4 posts tagged “parenting”

Blame Redzilla...again.

I have never been a breastfeeding fanatic. I firmly believe that what's best for mom is best for baby; if breastfeeding doesn't work for you, so be it. I turned out just fine on Enfamil from day one. I had a great bond with my mom and managed to grow up tall, healthy, and smart.

But breastmilk is especially designed by Nature to meet each baby's unique needs. It doesn't get any better than that, if you're a healthy mother who can nurse an infant and wants to. It should be a right - and there shouldn't be any unreasonable restrictions as to when and where you can feed your child when he or she is hungry. If you wouldn't ban a bottle-fed child from eating at a particular place and time, then you shouldn't ban a breastfed one, either. Period.

You think God wouldn't want a woman baring her breasts in public? Then why didn't He, in His infinite wisdom, put the nipples on her fingertips? Hmm? Would the conservatives dare argue that God should have designed women better? Or was it some nefarious cosmic plot designed to prove that women shouldn't be allowed to leave the house, to work, to travel? I don't think so.

If the sight of a nursing breast offends you, don't look. How hard is that? I've long suspected that the only reason for requiring Muslim women to cover themselves head to toe is because men think men cannot control their animal lusts, and would somehow like to place the blame for that on us. Well, I know plenty of men who can exercise control over their lust - so I find this notion grossly insulting to real men. I know there are some men who can't, and they should probably be locked away somewhere. Women shouldn't be made to suffer because a man is weak-willed and undisciplined.

Back in November 2006, a woman was kicked off a Delta Airlines flight for discreetly breastfeeding her child. Here's an article on it: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15720339/?from=ET

That's just nuts. Sorry, but I recall a flight when my son was a year old - if I hadn't been "allowed" to breastfeed, I'm fairly sure they'd have thrown the screaming terror out the rear exit at 35,000 ft. Or stuffed him into an overhead compartment in the back, with an oxygen mask over his face to muffle the yelling. If I hadn't been his mother - and loved him dearly - I'd have been tempted. The only thing I could do to calm him was to nurse him. I'm surprised the other passengers didn't keep an eye on me to make sure I didn't stop. Believe me, I didn't plan on nursing my child until he was almost four years old. Comments from people who think that's "gross" or somehow inappropriate have no clue - let's face it, would you rather see moms doling out Valium to their tots? I didn't think so. Besides, breast milk is just so much more effective, anyway.

Ban a nursing mother from the plane? You've got to be kidding me. With all the complaints people make about crying babies on airplanes, you'd think they'd make mothers sign an agreement promising to nurse them on demand.

But oddly enough, it's usually other women who complain. I would be willing to bet this nursing mother didn't simply rip off her top or flop out a boob and go for it. I'd almost be willing to bet the other passengers couldn't see a darned thing that wouldn't be revealed in a low-cut top or bikini, if that. Why the sight of a mother breastfeeding her child in public bothers anyone is beyond me. I have never seen one who flopped out a boob and was anything but discreet.

I can't say that for all breastfed babies, of course. I do remember breastfeeding my son in the waiting room at NTB, once, while they kindly fixed yet-another-nail-hole in one of my tires (I lived in a construction zone, so I was a monthly customer for a while). He began to make what I liked to call "my compliments to the chef" noises. My son was anything but discreet in his vocal appreciation of fine mother's milk. Not my fault - no, I had on a nursing top, he was tucked completely into a sling, and I'd thrown a receiving blanket over us for good measure. Finally, the man sitting next to me couldn't take it anymore. He broke into a silly grin and said, "That must be a fine lunch. He really likes that."

I was a little taken aback at provoking comments from a stranger, but I looked the guy over and laughed. "You have kids, don't you?" I asked.

"Three of them, all grown now." He smiled, and went back to reading his magazine, a nostalgic grin on his face.

*SIGN THE PETITION TO SUPPORT BREASTFEEDING: http://www.momsrising.org/breastfeeding-petition
Join me in telling Delta Airlines to get a clue and be supportive of breastfeeding mothers; and also in telling Congress it's time to pass the Breastfeeding Promotion Act, which amends the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to protect breastfeeding mothers. Clearly this law is needed now!

If you doubt the power of action, see the update: http://www.momsrising.org/node/430?comments_per_page=50&page=38

And, I hope you'll also join me and tens of thousands of others in one of the most exciting grassroots movement on the Internet: MomsRising.org.

SIGN ON WITH MOMSRISING AT: http://www.democracyinaction.org/dia/organizationsORG/momsrising/signUp.jsp?key=1682&t=longsignup.dwt

MomsRising.org (http://www.momsrising.org) is working to build a massive grassroots movement big enough to impact the outcome of the 2008 elections and beyond. The time has come to break the logjam that's been holding back family-friendly legislation for decades. It's going to take all of us--and then some--working together to get there.

Thank you!

Snippet of a ridiculous conversation, wherein big sister K. (eighteen) attempts to explain to her little brother, W. (ten) "where babies come from." Fortunately, he already knows. "Now, you listen and straighten your sister out if necessary," I say.

We've reached the point in the story where the man and the woman are about to do the deed. K. remembers to mention the importance of condom use.

"You mean the glove?" W. asks, holding up his thumb and forefinger in a gesture that looks like he's indicating about an inch and a half.

"Oh, you poor boy - are you worried about size already?" K. starts giggling. "The man gets bigger--"

"How?" He looks so innocent. So sincere. Surely he's not baiting his beloved sister...?

Ooooh. Now she's struggling. Hard. Not to laugh. "Well, sometimes they read a book..."

"Read a book?" I blurt out. "Read a book? During se--"

"Shhh! Who's explaining this?" She gives me the stern, indignant look. I must be getting better at the look, because she's perfected it.

"But during sex? I have never heard of a guy reading a book during sex." I roll my eyes and mutter, sotto voce, "A woman, maybe..."

"Like your mother," K. says to her brother.

"I do not read books during sex!"

K. looks down her nose at me, disdainfully. "Hey, you read books at baseball games - I have to assume you'd read during sex." I wonder if she thinks tech writers read how-to manuals during the act.

Reminds me of the time it dawned on her that her father and I had (shhhhhhhhh...) had S - E - X. "But you only did it twice, right?" she asked, her eyes filled with horror at the thought.

"No, Sweetie," I confessed. "To have two such perfect children as you and your brother, we had to practice. Lots."

Muahahahahahahahaa...the look on her face was priceless.

I was inspired to post this after reading Redzilla's post, "Abortion is Okay." I didn't realize it was the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. I find it ironic that Roe now campaigns against the legalization of abortion - "Oh, oops, my bad - got mine, but I regret it and I'm sure you will, too."

Unchoice was written to honor a woman I knew, years ago; she was a devout Christian, very much opposed to abortion. She had a loving husband and two beautiful daughters. She was also suffering from kidney disease, and had been warned that another pregnancy could well prove fatal. Despite their precautions, she got pregnant. And despite all the warnings, she tried - really tried - to carry that child to term. But it became quite clear that her "choice" really wasn't a "choice" at all: The fetus couldn't live. She could either continue with the pregnancy and they would both die, leaving a widower and two children alone to grieve the loss of wife and mother, or she could have an abortion and live. She could stick around to help provide for her family, to raise her daughters to be good women, and to love and support the husband she'd vowed to love and support. Had it been her alone, she'd have risked death and carried that child inside her on faith and a prayer and (in the opinion of her doctors) foolishness. But she dared not risk it - for her loved ones' sakes. The day she had the abortion, there was a protest in town - a mile-long "human cross" of protesters carrying lurid, full-color signs with grisly photos of aborted fetuses. She saw the pictures and it was just too much, right then. Her husband pulled over and had words with one of the protesters (no violence, just angry words). When the man understood what this couple had just been through, and how hurtful all this was to them, he threw down his sign and went home. Sometimes, people just don't think. They get so caught up in their cause, they just don't think.

Another friend of mine, a young woman at the time, had a late-term abortion; she was about six months along when she first learned she was pregnant. I had seen her nearly every day of that six months, and wouldn't have guessed, so don't scoff - it's quite possible. She wasn't "showing." The doctor performing the ultrasound that confirmed the pregnancy couldn't get the fetus to move, but it wasn't dead, either. There's a good chance something was horribly wrong with this pregnancy, but that's not why she chose to end it. She chose to end it because the father wasn't involved and she wasn't ready to take care of herself let alone a child, though she was mature enough to recognize that she didn't have the maturity, the financial stability, or the driving desire to be a mother at that point in her life. Her parents didn't particularly want to start over and raise their grandchild, and it would have been unfair to ask it of them. She thought I'd judge her harshly; the fact is, I thought her decision to terminate the pregnancy was wiser than the decision to bring an unwanted child into the world would have been. The moral struggle wasn't mine, and I'm quite thankful I've never been faced with it. I don't judge my friend.

When I was in law school, I researched and wrote a draft of a paper on "Baby Doe." I learned about some horrific genetic "oopses" in nature; I think I know my limits. I do believe that quality of life - the baby's, the mother's, the father's, the siblings' -matters, no matter that some people would have us all believe otherwise. Once upon a time, there wouldn't have been a "choice." Some of these children would simply have died in utero, or shortly after birth. But we have gotten very good at prolonging "life." Too good, I think. I have my limits. I pray that I never, ever have to confront them.

For me, there are circumstances under which abortion is more "okay" than others. It is, and should be, a tough choice - not an easy one. But it should be the woman's choice, and hers alone. Do I believe it's the ending of a life? Yes. Do I believe it's the mother's right to end that life, up to a point (up to the point where that life can sustain itself, outside her body)? Yes. I think it's my right to slice off my arm if I choose to do so; there are very few circumstances under which I'd think it was a good, "right" thing to do (but I can imagine a few, and there are people in the world who simply want to do this). Each woman has to struggle with her own moral and religious beliefs, the "emotional and mental healthiness" of her own choices, and come to her own conclusion - to do what's right for her. In some cases, it may even be to do what's right for her family - the children she already has, and the unborn child itself. I have no respect for those who cannot understand that and seek to force their own beliefs down someone else's throat by threatening, bullying, or coercion. The doctors who perform abortions don't do it because they love to perform abortions - they do it because they're compassionate enough to want to ensure safe, healthy abortions for women who've chosen to end their pregnancies. They do it because it's not their place to judge, but to treat and to heal, others.

No one who would physically attack a woman, a doctor, or healthcare workers, or who would bomb an abortion clinic can credibly say to me "I'm pro-LIFE." They're just making very different choices about which lives are worth living.

I just learned about this on my friend Chispa's Vox blog:

In a way, though, I'm really just standing up for women's autonomy over their own bodies, minds, and spirits. For a cause my mother believed in, and one I defend for my daughter and her daughters. It's so easy - if you're opposed to abortion, don't have one. And step up to the plate, for the love of G-d - adopt a child in need, or support a mother who didn't want to be a mother, but chose to bring that life into the world. If you're pro-choice, stand up for that and say why.

We mothers – we are merely rudders, guiding our children’s ships through the storms and over the turbulent seas of life – we guide them as steadily and as best we can, but we are not the only influence that determines the outcome of the journey...

Who am I today? I am a woman, a daughter, a wife and mother, a writer. I am confident with unexpected moments of self-doubt, calm with occasional thunderstorms, selfish but generous, affectionate but reserved, intelligent with a few Swiss-cheese holes in my brain, rational but prone to flights of fancy, a dreamer with her feet planted on the ground – and I see none of that as contradictory. I am my mother’s daughter.

My mother nurtured me with love and learning. My parents married young, with the understanding that both would attend and graduate from college. Did having a baby at nineteen deter my mother from her commitment? No! She told me once that my earliest bedtime stories were chapters from her college psych texts. If I am determined, efficient, and able to multitask, it’s because I was raised by a woman who could study, cuddle an infant, and read to her child simultaneously!

Astrologers might argue that the Pisces child, born on a Sunday, so near the pull of the ocean’s tides would naturally be gifted with creativity and a vivid imagination. But I contend that any innate creativity and imagination I possessed was nurtured by a mother who got down on the floor and played with me, allowing herself to be cast in the thousands of roles I invented for her. My love of writing was sparked when she installed a bulletin board in my room, and daily pinned a writing prompt – a quote, a photo, some whimsical item – to it, and supplied me with endless reams of paper and a variety of pens. (She later insisted that I learn to type; I later thanked her for it.)

I have a great appreciation for languages. If I can’t speak fluent French today, it’s not my mother’s fault! My mom’s answer to a whiney eight-year-old who cried out, “I’m bored!” was to enroll her in private French lessons at Berlitz. If I believed that college was just an extension of a child’s compulsory education, it was my mom’s doing – she was still working towards her Master’s degree when I was twelve! She made studying seem as natural as breathing, as essential as eating. Blame my mother for the fact that I started college at age twelve – the early French lessons, her schedule of classes from Kent State lying open on the bed, and my natural curiosity combined: “Do you think they’d let me take French I?” Well why not? With three years of French under my belt and my parents there to support my request, doors opened – and I was enrolled in summer school!

Okay, maybe I can’t speak French fluently today, despite eight years of lessons - but I have learned to entertain myself! If I love Oldies, it’s because my mother handed down her 45-RPM records and a phonograph; if my tastes are eclectic, it’s because she also made sure I attended the symphony and the ballet, met Beverly Sills, saw Linda Ronstadt and The Irish Rovers in concert, and took piano lessons. If I can appreciate fine art, it’s because one of my mother’s most cherished books was Jansen’s History of Art – and because she saw to it that I got to tour the Louvre.

While my mother built my confidence and self-esteem, she took care never to talk down to me, never to sugar-coat the truth, never to inflate my ego unrealistically so that the world at large could tear down what she had so carefully built. All her life, I could rely on my mother to be a trustworthy touchstone, an honest critic as well as a staunch supporter. If I am happy, content with who I am, it’s because my mother never allowed me to believe that my best wasn’t good enough. If I am able to appreciate constructive criticism and learn from it, it is because I had a mother who dished it out with love.

Eighteen years ago, I became a mother, myself. When I held my daughter in my arms, I realized the awesome responsibility my mother took on at the tender age of nineteen. For the first time, it hit me just how much I was loved. And that’s when I knew that the debt I owed her was marked “payable to my grandchildren.”

When my mom died – on Valentine’s Day 2002 – I lost not only my mother, but my best friend. Though she always insisted “It’s not my job to be your friend – I’m your mother,” she couldn’t help but be both. I miss her, but because of her, I am strong enough to wipe away the tears, smile, and go boldly forward in my own journey of motherhood.