Here's a little friendly advice from your friend Kim: back away from your children. You're not preparing your kids for the real world of immediate, logical consequences and creative problem solving by hovering over them every minute of the day. If you spend 90% of your interaction with your kids telling them what to do and how to do it, why are you surprised when they stop listening? If your significant other or best friend spent all your time together nagging you about the way you exist, when you were just doing your best, you would stop listening, too.

Let's talk about logical consequences a little bit. When your kid is 28, and working, and the boss asks him or her to complete a task, what do you think will happen? Either your kid does it, or not. Boss isn't going to give reminders. Boss isn't going to walk Kid through it. If it's not done on time, Kid will be reprimanded or fired. You can't step in to save Kid at that point. All you can do is raise your kid to understand consequences and the power of his or her choices.

I've been really getting into Love & Logic lately specifically for this reason. Love and Logic is about making your word "gold" instead of "garbage." Request something one time, and pray you don't screw it up by endlessly reminding your progeny (or the kids you nanny, in my case) and see what happens. I'm not nagging anymore, we're all having fun and the best part? It works.

I'm not saying that I don't worry about my kid, or that the littles I watch sometimes don't really get on my nerves. ("Miss Kim, is it snack time? Miss Kim? MISS KIM?"--"What time do you think it is?") But what I am saying is that when I let go of the fear of everything not being perfect, I enjoy spending time with kids more. I fully intend to raise Caroline as a Free-Range Kid. I'd rather teach her that she is able to solve her problems and take care of herself than teacher her that I'm in control.

Epidurals Anonymous

Lately, I've been running across a lot of media that makes me feel like less of a mother. Seriously, stop judging my choices, society. I'm tired of hearing that my child will be stunted because my milk supply disappeared. I'm tired of "natural childbirth this" and "prenatal yoga" that. I'm sick of people acting like your labor experience is only valid if it's "long, arduous and difficult." And I'm especially sick of people acting like they are better mothers because they felt every contraction. It's not right to make your birth or parenting choices because of others' expectation for you. As one commenter on that blog pointed out, "I often feel like there is an implication that any child who isn't born "naturally" is to be pitied, or will suffer irreperable harm." I mean, come on, people! If the baby is happy and healthy, who gives a flying fuck how it got here??

I had an epidural. I was young and scared. Oh, my God, I was so scared. How can I possibly explain what it feels like to go into labor with no coach, no particular doctor, no proud papa and no place to call a home of your own? How can I describe what it was like to get up at 4 a.m., after enduring twelve hours of contractions alone and in the dark, and smell the blood before I even saw it? I. Was. Terrified.

So, yeah. I had an epidural. And it was a great decision for me. I vaguely remember telling my anesthesiologist that I loved him. And when breastfeeding was more painful than labor and I started seeing pieces of my nipple sticking to my nursing bra when I took it off, I let it go. And you know what? I'm a better mom because of it. I was able to bond with my daughter instead of crying every time she needed to eat. I was able to sleep during my labor so I had the energy to push when the time came.

I'm just don't want to be anonymous anymore, so I'm coming out: I had an epidural. And I love my child. Those two aren't mutually exclusive.

Sometimes, You Just Can't Save the Dog

This is a thing that I say when you just have to cut your losses: you can't always save the dog. Like right now: I wanted to write a post about the whole you-can't-save-the-dog story, and now Caro is grumpy and so we're going for a walk instead. Scratch that, we're going to find her diaper and put it back on, then we're going for a walk.

What Not to Wear (baby edition)

Sometimes, when nobody else is home, I walk around in my underpants. Not all the time, and not just because, but I do. And you know what? So does Carrie!

So, last night, Caroline ate dinner (like you do) and got food all over herself (like you do) so I took her dirty clothes off. This was about an hour before bath time, so no way was I going to put clean clothes on her for an hour. I've got priorities, and that's not them. Knowing my mother would make some comment about Caroline not being dressed, I put a (really cute) pair of bloomers on her and also a headband, just for fun. And what happens? "Why isn't she wearing any clothes?" It's not like I parade my naked child around in public for fun, y'all. Except I would maybe at the beach, because naked babies at the beach are stinking adorable.

What this all really comes down to is this: I'm pretty sure I lost my ability to dress myself, but my daughter always looks like Clinton and Stacey's lovechild. (Although that's not possible, because Clinton is gayer than Peter Pan in ice skates.)

I used to plan what I was going to wear each day, and lay out my clothes the night before. I wore accessories. Shoes that weren't sneakers. Socks that matched. And now? Carrie is pretty much always wearing something super cute that all matches with jackets, socks, shoes, hats and blankets to match. And me? It's a small miracle everyday that I make it out of my pajamas.

Invest in a good pair of headphones, or forget this business all together.

Self-soothing is a phrase that gets bandied about a lot on parenting blogs, in parenting books and by other parents (most notably mine). It's a phrase I lived my life by, counting down the days until it would be developmentally appropriate to get Carrie started on the track to self-soothing which would grow in time, I thought, into a sense of independence. Right. Here's the thing, y'all: life is full of revision. Your final draft isn't due until the end, all the rest is proofing. I just couldn't do it. Listening to munchkin "cry it out" was the most painful thing I've ever done. I felt like a bad mom, sitting outside the closed bedroom door, just listening to her. Sometimes it was more of a whine, sometimes just a tiny fussy noise, but the screams were the worst. At that point, you're supposed to go in and soothe the child without picking her up. Yeah, bump that.

You know what I learned, dear reader? Instead of teaching her that she can put herself to sleep, I'm teaching her that Mama will comfort her when she cries. And that's just dandy by me. In fact, I like that she wants to snuggle to sleep. I like knowing that being near me is that comforting for her. And I love the way her mouth falls open and her thumb falls out when she's finally asleep.

The way I figure it, independence is super important, for sure. But we're just not there yet. So be it.

Motherhood is a Moving Target

Let me just get something out on the table right now: I hate change and I suck at accepting it. Just to be clear, I don't mean that I struggle with the uncertainty change brings. Let me give you an example: I switched multivitamins once and didn't take them for 2 weeks because I just couldn't handle it. What does this have to do with being a mama? If you have any children, you know the answer to that: everything, duh.

Motherhood is a real moving target. Especially as infants, children develop and grow rapidly - we're talking a new skill set every week or so for the first year of life. Go back and read that again, y'all. I mean, holy shitballs, that is ridiculous. Imagine if you learned a new, life-changingly complex skill every week. I could be Superman by now. Just to put that into perspective for you. If you learned and grew as fast as a baby, there would be comic books about you. Also, you'd be fucking huuuge, but that's beside the point.

Also, you'd have to eat really often to sustain that kind of growth. I'd make it my personal mission to avenge the deaths of my people during the Irish potato famine by dedicating each meal to one of the fallen many. With great power comes great responsibility, people.

Moving on. So, what worked with Carrie last week might not necessarily work this week. And it's not just her place on the developmental spectrum that's dictating this. Everything from what she's looking at to whether or not she's feeling well impact her ability to cope with the crazy shit I'm throwing at her. We'll get into a routine that I can really get behind and a couple of weeks later, everything goes to absolute shit right before my eyes and the end of the night finds me on the bathroom floor with a bag of chocolates and twitch around the eyes.

I like to think that this is great practice, and I'm getting better at dealing with change. But then something happens, like my mom gets us a play yard, and I'm thrown back into this spiral of frustration and self-doubt. It's really challenging, but I really do feel like I'm learning to cope with this kind of emotional upheaval. Then again, I'm staring at this pack and play with hate in my eyes, so I'm probably not there yet.

I don't want a lot for Christmas...just some milk, actually.

So, my munchkin's first Christmas has come and gone I'm pondering what a huge deal we made over it. She'll never remember it. Hell, I'll probably never remember it except for the photos. And, yet, there's that excitement of baby's first Christmas which is inextricably linked with the consumerist perspective that drives the holiday season. I didn't do anything for her this year. I figured we'd take lots of photos of her surrounded by presents, etc and move on. I mean, she won't even care about Christmas until she's about 4. And then my mother went nutso bananas for Carrie's first Christmas:

- monogrammed needlepoint stocking
- enough toys to last until next Christmas
- boutique baby clothes
- books, books, and more books (ok, this one I'm actually totally cool with)

My parents even bought her presents for me to wrap and address from "Santa," because I hadn't gotten her anything. Whoa. She got a new Christmas dress (ok with this one, too, since it was for portraits) and a new Christmas outfit. We spent hours celebrating, eating and opening presents. And, in the midst of it all, what really mattered fell by the wayside.

I didn't get to take her to Christmas Eve service at church. She got way off her routine and didn't eat a whole meal for three days (don't worry, I ate plenty for both of us). She wasn't sleeping well at night or napping much during the day. Basically, it was a nightmare. And now I'm afraid that this is how I'll remember her first Christmas: as the pounding ache in my head on Christmas morning as she screamed in my face out of sheer frustration. Gross.

Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Tomboys

**UPDATE** My mother just bought Caroline a "Say Please Tea Set" designed to teach manners and, apparently, waitressing. Facepalm.

Before Carrie came, I was so excited about all of her tiny pink outfits and the adorable headbands that came with them. I couldn't wait to read her books like "Polite as a Princess" and I was going to tell her everyday that she was beautiful.

And then I realized that I'd been ruled by hormones and I didn't actually want any of that for her. Well, at least not exclusively. Really, what I want is for Caroline to be herself. She might turn out to be super femme and she might also be a tomboy like I was (for a while anyways). But the million ways in which gender roles are reinforced will play a huge part in who she is and, frankly, that pisses me off. Don't get me wrong, I still think she's absolutely beautiful and I'm not just saying this because I'm sick of looking at pink - although I totally am.

It just seems so ridiculous to me that we start indoctrinating our children into gender roles before they can even focus their eyes. Putting aside how ridiculous the gender binary is in general, it's especially useless for babies. Gender is a combination of several factors including sex, social role and gender identity. So, I ask you: how can a tiny human with no physical self-awareness other than that hands are fun have a social role or gender identity?

Also, baby boys clothes are freaking adorable. So it frustrates me when I see something cute that I'd like to buy for Caroline and I debate if it's cute enough to justify me fighting with my mom over it.

I guess what it really comes down to is that I want the best for her. And I'm not gonna lie: sometimes it sucks to be a girl. I mean we can create life and "the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world" and we've got the Girl Scouts and we're completely equal to men and yay feminism. But, still. Sometimes it's hard to remember that you have to be docile to get ahead and not to chew with your mouth open. And it sucks to accept that you'll get paid less than the moron in the next cubicle reading FHM while you're working twice as hard. And it hurts when you realize that girls really can't be anything they want like your favorite childhood book told you. So I'd rather raise her in a world relatively free of those stereotypes and unfair expectations and just let her be her. And the adorable boys' and gender-neutral clothes are just a perk :)

Thanksgiving

I am thankful for surviving Caroline's first illness this week. She and I both had a terrible stomach flu which really knocked us down a peg or two. Plus side? I ate four plates of food today and probably won't weigh more this Sunday than I did last :)

So: a real post is in the works for the next few days. Right now, I'm going to cast off this scarf I'm knitting (broke-ass Christmas, anyone?) and go to bed. Because your child sleeping through the night is even more awesome when compared to the midnight vomiting parties.

Well, drench me in patchouli and call me crunchy granola mom.

Ok, not to obsess over this whole diapering thing, but I need to obsess over this whole diapering thing.

Everyone's asking what Caroline and I want for Christmas this year (let's put aside the fact that I actually celebrate Solstice) and all I can tell them is: "we want cloth diapers!" I mean, sure, Caroline could definitely use other things. But it just kills me to use disposable diapers on her. Every time I change her diaper, I think to myself "this diaper will still be in a landfill when she graduates college." This is seriously breaking my heart. Everybody complains that there won't be any nature left for our children, and disposable diapers are part of that problem. I recycle, I try to re-use and upcycle things. I bring my own tote bags to the grocery store, I only do laundry when it's absolutely necessary, I unplug my cell phone charger when I'm not using it. If I'm doing my part, why do I feel so terrible about using disposables?

Maybe because "disposable diapers are the third largest single consumer item in landfills." Estimates state that disposable diapers can take up to 500 years to decompose fully. That's just ridiculous, people. If the rule of thumb states that there are about 20 years between generations, Caroline's diapers will still be in a landfill 25 generations from now.

And that's not even the half of it! I could save a metric buttload (yes, that's technical term) of money over the course of her diapering life by using cloth. She would potty train earlier. She would have less diaper rash. Plus, her butt would look even cuter than it already does if it were covered in an adorable diaper!

So, if you're reading this and you want to get us a holiday present: put back the toys that take batteries (no, seriously, Karma will get if you make me endure that) and get us the gift of a more sustainable future.

"I'd call that sound pollution."

Someone actually said that to me recently in reference to my use of the word "fuck" in the context of facebook. "I hope you don't use that kind of language in front of your child," she said, adding the aforementioned comment. I have several things to say to this woman:

• The term is "noise pollution," and it doesn't really cover this. But total A+ for effort, really.
• My 4-month old actually isn't on facebook, can't read, and doesn't understand language at all. So I'm pretty sure her virgin psyche is intact. Except for that part where she's scarred for life from my throwing her into bed.
• What the fuck, lady?

And she's not the only one! My own sister harped on me about using the same word (Fuck. There, I said it again. Dammit.) in a different post on facebook. It went something like this:

Me - "One of the ads on my profile is for Mederma for stretch marks. Fuck you, facebook."
Sister - "Heyyyy, language. You're a mom now!"
Me - "Right. Cause moms don't ever use curse words. Or poop. Or get angry. Or have sex. Basically they're just less human than everyone else."

I really shouldn't have made that last comment, but I just couldn't help myself. In what crazy universe does pushing a child out of your uterus occasion a mandatory change in your behavior? I mean, here are some key points in my defense:

• I'm not cussing out loud in front of your children.
• I'm actually a pretty rocking mom.
• My child is happy and healthy and way smart for her age (the pediatrician says that; it's not just me pulling a Glenn Beck and making shit up.)

So, why exactly is it inherently wrong for a mother to use a curse word? And, in a bit of a broader context, why is it inherently wrong for a mother to have tattoos or piercings or hot pink hair or wear a short skirt? Basically, what's wrong with a woman making informed choices about her own life and behavior that have no negative impact on her children?

I'm not saying I don't judge. I do, even just a little bit. I heard about a woman who got a new piercing while she was pregnant. That's pretty messed up, in my book, because of the risk of infection and the compromised state of the pregnant woman's immune system. Drinking heavily or doing drugs while your child is in your care or there is not a sober adult to tend the child? I wouldn't do it, that's pretty wrong to me. But, seriously you guys, all I did was say "fuck." I mean, really? So here's today's lesson, brought to you by "Free to Be You and Me": parents are people.

We curse. We shout. We have tattoos and piercings, among other things. We like hard rock (and so do our kids). We feel things: anger and joy and hope and fear and passion. We wear the clothes we like, and sometimes very little clothing at all (gasp!). We have sex, and we make out and we want to feel attractive. We love our kids, but we aren't defined by them. We have lives outside of diapers and bottles, chicken nuggets and bedtime stories.

And it's not your fucking place to tell us we can't do these things, so back off.

My Child Is Possessed.

Seriously. There cannot possibly be another explanation for this behavior. "But that's just silly!" you may protest, "Surely you're overreacting." All I can say to you is: "Shut up and stop poking holes in my logic."

Ok, fine. Maybe she's teething. But, then again, maybe she's not. I get the feeling I'm viewing a lot of behavior that could by signs of teething, but could also just be the way a baby learns. I did this when I was in labor. We went to the hospital twice, with me convinced I was in labor. The contractions were regular and getting more frequent, increasing in intensity, etc. And I was miserable and convinced that this baby was coming. And then I really went into labor and what I experienced made those other instances pale in comparison (and also made me feel pretty foolish).

So am I just jumping the gun here? Am I so eager to see her grow beautiful, tiny, pearl teeth that I'm reading too much into this? Is she just going through the four-month sleep regression?

I guess regardless of the cause, the main symptom remains: my sweet Care Bear is now a demon. She's stopped sleeping through the night, she will hardly go down for a nap and she's been fussy on and off for a few days (with a huge blow-up today). This just isn't my child.

My dad said "Maybe you need to watch that PURPLE crying video again. Babies just cry sometimes." Yeah, here's the deal, dad: 1 - the period of PURPLE crying should have peaked like a month ago (when she was still a little angel) and 2 - not my baby! My girl just doesn't cry for no reason. She's almost always satisfied by either a change of scenery or a change of diaper. Clearly, she is now possessed.

Or she's teething. Oh dear, this could get circular...