Parental Hypocrisy

My calendar notification reminded me that I'm going to the dentist this week.  This reminded me that I had not been brushing as often as I should, and so I have been trying to make up for 6 months or so of poor habits in a few weeks in an effort to keep the dentist from knowing I have been bad.  I'm sure everyone does it, and that it never fools them, but it doesn't change the behavior.

Since Lil' Bit has started drooling copious amounts and getting a little fussy, the question of whether she has begun teething has come up.  This got me to thinking about the need to teach her good brushing habits.  Indeed, as parents, we want our children to develop the best habits they can and we endeavor to teach those habits to them.  Whether it's not lying, eating vegetables, good personal hygiene, exercising, not watching too much television, reading, doing homework, doing chores/cleaning house, getting along with others, or myriad other things, we yearn for our children to "do the right thing."  Yet, it's difficult to teach them these lessons when we don't do these things ourselves.

With children, the requirement to "Do as I say, not as I do" rarely seems to work.  They are, by their very nature, imitators.  They do what they see.  They also recognize hypocrisy--even if they don't know that's what it's called.  As the child in my family who as obsessed with fairness, and would shout "n't fair" at the slightest hint of injustice, I have no doubt that Lil' Bit will recognize when I am asking her to do something I am not requiring of myself.  So, since I know I am not currently modeling good behaviors, I figure now is the time to try and get into a routine and do better with them before I have my parental hypocrisy pointed out to me.  And, since I clearly haven't been willing to make these changes for myself up to this point, perhaps I can do it for Lil' Bit.

Regarding Orchids

My dad has an amazing gift with plants and my mom is pretty great with them, too.  My house growing up was filled with all types of flora.  Sadly, I did not inherit this gift.  I used to hate when they would leave me alone for a few days and I had to water them all.  It was a complicated schedule with different things needing to be watered at different times, and some got plant food and some didn't.  I never killed anything, but I probably got close.  Needless to say, I never acquired many plants of my own.  But that didn't mean people didn't give them to me.  The few plants I did receive often died early on, as I forgot to water them.  Those that lasted more than a month were those that could survive a desert climate--days or weeks without watering, followed by tons of overwatering based on guilt for previously forgetting and concern about when the forgetting would happen again.

And so it was with trepidation that I accepted my friend Maria's birthday present four years ago-a phalaenopsis orchid.  I had admired her collection of them and so she gave me one of my own.  It was beautiful, but I was certain I would kill it.  After all, as I understood it, orchids are difficult plants to grow.  Maria assured me that I could do it and, surprisingly, I managed to get it to bloom a second time before the year was over.  That seemed to be the end of my success.  Even though it grew new leaves and appeared healthy, it didn't bloom again.  I was disappointed at the lack of flowers, but hey, at least it was still green and growing.  That was something.  So, I let myself be content with the knowledge I hadn't killed it.  Then, something odd happened.  It sprouted a keiki--another orchid plant.  Apparently, I couldn't make it happy enough to flower, but I could make it happy enough to reproduce.  In fact, over the years, it has sprouted 3 new orchids.

As excited as I was that I had managed to do better than simply not kill the plant, I was not a fan of this whole reproduction thing.  I was now the proud owner of four non-flowering plants that I had to manage not to kill--it had been hard work simply not killing one.  I actually started to get irritated with the plant when I would see it was making another keiki.  I gave one away to my dad, but I still had three.  In an effort to try and force the plant to flower, I didn't remove the last keiki from the original orchid's growing stem.  My reasoning was that at least it couldn't make another one while one was still attached.

Well, color me startled when something odd starting growing out of the keiki.  Not another plant!, I shouted internally.  No, actually, it was a growing stem.  My first!  Not only that, it started to make buds!  And this week, of all the crazy things, the keiki bloomed!  So far only one of the two blooms has opened, but that by itself is crazy good.  I think I can now retire my title as plant-killer.  Yay!

So, what does all of this have to do with children--i.e., why is this story in my blog?  I realized that I can care and nurture living things that are known to be difficult.  And, although I don't necessarily do things the way anyone else would, it doesn't mean I'm not doing a good job or that I won't be successful.  Finally, it's a reminder to take pleasure in small, unexpected things.  So, whether it's orchids, or babies, or something else entirely, I am working on remembering that I can learn new things, accomplish new achievements, and enjoy small victories.  And, hopefully, it's a lesson I can pass on to Lil' Bit.

Relationship Math or How 1+1+1=7

Yesterday was a particularly good day.  What made the day so wonderful, is that all 7 of our family relationships were fed.  But aren't there only 3 members to my family?  Yes.  Then, how do I get seven relationships with 3 people?  It starts with the idea that 1+1=3.  In any relationship between two people, there are actually three entities that must be fed and sustained--each of the two individuals and the unified relationship itself.  Depending on the type of relationship between the two people, it may need lots of time and energy, or very little, but it will always require some of both.  This fuzzy math is best visualized by the unity candle.  Often, the families of the couple light to two smaller candles as a recognition of the families helping create the individual.  Then, the two individuals light a third candle, representing their new partnership.  Note, however, that the two individual candles remain lit.  This is because each individual must remain and sustain him or herself, in addition, to feeding the partnership relationship.

What's interesting about relationship math is that it is exponential in its growth, so that the addition of a child to a family creates 7 relationships to be sustained.  You still have the 3 relationships from before, but now you add 4 more-your child's individual identity, each parent's relationship with the child, and the family unit.  Each additional child adds even more relationships as each child must now develop a relationship with each sibling and the children themselves form a unit separate from the parents.  That's what makes time management so important.  We must carve out time for ourselves as individuals, time for the parents as a couple, and time for the family as a whole, all while giving each child enough parent time to strengthen those relationships as well as build the child's ability to support him or herself as they grow older.

This is no small task.  As parents, we tend to do a good job with our individual relationships with the child as well as the family unit relationship.  We also work hard on helping our children cultivate their own identity, although success in this area is often mixed.  Most of us struggle to find time to rejuvenate ourselves, although we may catch small moments with haircuts, massages, reading a book, or just having a quiet cup of tea before the rest of the house wakes up.  The relationship that often gets forgotten is the parents' relationship.  We tell ourselves that, as adults, we know that the child needs more of our time and that our partner will understand.  And this is true, to a degree.  However, at some point, you must put energy back into that relationship or it will die.

It also does no good to put energy into that relationship, or any of the others, and forget self-care.  The failure to nurture one's self can lead to an over investment in the child or partner.  Thus, the parent who puts all of their energy into the child can lose not only their partner, but him or herself.  This is because over investment in a child often results in the creation of a fused identity with that child, making it difficult for the child to find and create a unique identity because the parent is too invested in each and every decision the child makes--indeed, the parent's own identity depends upon it.  Thus, the failure to create the time for self-care results in a weakening of the relationships with the other members of your family.  By depriving yourself, you deprive your spouse and child(ren), as well.  A prolonged failure in this regard can result in a complete breakdown of the relationship. 

Don't get me wrong.  As a parent of a 2 1/2 month old, I am well acquainted with self-sacrifice and the role it plays in parenting.  I don't have even remotely as much time for self-care as I used to and remembering I am wife as well as mommy can be pretty difficult.  Nevertheless, there are ways to make sure we get the time we need, for ourselves and our partners, so that all of the family relationships remain strong and nurtured.  For example, when one parent needs time for self-care, the other parent can spend that time building their relationship with the child--two relationships are strengthened at the same time.  Taking a family vacation to a place one or both of partners love or always wanted to go can fill up the individual as well as promoting the family unit.  Utilizing friends and family to watch the children in order to take a date night, or just a quiet evening at home can help the partnership relationship as well as provide opportunities for the child to learn more about herself by being away from the parents.

Truth be told, one of the things I love about letting Lil' Bit hang out with other people (friends, relatives, etc.) is that I learn a lot more things I can do as a parent to comfort or entertain her.  Whether it's ways to make her burp, how to sooth her when she cries, or remembering that as she gets older, things she wasn't interested in before may have become fun, new and exciting playthings, I have learned so much from watching other parents care for Lil' Bit because they do things differently.  These experiences also make me more appreciative of my time with her.  When I've had her all day with no breaks, the minute Phil walks in the door, I am ready to hand her over.  But, if I've left to run errands or, say, shovel 15 inches of snow off the sidewalk, when I get back inside the house, I am ready to hold and snuggle my daughter and have a lot more love and energy to offer her.  My self-care rejuvenates me.  That little bit of energy given to my self, recharges me and grows exponentially, giving me an abundance of love and energy that I can give to Lil' Bit.

So, getting back to yesterday, here's why it was such a great day.  Morning playtime was family unit time (1).  Phil got some self-care time while I cared for Lil' Bit, which also provided me with mommy time (2 & 3).  I got self-care time when Gramma Pam and then Phil watched Lil' Bit so I could go to the salon, and Phil got daddy time (4 & 5).  Lil' Bit's godparents took her overnight, so Phil and I got to have partnership time by having a date night (6).  And finally, Lil' Bit got individual identity time by getting cared for by seven different adults, each of whom interacted with and supported her differently (7).  And so it was, that we managed to feed and nourish all 7 of our family relationships.  Not too shabby for a Thursday.

The Power of Permission

I'm the kind of person who doesn't like being told what to do. I like to do things my way, in my own time.  I also like to beat people's expectations.  If someone said I couldn't do something, I would do it, just to prove them wrong.  Unless, of course, I got the feeling that they were challenging me just to get me to do the opposite.  At the same time, I hate giving up. I don't like thinking that something beat me.

Taking all of these traits together, it isn't difficult to imagine the internal connundrum I experienced when breastfeeding wasn't working.  What was worse was that, shortly after my milk came in, the supply was suddenly much reduced.  I panicked.  Both my first and second choice for feeding my daughter seemed to be denied to me.  I was angry.  I wanted to stubborn my way through, but there wasn't much I could do if my body wouldn't cooperate.

One night, after a long pumping session resulted in little milk, I was done.  My hormones were raging and I was sobbing.  I didn't want to have to feed my child formula, but I was short on sleep and the pumping wasn't going any better than the breastfeeding.  In my exhaustion, I went to Phil and asked if we could talk about our options.  I explained that I didn't want to do formula, but the pumping made feedings take twice as long and wasn't producing much for all the effort.  Phil looked at me and gave me the best answer.  He said it was up to me. He would support me if I wanted to keep trying, or he would support switching to formula.  He gave me permission to quit.

Once I had received permission to quit, I wanted to try harder to make it work.  And, as previously noted, pumping ended up working quite well.  But, what I discovered is that granting permission can be an amazing thing.  It makes it easier to do what you know you should, but don't want to.  It's like when I would diet.  If I thought I couldn't have something, it was all I wanted--even if it was something I wouldn't want regularly.  Being allowed to do something made it easier not to do it.  Much like the child who only wants the toy that is being played with by someone else, it is that which we are told we can't have or can't do that motivates us.  Receiving permission can allow us to sit back and evaluate if that is something we really want, or if we were just pushing against being told "no."

I hope to remember this as I raise my daughter, particularly since she already appears to have inherited my stubborn and doesn't like being forced to do anything.  Perhaps a little permission can go a long way.  It certainly works for me.

From Trap to Sieve

I have always prided myself in having a good memory.  I could remember obscure details and useless facts better than most people I knew.  This talent served me well in school.  I could remember not just facts, but generally where they had been located on the page I read them, making open book tests much easier.  Such as, that was in a footnote, so I only need to look at the bottom of the pages.

It turned out that this talent was also useful in law school, as I could remember facts from cases really well.  When I had worked as a legal assistant and accompanied by boss to trial, I could pull relevant exhibits before he requested them, because I knew what was in them all and roughly what they had been numbered.

My boss told me that he had once been that way, but it had changed after taking the bar exam.  This was a refrain I heard from multiple practicing attorneys.  I would listen and nod, but internally I believed myself immune.  They just didn't know how really great my recall was.

Well, lo and behold, after the massive brain dump that is the bar exam, I noticed that I started having problems thinking of specific words.  They were words I knew and should have been able to easily recall, but I would grope for them.  I felt like an idiot.  I also found myself mixing up words when I would speak.  I began to call my cats by the wrong name.  It was bizarre, but mostly a nuisance.

Then came pregnancy.  The memory seemed to get worse.  Phil's cousin Marsha described this to me as the "brain/uterine shunt."  All the brain cells go to the baby, never to return.  Sure enough, more things began to slip past me.  Well, I thought to myself, I'm only pregnant 9 months, then I can recover.

As it turns out, this is not the case.  I now suffer from baby brain.  And, of course, this condition is exacerbated by being tired--the perpetual state of being for parents.  Just this morning, the concept of "guest room" was beyond me as I tried to tell Phil where his laundry was currently located.

So, having watched my brain turn to mush, and my memory slip from trap to sieve, I now understand why adults, particularly parents, always seemed to repeat themselves, tell the same story over and over, misstate or use the wrong word, or have trouble recalling simple words.  I will never again make fun of my parents when they call me by one of my siblings' names or look horrified when an attorney misspeaks during oral argument.  Now that I have joined their ranks.

My Village

I don't know where the phrase "It takes a village to raise a child" comes from, although Wikipedia informs me it's from an African proverb, but I first encountered it when former First Lady Hillary Clinton wrote her book with that title.  I never read the book, but phrase stuck with me, the idea being that raising children is not an individual task, but rather one that involves lots of people.  Although the concept resonated with me, I had no experience to confirm its accuracy.

Growing up, my family was something of an insular unit because we moved roughly every 2 1/2 years.  Because my dad was a minister, although we were certainly part of the congregation, because he was often the interim minister, there was no sense of permanency or belonging.  Even extended family wasn't readily available, with us visiting my grandparents once or twice a year, as they lived out of state.  I can't speak for my parents or siblings, but from my perspective, we never had a village to belong to.  Even though my family finally settled down in a single city, I always felt like I was on the outside looking in, never to belong anywhere.

This feeling continued through college graduation.  I moved roughly every year, sometimes even more frequently than that.  All the while, I kept looking for somewhere to belong and never found it.  After I married Phil, I thought having a ready-made church community would help.  And, for a while, I did feel part of the church community.  Here was a group of people where I found friends that really cared about me.  I even found a job where I loved the people I worked with enough to hang out with them after hours.  It was not to be, however.  Having allowed myself to get attached and start to feel like I belonged, circumstances made it necessary for us to leave.

I didn't want to move to Michigan.  First off, there's too much snow and cold and, as I believe I have previously indicated, I am not a fan.  Second, it was a small city--about 8,000 people.  My mind could barely wrap around the idea of a city smaller than my college.  That, and the closest "big" city was Lansing--a city smaller than all but one that I had previously lived in.  I was going to be living in a fishbowl and I wasn't particularly thrilled about it.  Still, there wasn't really a choice.  Phil had gotten a job there and I was going to graduate school.


Phil joined the community before I did, both literally and figuratively.  He arrived in late September, whereas I didn't come until the following February.  He also met and knew more people than I--from funerals, Rotary, and his chaplaincy with the fire department.  I went to school in Lansing and worked in Lansing so, having spent most of my time studying or in Lansing, outside of the church, I didn't really get to know the locals.  All that changed with the infertility.

We allowed the public in on our private journey, in part for self-preservation.  I didn't want to hear people ask when I was going to have kids, as I would get angry and frustrated, and they wouldn't realize they were stepping on a landmine.  It turned out that, by sharing my journey, I received advice from lots of women who had also struggled as well.  I had joined a community--those who have fertility issues.  Then, when we finally got pregnant, I joined another community--those who had experienced pregnancy.  And, now that I have my daughter, I have joined the community of parents.  By letting others in on our journey, I had managed to create a support system.  I finally had a village.

As it turns out, next month will mark an anniversary of sorts.  It will be the longest I have lived consecutively in a single place.  And with that anniversary comes the recognition that I feel like I belong here.  I love my friends, my job, my community, my church.  I don't know that I will ever love the snow, or the weather patterns, but I do think of this place as home.  This is my village.  And my village is helping me raise Lil' Bit.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.

How To Feed A Child

Who knew that feeding your new child would be such a harried experience. You're already nervous about your ability to take care of this little person and suddenly you discover that something as simple as feeding it carries a heavy burden. Whether it's the lactation nazis who make you feel like you've never done enough, the formula companies who seduce you with the ease of formula, or the parenting magazines who attempt to walk the line and sing the praises of both, parents are bombarded with tons of advice regarding how and what to feed their children.

While formula feeding was all the rage for my parents' generation, breastfeeding has come back into vogue. We are inundated with radio and television ads advocating the benefits of breastfeeding and are made to feel like failures and stew in a lifetime of guilt if we formula feed. Colostrum is often referred to as "liquid gold" and people who comment on pumping equipment and accessories refer to "every precious drop" and how horrified they are if any is spilled. There are even shields made to collect any milk that is released during the day rather than "wasting it" in a nursing pad in your bra. Then there are the myriad bottles that are made to be "just like mom" or "as close to nature as possible." It's clear that in today's world, breastfeeding is the gold standard and formula-feeding is the also-ran.

What I found missing from all the advice was a recognition that how parents ultimately decide to feed their child depends a great deal on the circumstances of the family and no position, regardless of side, can ever account for the endless possibilities of what brings parents to their ultimate decision. I don't think any woman who gets pregnant plans to formula feed. Even the teenagers of MTV's 16 and Pregnant initially attempt to breastfeed. Any why not? Outside of all the health benefits to mom and baby, it's free! Still, even with all the media pressure to breastfeed, whether parents elect to breastfeed or formula feed, there is plenty of support out there for either decision.

What's frustrating to me is that there is a third option that very few people, medical providers included, consider or recognize. It's not a simple option, or even "ideal" (although none of them is in my book), but it's the one that works best for me. But, before we discuss said option, let's go back and figure out how I got here.

I intended to breastfeed. I knew of the health benefits and was seduced by the thought of effortless weightloss as well as free food. I set up my birth preferences to include immediate bonding and attempts at breastfeeding in an effort to get off to a successful start. Nature, however, had other plans. Between Lil' Bit's need to head to the nursery for oxygen and my erratic heartbeat and fainting, we had little bonding time and no immediate attempts at breastfeeding could be made. When I finally got to the nursery to try breastfeeding, it was a spectacular disaster, with lots of crying on everybody's part. The nurses made a note to get me pumping equipment and to have me meet with the lactation consultant.

In meeting with the lactation consultant, it became clear that breastfeeding was going to take lots of work. Not only was Lil' Bit having issues not wanting to suck because it gave her a headache (the result of her conehead from the long labor and 3-hour pushing session), she kept getting her tongue in the way. We were given a contraption that allowed me to finger-feed Lil' Bit whatever colostrum I was able to pump and then supplement with formula without having to bottlefeed and, in doing so, we would teach her to keep her tongue down. This was an extremely exhausting system, as taping the small tube to a finger and getting said tube and finger into Lil' Bit's mouth was difficult. You wouldn't think so, but trust me on this.

When we would report to the nurses how much she was eating, we were informed that we weren't doing it right. She wasn't eating enough at each feeding. Although I listened thoughtfully, I wasn't sure what the nurse intended me to do. I couldn't make her eat anymore than she was. Besides, if I had been breastfeeding, we'd have no way to know how much she was taking in, so why was there this big to do? Each day I would try to get Lil' Bit to latch, but the lack of immediate food always left her screaming. The nurses told me to stick with it and that once my milk came in, it would be easier, because she would get an immediate response.

Once we got her home, we kept with the pattern. However, it became clear that the finger-feeder was not going to keep up with Lil' Bit. She had an appetite and it could not give her food fast enough. At this point, we elected to feed her from a bottle. I still pumped and we gave her whatever I produced from a bottle first, but if there wasn't enough, we supplemented with formula. I knew giving her the bottle would make breastfeeding more difficult, but the lactation consultant had told me that "going to the breast should be a good experience for the baby, so if she starts screaming, it's time to stop for that attempt." Well, there was always screaming. Remember my previous discussion about a stubborn child? She wanted her food and she wanted it now, thank you very much. I continued to try breastfeeding, but she never did latch. Even after my milk came in and was abundant, she still got her tongue in the way, she bit, she screamed, and we were both left tired and frustrated.

In my exhaustion, I remembered that the point was to give Lil' Bit breastmilk. I was already doing that--albeit by bottle. I was going to have to do that anyway once I got back to work, and this way Phil could help with the feedings. Before Lil' Bit was two weeks old, she was dining exclusively on breastmilk from a bottle without formula supplementation, and does so still today. We had stumbled upon what is known as "exclusive pumping" or "EP." This is option number 3, although it's hard to convince people. Everyone asks if we are breastfeeding or bottlefeeding, and I explain we are bottlefeeding breastmilk. The question should be: are you feeding breastmilk or formula, regardless of the delivery method. With EP, Lil' Bit and I both get the health benefits of breastmilk without the trauma of breastfeeding, and Phil can help with the feedings. It's not perfect. Feeding take longer--I have to warm up the bottle, feed her, and then pump. I am somewhat tied to the pump, as I pump 5-6 times a day at 4-6 hour intervals. And even when she sleeps through the night, I still have to wake up for a pumping session.

Still, doing it this way, I am prepared for when I go back to work and have already begun stockpiling milk in the freezer for when she heads off to daycare. And the truth is, neither breastfeeding nor formula-feeding is perfect either. Each option has benefits and drawbacks and it is up to parents to decide what is best for their child. I just wish there were sources of information out there for parents that outline all the options, highlighting their benefits and drawbacks, without pushing an agenda. As a new parent, I have enough to worry about without feeling as though I have done it all wrong before I barely got started.

*EP is receiving more recognition, such as this article in Time Magazine, but is still not widely accepted.