Love and marriage and parenting

When I was in elementary school, my sisters and I used to watch "Married with Children". I am not sure who thought of this line up, but it was on in between episodes of "I Love Lucy", and so we would watch it because we were too lazy to get up and change the channel.

I don't remember any episodes and I am sure that as a 10 year old I did not understand the jokes. I know now that it was simultaneously not the healthiest picture of a family and a semi-realistic picture of family life (i.e., a mixing of various personalities combined with daily responsibilities that are sometimes entertaining and sometimes annoying).

A perfect picture of our relationship. 

Will and I just celebrated our fifth anniversary and are approaching Fiona's first birthday. In some ways our marriage hasn't changed much over the years. We still have Saturday morning breakfast (see recent example of crepes below!): a tradition started in grad school when we were both working so much that we didn't have much time together during the week. We still make the same jokes: Will makes up silly songs and I use the comeback "so's your face" daily. We still go to bed at different times: Will out by 8:30, me watching Gilmore Girls and working late into the night.

Crepes: way easier to make than I thought. Seriously, even easier than pancakes. Go now and make them. 

In other ways though we have changed so much, especially as we navigate parenting.

I have become more introverted.

Will eats fewer carbs and more tofu.

We have more conversations about poop than I thought possible (baby's, not ours).

But what has really changed (at least for me) is my understanding of romance.

I can't remember when Will shared this quotation with me, but it comes from one of his favorite writers, David Foster Wallace. I do remember him sharing that this was his idea of love and romance.

“The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day.”

When we were first married, I still had the picture of honeymoon-type romance in my head. Big gestures, flowers, candles, talking late into the night, going on adventures. 

But now, I get it. There is nothing sexier than a man showing up everyday for his family... changing diapers that make him gag, doing night duty so I can sleep, cleaning my nasty loose tea leaves out of the sink. 

But William out did himself last week. He planned dinners for the week, printed the recipes, bought the groceries, and surprised me with a new wok. I mean, come on people, what is sexier than saving a woman time and energy and providing your family with healthy meals? Nothing I tell you, nothing (except perhaps when he dresses like Neal Caffrey on White Collar). 

I guess this means I will put up with his early morning puns a little longer. 

Our growling girl

Fiona has started growling.

From Day 1, she had a whole host of noises: soft coos, loud coos, whimpers. Since then she has added m sounds and this funny blowing sound that I think came from trying to imitate me blowing my nose when I had a sinus infection. In the past couple of weeks though, she has exploded with noises. She is hissing (not sure where this came from), making siren noises (to go along with the fire truck puzzle), and making elephant noises (or attempts at it), but my absolute favorite is the growling noise.

It started with me roaring every time she picked up one of her lion toys. Usually she would just giggle about it, but when we turned it into a game that involved us crouching and pouncing and growling like lions in the midst of the furniture, she caught onto the growling and has not stopped.

She growls all the time now. When she is trying something new, when she is pushing her walker toy, when she is crawling around looking for us, when she wants to play.

While this noise, in and of itself, is amazing, what I really love is how it reflects her play. She is active and curious. She is fearless (which is a little scary for me, but also great). She can entertain herself by opening and closing a box a million times, and she finds it hysterical when we "get her" and give her zerberts (or raspberries depending on who you ask). She loves turning the pages in books and will smile and laugh every time I start singing, "Stomp your feet, clap your hands, everybody ready for a barnyard dance."

(Video of noises below for your viewing pleasure. Disclaimer: please forgive my amateur video recording and editing skills.)

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I came across this poem the other day that makes me appreciate her growling even more. I know at this point that she is not making conscious choices about the feminine or masculine nature of her play, but I hope that we are. While I don't mind at all if she plays princess or ballerina, I do hope that she can be just as comfortable playing dragon or fire fighter. I hope that she is just as happy digging in the dirt and looking for worms as she is having a tea party with her dolls (culturally diverse ones of course). I hope that we can open up the possibilities to her as she stretches her imagination and figures out who she is meant to be.

FOR MY DAUGHTER

By Sarah McMane

“Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.” – Clementine Paddleford

Never play the princess when you can
be the queen:
rule the kingdom, swing a scepter,
wear a crown of gold.
Don’t dance in glass slippers,
crystal carving up your toes --
be a barefoot Amazon instead,
for those shoes will surely shatter on your feet.

Never wear only pink
when you can strut in crimson red,
sweat in heather grey, and
shimmer in sky blue,
claim the golden sun upon your hair.
Colors are for everyone,
boys and girls, men and women --
be a verdant garden, the landscape of Versailles,
not a pale primrose blindly pushed aside.

Chase green dragons and one-eyed zombies,
fierce and fiery toothy monsters,
not merely lazy butterflies,
sweet and slow on summer days.
For you can tame the most brutish beasts
with your wily wits and charm,
and lizard scales feel just as smooth
as gossamer insect wings.

Tramp muddy through the house in
a purple tutu and cowboy boots.
Have a tea party in your overalls.
Build a fort of birch branches,
a zoo of Legos, a rocketship of
Queen Anne chairs and coverlets,
first stop on the moon.

Dream of dinosaurs and baby dolls,
bold brontosaurus and bookish Belle,
not Barbie on the runway or
Disney damsels in distress --
you are much too strong to play
the simpering waif.

Don a baseball cap, dance with Daddy,
paint your toenails, climb a cottonwood.
Learn to speak with both your mind and heart.
For the ground beneath will hold you, dear --
know that you are free.
And never grow a wishbone, daughter,
where your backbone ought to be.

The pit in my stomach

Although I have been up at 2 am almost every night for the past nine months, I am up tonight for the following reasons:

1) We had another rat situation which translates into Will setting a trap and me donning rubber gloves and carrying out the dead rat and trap out to the garbage.

2) Fiona just spent an hour and 15 minutes crying herself to sleep, and though I am exhausted, I can't go back to sleep because of the nagging feeling that we have done something terribly wrong and awful to our girl.

My mind is reeling.

• Will she be scarred forever from two nights of crying?
• Have we damaged her trust in us?
• Does she feel abandoned or unloved?
• Am I putting my need for sleep above her need for responsive caregiving?
• I am so tired that I am angry at my husband, not present with my child, unable to focus at work, and feel not quite there all the time.
• Did we just intentionally put her in harm's way?
• How do we help her face hardship all the while having that gutwrenching feeling of seeing her upset?
• I have a pit in my stomach, knowing that harm will come to her in many ways in her lifetime and we won't be able to stop it everytime.  
• Why can't I shield her from all pain? 
• Why are so many of life's lessons learned through struggle?

 Ugh...this parenting thing is hard. I hope we don't permanently screw her up.

A working mom's rant

I am currently standing in a bathroom in the Memphis airport, pumping breast milk and trying to figure out the balance between work and family.

How do you do work trips with a six month old? (Hint...it requires a lot of luggage and help from family.)

How do you get 8 hours worth of work done in the 6 hours she is in child care each day?

How do you prioritize your child while at the same time wanting to show her that work also matters?

How do both parents work and spend time with baby and spend time with each other?

________

There was a news story the other day about dads opening up about their struggles with the work-family balance. My first thought was, "yeah, but it isn't a hard on you. It doesn't stall your career in the same way."

Then I look at my husband who doing his best to be both attentive dad and professor working towards tenure. I think about good friends from college; the dad stays him with their three kids so the mom can work (which requires lots of travel). It is hard on them too.

________

I have decided that I am done with the "can women have it all" question. It doesn't actually lead to discussion. It can't go anywhere. The answer is always no.

No one can have it all, right? No one gets everything they want, and everyone has to prioritize. And at some level everyone, men and women, has to make daily decisions about how to spend their time and energy and what they want out of life.

Now, don't get me wrong. I do think that there are institutional barriers to women who want both a career and family. What I am coming to see, however, is that we can't keep making the conversation about individual families, or specific companies, or even women in particular. What we really need is to talk about is how all families need help and everyone needs a work-life balance and how our local, state, and federals policies do little to actually support us. 

Where is our paid maternity/paternity leave? Why do I have to go on "disability" because I have had a child? Why would my adopted child not be covered under this disability? Why do you lose your health insurance if you work part-time?Where is the access to affordable, high-quality public education? Why is success measured in terms of finances or status? Why can't your career be about engaging in meaningful work rather than the number of hours you put in? Why is individual and family leisure time not valued?

I don't mean to sound cynical. I know that the answers to these questions aren't easy and that it is unrealistic to say, "screw it...let's move to Denmark". But there has to be another way. There has to be a way that values families, while allowing parents to work and contribute to the world. There has to be a way that balances our worth as humans and our financial value. Right?

Sleep(less)

In my infant development class in grad school, we read an article about different cultural approaches to babies' sleep. I remember loving the idea of letting babies stay with the parents and family members and letting them sleep when they were tired wherever they happened to be. And then I promptly forgot about that study as infant sleep was not a primary area of interest for me.

It is now what I think about most...

I have read 5 sleep books (all of which have different advice), I have spoken with a sleep consultant (that is a real thing, people), and I have had numerous conversations with friends and with William.

I don't know what to do. 

At 7 pm when I put her in her bed, I think about how precious she is and immediately go to gaze at her on the monitor.

At 7:30 pm when she wakes up, I think "Why in the world are you awake? Can't I at least eat dinner and take a shower?"

At 9 pm when we stop trying to put her in her own room and snuggle into bed together, I inhale her baby lotion scent, and I wish to cuddle with her forever.

At 6 am after co-sleeping with her and waking for feedings at 11 pm, 1 am, 3 am, and 5 am, I want nothing more than for her to sleep through the night in her own bed.

And during the rest of the day, I wonder why she will not take longer than a 45 minute nap.

I don't know what to do.

I hear other parents talking about how after one week of hell, the cry it out method worked wonders. But then we let her for 5 minutes and all I can think of is how alone she must feel and how terrible we must be. 

I read about "no-cry sleep solutions" and I just get even more tired.

I think, I will just co-sleep and nurse until she is bigger, but then I think that I will never have a good night's sleep again.

I think the most important thing is that she sleeps. Then I think, the most important thing is that she learns to self-soothe and self-regulate. Then I think, the most important thing is that she knows we are there for her. 

I don't know what to do.

I think about parents with sick children or who have lost children and how they would love to have a "normal" night of just waking up for night feedings.

I think about parents who work 100+ hours a week and then get up in the middle of the night with their babes.

And I feel guilty for being so tired and so lost.

And I don't know what to do.

It will come, right? Eventually we will all sleep through the night? Eventually Will and I will be able to lift ourselves out of the new parent fog? Right?

Oh, please say it will.

A letter to our girl

Dear Fiona,

Over the course of your life, you will hear me talk a lot about your power as a woman, what femininity can look like, and how capable you are. We will have conversations about gender roles and stereotypes and how you can break down harmful barriers and stretch boundaries. We will probably even say things like “boys are stupid” when hormones and feelings are a little too much to bear. You will hear me say to my sisters and friends that men just don’t understand what it is like be a women and experience the pressures of all that surrounds that word. And you will even hear me express frustration, anger, and sadness in reaction to something your dad has said or done.

But for now let me say that there are good men in the world, and your father is one of them.

As we approach the halfway mark to your first year of life, I want you to know how much your father loves you and how hard he works to make a good life for you.

He sings to you in the morning when all I can muster is a grumpy “why don’t you want to sleep longer” expression.

He loves to feed you, even if it means he gets sweet potatoes all over his shirt (and the table, the floor, the high chair, you, etc.).

He changes all types of diapers, giggling with you as he does it.

He loves to cover you in bubbles at bath time.

He gets excited about brining you home “surprises” like rice cereal or a mustache pacifier.

He has slept with you in his arms countless times and will secretly mourn the day when you no longer want to do so.

His phone is full of your pictures, and he will gladly talk with anyone about how cute you are (which is a big deal for your introverted, I hate small talk dad).

He has teared up more in the last 6 months than I have seen him do in the past 5 years.

He lives for your smile, your laugh, your head nuzzle on his shoulder.

He works hard to make sure we have the basics like food and shelter, and some bonuses like grilled pizza.

He will stand up for your rights as a person, and encourage you to stand up for the civil rights of others.

He will teach you about financial security, rhetoric, how to try your best, and how to relax on a Sunday afternoon.

He will protect you fiercely and worry about you constantly.

He is a good dad, and you, my dear, are the light of his life. And I am so grateful for that. 

Being Good

One of my thesis and dissertation committee members has a poster on her office door. It reads, "There are bad grades, bad hair days, and bad choices, but there is no such thing as a bad kid." I always liked its message, but didn't spend time really reflecting on it until having my own child.

Fiona has been a world traveler (okay...southern USA traveler) in her first four months. She has already made two trips to Louisiana, time with friends and family in Arkansas, a day trip to Mississippi, a series of flights to see family in South Carolina, a sleepover with friends in North Carolina, and a series of flights to a conference in Texas. For the most part, she really does take these in stride... sleeping, nursing, smiling, and only a little bit of fussing. She is extremely curious and just watches everyone and everything around her.

What has struck me though on these trips is not her easy-going attitude. Instead, it is how many people say "oh, your baby is so good" when they mean "thank goodness your baby is not crying".

Now don't get me wrong, I am so glad she is not a screaming traveler (at least not yet...I have been warned that even the quietest little ones will have a meltdown at some time). But is that what makes her "good"? Would she not be good if she were the screaming child on the plane? (Don't get me started on my rant about adults being angry at screaming babies on a plane...)

Isn't she good in and of herself?

Isn't she good because she is a person?

Isn't she worthy of love, affection, and respect just because?

Isn't there a difference between essence and behavior?

Isn't it good for her to be able to express her distress in addition to expressing her contentment?  

I hope as she grows that she knows she is good as is, bad choices and behavior and all. I wonder if we all started treating each other and ourselves as good people (who yes do bad things occassionally and should take responsibility for those decisions and actions) there would be less shame and less destructive behavior aimed at escaping that shame. Oh, if only.

...

(And because mostly everyone likes baby pictures...here are some from our trips this summer.)

 Sleeping with Nana in Shreveport

 Hanging with cousin Gracie in Arkansas

  Chilling with daddy in Hilton Head

And extra tired parents and baby in San Antonio (isn't it weird how babies sleep with their eyes open sometimes?!)