I was holding our one month old baby, when my sister-in-law "jokingly" announced over FaceTime that I was "spoiling" him.
I probably come across as more sensitive than I am for using quotes around jokingly. But, even the thickest-skinned mothers would find "jokes" like that lame. It's just never funny to criticize a new mom. And can we all agree that if it's not funny, it doesn't count as a joke?
Either way, my sister-in-law is certainly not the only person with a fear of "spoiling" children. Some people are convinced that practices like co-sleeping and baby-wearing will cause a baby to become too dependent on a certain level of attention, involvement, or care. But, it doesn't seem like attention, involvement, and care are bad things. So, they call it "spoiling". Because "spoiling" sounds like something you should avoid doing.
But, my questions are who are "they", and why do they care so much about how I care for my child?
Is it because "they" don't want self-centered a-holes to take over the world? Because I can get on board with that. I don't like a-holes either. So much so, in fact, that I actually do plan to avoid "spoiling" my child. But, when I say "spoiling", I'm talking about material sh*t.
I have this Facebook friend from high school. Days after announcing that she and her husband were expecting a girl, she posted a bunch of pictures of one thousand brand new outfits that she bought for her. They were all adorable, for the record. But, more recently, she posted a picture of her three-ish month old in their bed, and felt the need to add the disclaimer that NO! She doesn't sleep with us!!
If anyone cares, I actually like this girl. But, this seems remarkably backwards to me.
I think that giving a toddler too many THINGS is what spoils kids and turns them into jack wagon adults. I do not think that responding to a baby's needs turns them into the idiots who doddle in their little gang of five, taking up the whole sidewalk during rush hour, deaf to the phrase excuse me, and forcing me to step into oncoming traffic to make my train on time.
I think modeling is everything. If you want to teach your kid the importance of other people's needs, I think it makes a lot of sense to start your relationship by putting your child's needs first. I get why you're supposed to put your oxygen mask on first in the event of a plane crash, so if your postpartum experience feels like a plane crash, maybe you have no choice but to put your needs first. I get that. My mom was on anxiety medication for awhile when I was little. I get it.
But, if your postpartum life isn't a plane crash, my advice is: don't make it one. Because all this anxiety about "spoiling" babies can do that.
Part of me honestly believes that it's the baby product industry trying to scare moms away from allowing our babies to be dependent on us, because if they're not dependent on us, they're dependent on their swings, their mobiles, their security blankets. And all that sh*t just does not work as well. It makes your life harder.
When your baby cries unless you hold it, and you want to hold it, the last thing on your mind should be "spoiling" anxiety. Folding the clothes in a mad rush because you're not sure how long your baby will stay asleep after you put him down and deciding whether today is a day you shower may not seem easy. Because having an infant isn't easy. But trusting your instincts is a heck of a lot easier than trying to force a pissed off baby to be happy in a swing, although from what I hear, swings are fairly magical.
I know the fact that a baby needs a sh*tload of physical contact seems kind of nutty. Until you think about the fact that it had been living INSIDE of you for the entire nine months of its existence prior. And that it is, literally, in every way, completely dependent on you.
We readily accept that a baby's eyesight won't develop fully until six months, and we'll do sh*t like buy colorful books and toys to promote its eyesight. But, for some reason it's a challenge to believe that a baby is still developing brain chemicals that regulate emotions, and that physical contact literally creates those chemicals.
Whatever. Our kids can just live in a world populated by emotionally unstable jerk holes with good vision.
Because some people insist there's a difference between an infant's needs and an infant's wants. And they claim that babies cry not only when they need something, but also when they simply want something. Yikes. I will never believe that infants have mere preferences. These creatures can't even form a real thought. These things they "want" are dictated by instincts. Instinct: Science's word for BEST FOR SURVIVAL. Sounds a lot like a need.
I don't really think you'll permanently eff up your kid if you fail to meet a need to be held here or there. But, I do really think that crying is the only way babies communicate. Call it a need, call it a want, call it bacon. Whatever it is my baby wants to communicate, I want to encourage that communication. And the way to do that is by responding.
Dear parent complaining that your tweenager won't communicate with you, I think I know why.
I really don't want to judge how other people raise their kids. Because I downright loathe people who do that. I mean, if you love your kid, ten points for you. Ten million, even. But there are lots and lots of people who INSIST that prompt and constant responses, co-sleeping, and baby-wearing WILL cause spoiled, clingy, high maintenance behavior.
EFF THAT. I'm officially sick of this sh*t, and now that I have a pretty darn independent six month old, I can say it. In capital letters.
The real reason I'm so over it is because of my husband, who, at least partially, believed what all those f*ckers were saying about "spoiling" your baby.
I say partially, because we went through phases. Most recently, right before Finley could sit stably or move around well on his tummy, he did NOT want to be put down in his pack n play. We're talking bonkers. And not just Finley, my husband, too. Because that meant I had "spoiled" the baby. From now on, he would always have to be held.
It didn't mean that his brain was active and he needed more stimulation than a toy dangling over his face. No. It couldn't possibly mean that. It meant that he would want to be carried around until he was in high school.
Ryan and I argued about this kind of thing at least four times in Finley's six months. I would lose my sh*t every time, because I already emailed him 9,128 articles explaining that my constant contact with the baby was fulfilling a physiological need that would ultimately make him more independent.
Ryan would eventually get scared of me and stop arguing. And the next day, I would email him 832 more links. He'd pretend to read them, admit that he was wrong, and then a month or so later, we'd start over.
The very last thing I said in an argument was, Just wait until we get him a walker. Please shut up about this until then. I'm still trying to figure out why the eff we didn't order the walker sooner. Or whether I should have been more patient until he could walk on his own. Baby product industry conspiracy victim right here.
But it did solve my problem with my anxious husband. Just as I predicted, homeboy wants to be in his walker all the time. Until he gets tired, and then he wants to fall asleep in my arms or next to me.
Would he fall asleep if I left him on his own? I really don't know. And, I really, really don't care.
That's the awesome thing about ignoring all the horsesh*t anxiety. I will always help him to sleep, as long as he needs it. Pinterest told me that there are only like 940 Saturdays between your baby's birth and when s/he leaves for college. So, I will prioritize and enjoy every snuggle I can get.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Sunday, September 8, 2013
5 Things You Will "Never Have Time For Again" with a Baby
When you're pregnant, once you get beyond the seven-too-many-doughnuts look, you will come across a subgroup of parents who have either developed psychic abilities, discovered time-travel, or are trying to feed you horsesh*t. They will tell you exactly how every part of your life from this point on is going to happen. From the epidural you're definitely going to need, to how much your teenagers are going to hate you.
Although I don't know how 15-year-old Finley will feel about me, I didn't get an epidural, so I'm reasonably sure it's the horsesh*t thing.
Really. The fact that no two lives are the same is completely lost on these propagandists. So, when they tell you that you're doomed to live a sleepless existence surrounded by filth alongside the spouse from whom you feel completely distant? Kick that f*cker in the shin.
Yes, your life will probably get busier once you have another human to care for. And what that means in practice VARIES. I don't know, you might end up sleepless and filthy and detached from your spouse. But I wouldn't go into parenthood with that expectation if I didn't have to. And no one has to.
Not only will your experience be different from others', it will be different every day, week, and month. I found it got easier fast. And honestly, I don't remember there ever being a point when we didn't have time for the following:
1. Cleaning the House.
Our baby is a happy guy, but he gets bored alone in his pack n play after anywhere between five and 20 minutes. I'll let him fuss a little, but I will not let him cry, so we no longer crush chores in one two-hour tag-team house cleaning event every Saturday morning. But, we never have dishes pile up, and we don't even have a dishwasher. I even get to clean the dogs' bowls every week. And I scrub our drying racks every week. We never have more than a basket worth of laundry waiting to be done. If you think I'm bragging...
The truth is that if we let Finley try to crawl around on the floor on a Wednesday, he'd be choking on dog hair, because he's still learning how to do it, and learning involves occasional face plants onto the carpet. We do vacuum and brush our dogs, but they are two of the hairiest beasts ever. So we figure once or twice a week is good enough, because otherwise it's like brushing your teeth while eating doughnuts, which kind of sounds delightful, but is mostly just silly.
But, the other truth is that I could probably vacuum after Fin's asleep instead of eating ice cream and scrolling through Pinterest. Parenthood. It's all about choices.
2. Personal Grooming.
I'll admit that I haven't had my hair cut in maybe a year, I put only mineral powder on my face on the train, and I wear yoga pants to my office job in downtown Boston more often than is acceptable, which would be technically never. But, that was equally true even before we conceived our boy. I do shower every day now, though, so, that's something.
BUT, I could easily get up a half hour earlier to try to look pretty. I could even go to sleep a half hour earlier at night to make up for it. But, my husband once made the mistake of telling me I look pretty without makeup. I haven't worn mascara since.
3. Marriage.
I don't know, we hang out every night after Fin goes to sleep. Usually we just stare at him and talk about how awesome he is, but that's serious quality bonding time if you ask me.
And we do every ordinary weekend errand as a family. Probably doesn't count as quality time, but I swear that stuff can be fun if you just decide to enjoy it. (This is why we never EVER go to Walmart, even though it would loosen up our budget.)
4. Exercise.
I'd be lying if I said I've used my jogging stroller even once. I don't know who I was kidding when I almost signed up for a Spartan Beast just over six months after my due date.
But, it is not that I don't have time for it. It would be embarrassingly easy for me to get out of bed an hour earlier than I do. I just don't want to. This is not a TOO BUSY issue, this is a TOO LAZY issue. A TOO COMFY issue. For now, I'll just pretending that walking a lot during the day counts.
5. Making Dinner.
I guess this is kind of a lie, because it's actually my very cool husband who makes dinner while I get Finley to sleep. And usually he doesn't even complain. My point is simply that it only takes one person to tend to the baby. If you have a spouse or any other help, that means one person is always free to tend to the household.
This might be a little unfair because my husband works for himself and I work for a non-profit, so we don't have the longest hours. But, we also don't have the biggest paychecks, if that makes you feel better.
And, speaking of big paychecks, I have a friend who has THREE housekeepers. (I really don't know how big her and her husband's paychecks are, but, if I had to guess...) Their baby is a couple months older than ours and started food a month before, and when she told me that there isn't time to do homemade baby food, I believed her. But, we don't even have one housekeeper and are finding homemade baby food to be no sweat.
Everyone's life is different.
Although I don't know how 15-year-old Finley will feel about me, I didn't get an epidural, so I'm reasonably sure it's the horsesh*t thing.
Really. The fact that no two lives are the same is completely lost on these propagandists. So, when they tell you that you're doomed to live a sleepless existence surrounded by filth alongside the spouse from whom you feel completely distant? Kick that f*cker in the shin.
Yes, your life will probably get busier once you have another human to care for. And what that means in practice VARIES. I don't know, you might end up sleepless and filthy and detached from your spouse. But I wouldn't go into parenthood with that expectation if I didn't have to. And no one has to.
Not only will your experience be different from others', it will be different every day, week, and month. I found it got easier fast. And honestly, I don't remember there ever being a point when we didn't have time for the following:
1. Cleaning the House.
Our baby is a happy guy, but he gets bored alone in his pack n play after anywhere between five and 20 minutes. I'll let him fuss a little, but I will not let him cry, so we no longer crush chores in one two-hour tag-team house cleaning event every Saturday morning. But, we never have dishes pile up, and we don't even have a dishwasher. I even get to clean the dogs' bowls every week. And I scrub our drying racks every week. We never have more than a basket worth of laundry waiting to be done. If you think I'm bragging...
The truth is that if we let Finley try to crawl around on the floor on a Wednesday, he'd be choking on dog hair, because he's still learning how to do it, and learning involves occasional face plants onto the carpet. We do vacuum and brush our dogs, but they are two of the hairiest beasts ever. So we figure once or twice a week is good enough, because otherwise it's like brushing your teeth while eating doughnuts, which kind of sounds delightful, but is mostly just silly.
But, the other truth is that I could probably vacuum after Fin's asleep instead of eating ice cream and scrolling through Pinterest. Parenthood. It's all about choices.
2. Personal Grooming.
I'll admit that I haven't had my hair cut in maybe a year, I put only mineral powder on my face on the train, and I wear yoga pants to my office job in downtown Boston more often than is acceptable, which would be technically never. But, that was equally true even before we conceived our boy. I do shower every day now, though, so, that's something.
BUT, I could easily get up a half hour earlier to try to look pretty. I could even go to sleep a half hour earlier at night to make up for it. But, my husband once made the mistake of telling me I look pretty without makeup. I haven't worn mascara since.
3. Marriage.
I don't know, we hang out every night after Fin goes to sleep. Usually we just stare at him and talk about how awesome he is, but that's serious quality bonding time if you ask me.
And we do every ordinary weekend errand as a family. Probably doesn't count as quality time, but I swear that stuff can be fun if you just decide to enjoy it. (This is why we never EVER go to Walmart, even though it would loosen up our budget.)
4. Exercise.
I'd be lying if I said I've used my jogging stroller even once. I don't know who I was kidding when I almost signed up for a Spartan Beast just over six months after my due date.
But, it is not that I don't have time for it. It would be embarrassingly easy for me to get out of bed an hour earlier than I do. I just don't want to. This is not a TOO BUSY issue, this is a TOO LAZY issue. A TOO COMFY issue. For now, I'll just pretending that walking a lot during the day counts.
5. Making Dinner.
I guess this is kind of a lie, because it's actually my very cool husband who makes dinner while I get Finley to sleep. And usually he doesn't even complain. My point is simply that it only takes one person to tend to the baby. If you have a spouse or any other help, that means one person is always free to tend to the household.
This might be a little unfair because my husband works for himself and I work for a non-profit, so we don't have the longest hours. But, we also don't have the biggest paychecks, if that makes you feel better.
And, speaking of big paychecks, I have a friend who has THREE housekeepers. (I really don't know how big her and her husband's paychecks are, but, if I had to guess...) Their baby is a couple months older than ours and started food a month before, and when she told me that there isn't time to do homemade baby food, I believed her. But, we don't even have one housekeeper and are finding homemade baby food to be no sweat.
Everyone's life is different.
Monday, August 12, 2013
3 Things I Won't Let My Child Have
I don't want to be one of those moms who micromanages her kids. Like, at all. But I have to be realistic about a few things. There are some things that I might have to negotiate Finley away from. Things that implicate his health, things that scare me, and things I just can't handle.
Yes. I said negotiate. I know that the loud parenting 'experts' tell you not to do this. But they're wrong. The better experts will tell you that negotiating with your kid will make him a better problem solver and a better self-advocate. Call me crazy but, SOUNDS GOOD.
Nonetheless. Here's hoping Fin never wants these things:
1. Uncrustables.
I didn't really think these existed anymore. But they do. It boggles my mind. But they do. I saw them in Target the other day. I mean, when I typed 'Uncrustables' on my phone, it autocorrected to 'on crud tables'. Exactly.
My husband makes bomb PB + J's. The other day, as I dripped farm fresh blueberry preserves on my baby's leg while destroying such a masterpiece, the thought occurred to me that some children are apparently fed Uncrustables. What the eff.
And don't even tell me your kid likes them. Your kid just doesn't know any better. Like, once, one of my dogs didn't know any better and she literally ate my sh*t out of the toilet as it was flushing. Disgusting, right? Exactly.
I just have to hope that the only humans keeping Uncrustables on the market are drunk, stoned college kids who won't even remember eating them.
On the off chance that Johnny's mom one day feeds my kid one laced with some addictive substance, and he actually does ask me for one, I am prepared to draw this line. I don't care what the FDA says. This sh*t just isn't right.
2. A miniature horse.
And this has nothing to do with fear of spoiling my son. If the million dollar idea we haven't thought of yet pans out, Fin can have a horse if he wants. BUT ONLY A REAL HORSE.
This? This is about how much these theoretically cute creatures really creep me out. I don't know why, exactly, but I'm hoping folks can relate. There's one at a farm we go to for weekly groceries, and whenever it's around, I won't even go say hi to the goats I love. My husband noticed the other week, and when I told him, he actually agreed that they creep him out, too. And, usually, when something creeps me out (e.g. those miniature corncobs in veggie fried rice), he insists I'm being irrational.
In high school, my best friend and I worked in the HR department at a big corporation that was headquartered in our hometown. We were really fast at everything they gave us to do, but I think they knew that neither of us would work there if the other one didn't, so they kept us both on payroll and simply told us: Don't let anyone in another department hear you say 'I have nothing left to do'. Well, one day we got tired of playing volleyball with a Hershey Kiss in the mail room and went to the "filed resumes" drawer. You know, the functional equivalent of a never-emptied trash can. (So, when you don't get the job, but the company is kind enough to "keep your resume on file", there's nothing kind about it. It's particularly unkind when they give immature high schoolers access to it.) This one guy, Roger (for sure his real name; I will never forget it) must have gone to a seminar or bought some guy's product that insisted that your cover letter "stand out!" Well, Roger not only wrote about how he raises miniature horses as a hobby, but also included a picture of himself and his most prized little creeper, Tiffany (no, I will never forget her name either). We cried laughing at this poor fool. For years.
I just can't bear to watch Finley grow up to be a Roger.
3. Rodents. Maybe cats.
Because I kind of hate them. But this isn't entirely about hate.
When I was little, I actually liked pet rodents. I guess I had a little bit of a Lenny syndrome going on, because I always wanted to hold animals. I just loved them so much.
The feeling was rarely mutual. My grandmother's cats would FLEE when I walked in the door every Sunday. Sure as sh*t, I'd chase them. Often, I cornered Si-Ling under the dining room table, but he got more ninja-like every week. (Yes, he was Siamese.) Atticus Finch was smarter (of course), and escaped to the basement, which I was afraid of. Then there was Baby, the fat diabetic one, who I vaguely remember thinking might bite me, which might just have been what I told myself rather than admitting that I really didn't even want to pick him up.
So, I really wanted something that I didn't have to chase around the house to pick up. I guess I didn't think about the fact that rodents who didn't want to be held would just bite me.
But, in any event, caged animals were not an option in our house. My mom said that seeing animals in cages made her sad. My mom was usually willing to let us attempt to persuade her; sometimes we were successful, sometimes we weren't. And this is how I know that negotiating with kids doesn't make them jack holes, and how I'm pretty sure it makes them smarter. At no more than five years old, I made the point that they have plenty of space in their cages, because their bodies are smaller, so the ratio works out. Probably didn't use the word ratio, but it was still pretty smart. But, no. It still made her sad to see them in cages. So nothing else I could say would change the fact that a gerbil would make my mom sad. And I never even thought about asking to go to the zoo. YUP. This sh*t works, folks.
Anyway, one day my mom started talking about getting a dog. At the time, my sister and I wanted a cat. (That makes me laugh. Scoff, actually.) There must have been some story in the news about a child being abducted from home in the middle of the night in a quiet town somewhere or something, because my mom insisted we needed canine protection in what was a pretty safe town, a solid 20+ minutes from any area that could be described as urban.
So, we picked out Panda, a border collie mutt, from the local shelter, who happened to be the world's least cuddly dog. She was a great dog but homegirl just would not snuggle. She wouldn't even come onto the furniture, no matter how much lunch meat and cheese I dangled in front of her nose. Drove me crazy, but from the moment I saw her, I never wanted a cat again.
Hopefully big dog love will be all Fin needs, because now I feel bad for caged animals too, and I'm still mad at cats.
Yes. I said negotiate. I know that the loud parenting 'experts' tell you not to do this. But they're wrong. The better experts will tell you that negotiating with your kid will make him a better problem solver and a better self-advocate. Call me crazy but, SOUNDS GOOD.
Nonetheless. Here's hoping Fin never wants these things:
1. Uncrustables.
I didn't really think these existed anymore. But they do. It boggles my mind. But they do. I saw them in Target the other day. I mean, when I typed 'Uncrustables' on my phone, it autocorrected to 'on crud tables'. Exactly.
My husband makes bomb PB + J's. The other day, as I dripped farm fresh blueberry preserves on my baby's leg while destroying such a masterpiece, the thought occurred to me that some children are apparently fed Uncrustables. What the eff.
And don't even tell me your kid likes them. Your kid just doesn't know any better. Like, once, one of my dogs didn't know any better and she literally ate my sh*t out of the toilet as it was flushing. Disgusting, right? Exactly.
I just have to hope that the only humans keeping Uncrustables on the market are drunk, stoned college kids who won't even remember eating them.
On the off chance that Johnny's mom one day feeds my kid one laced with some addictive substance, and he actually does ask me for one, I am prepared to draw this line. I don't care what the FDA says. This sh*t just isn't right.
2. A miniature horse.
And this has nothing to do with fear of spoiling my son. If the million dollar idea we haven't thought of yet pans out, Fin can have a horse if he wants. BUT ONLY A REAL HORSE.
This? This is about how much these theoretically cute creatures really creep me out. I don't know why, exactly, but I'm hoping folks can relate. There's one at a farm we go to for weekly groceries, and whenever it's around, I won't even go say hi to the goats I love. My husband noticed the other week, and when I told him, he actually agreed that they creep him out, too. And, usually, when something creeps me out (e.g. those miniature corncobs in veggie fried rice), he insists I'm being irrational.
In high school, my best friend and I worked in the HR department at a big corporation that was headquartered in our hometown. We were really fast at everything they gave us to do, but I think they knew that neither of us would work there if the other one didn't, so they kept us both on payroll and simply told us: Don't let anyone in another department hear you say 'I have nothing left to do'. Well, one day we got tired of playing volleyball with a Hershey Kiss in the mail room and went to the "filed resumes" drawer. You know, the functional equivalent of a never-emptied trash can. (So, when you don't get the job, but the company is kind enough to "keep your resume on file", there's nothing kind about it. It's particularly unkind when they give immature high schoolers access to it.) This one guy, Roger (for sure his real name; I will never forget it) must have gone to a seminar or bought some guy's product that insisted that your cover letter "stand out!" Well, Roger not only wrote about how he raises miniature horses as a hobby, but also included a picture of himself and his most prized little creeper, Tiffany (no, I will never forget her name either). We cried laughing at this poor fool. For years.
I just can't bear to watch Finley grow up to be a Roger.
3. Rodents. Maybe cats.
Because I kind of hate them. But this isn't entirely about hate.
When I was little, I actually liked pet rodents. I guess I had a little bit of a Lenny syndrome going on, because I always wanted to hold animals. I just loved them so much.
The feeling was rarely mutual. My grandmother's cats would FLEE when I walked in the door every Sunday. Sure as sh*t, I'd chase them. Often, I cornered Si-Ling under the dining room table, but he got more ninja-like every week. (Yes, he was Siamese.) Atticus Finch was smarter (of course), and escaped to the basement, which I was afraid of. Then there was Baby, the fat diabetic one, who I vaguely remember thinking might bite me, which might just have been what I told myself rather than admitting that I really didn't even want to pick him up.
So, I really wanted something that I didn't have to chase around the house to pick up. I guess I didn't think about the fact that rodents who didn't want to be held would just bite me.
But, in any event, caged animals were not an option in our house. My mom said that seeing animals in cages made her sad. My mom was usually willing to let us attempt to persuade her; sometimes we were successful, sometimes we weren't. And this is how I know that negotiating with kids doesn't make them jack holes, and how I'm pretty sure it makes them smarter. At no more than five years old, I made the point that they have plenty of space in their cages, because their bodies are smaller, so the ratio works out. Probably didn't use the word ratio, but it was still pretty smart. But, no. It still made her sad to see them in cages. So nothing else I could say would change the fact that a gerbil would make my mom sad. And I never even thought about asking to go to the zoo. YUP. This sh*t works, folks.
Anyway, one day my mom started talking about getting a dog. At the time, my sister and I wanted a cat. (That makes me laugh. Scoff, actually.) There must have been some story in the news about a child being abducted from home in the middle of the night in a quiet town somewhere or something, because my mom insisted we needed canine protection in what was a pretty safe town, a solid 20+ minutes from any area that could be described as urban.
So, we picked out Panda, a border collie mutt, from the local shelter, who happened to be the world's least cuddly dog. She was a great dog but homegirl just would not snuggle. She wouldn't even come onto the furniture, no matter how much lunch meat and cheese I dangled in front of her nose. Drove me crazy, but from the moment I saw her, I never wanted a cat again.
Hopefully big dog love will be all Fin needs, because now I feel bad for caged animals too, and I'm still mad at cats.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
5 Ways to Capitalize on Your Husband's Forgetfulness
I'm taking a quick break from pretending I know stuff about being a mom to demonstrate that I really know stuff about being a wife.
You see, as a general rule, men are forgetful. It can be annoying. More than annoying, really. Basically, the only way to avoid the desire to punch your husband in the face every time he forgets something, is to capitalize on that sh*t.
I suppose if your wife is forgetful, one could use the following ideas on one's wife. But, if you are a man with a forgetful wife, chances are you're actually just a man who forgot that his wife has a great memory.
Now, the degree to which you can practice the following is directly tied to just how forgetful your husband is. I do all of these things nearly every day.
Also, you really have to sell it every time, or else he will start to get suspicious. Unless he's oblivious in addition to forgetful.
If you do it right, you can enjoy the following life improvements almost immediately:
1. Never again watch a movie you don't want to see.
Just tell him you've already seen it. This works particularly well for us, because we don't have cable and our antenna only gets one channel, so we watch the hell out of Netflix.
The key to success with this one is mixing it up. Here are some responses that have worked for me:
Simply and definitively, We've seen that already.
I think we've seen that one... What was it about? (Pause to let him read just a few words.) Emphatically, Oh yea. Yup.
That sounds familiar, who's in it? (Pause to let him name an actor.) I'm pretty sure we've seen that one. (This works best when there's a well-known actor in it.)
Oh we watched that one awhile ago, it was alright, but not good enough to watch again.
Oh that one was stupid, I think you were asleep.
You have to know your husband to know how often you can get away with this. I do it all the time because Ryan very frequently really does suggest titles we've seen already. Since it's often legitimate, sometimes his memory sparks, and he realizes it. So, he'd really never think to question me. I mean, he's even come home from the grocery store all excited to watch a movie that we've already gotten from Red Box. Seriously. The Campaign with Zack Galifinakis and Will Ferrell? How do you forget you saw that?
2. Never hear another long-winded story from his past.
Does your husband do this, too? Tells you stories from his glory days, usually at least seven times? Or is it just because mine is 12 years older than me and feels like he needs to justify his age with tales of excitement from long, long ago? The thing is that a lot of them are interesting the first time. A 720-POUND TUNA?? But, everyone knows that the third time you tell a story, you inescapably make it boring. I know you caught a 720-pound tuna, Ryan. I caught a fish once, too.
At a certain point in your marriage, you have officially heard all the interesting stories. And then there are the ones that might be new, but aren't even close to interesting. So, you'd rather just not hear any stories, to be honest. It's okay, your husband can't hear what you're thinking. This is a safe place. So let's get to work.
Managing this requires some finesse. You have to lay the groundwork when he starts telling a story you've actually already heard. You have to develop a consistent reaction every time he begins a familiar tale, I had the best mac and cheese ever in Aspen... I'd finish my runs for the day and go to this restaurant at the bottom-- (I've heard about Aspen's mac and cheese like nine times, which sounds like an exaggeration, but if anything, is an understatement.)
I have this look, it's like a frozen half-eye-roll. He got the message quickly, and started asking, Oh, have I told you this already? So, then I'd say yes, and recite back a few details. Eventually, I started making the same expression when I really wasn't quite sure whether I had heard the story he was about to tell or one that was close enough that I just didn't want to listen, at which point I simply dropped the detail recitation.
But, it's important to still let him tell a few stories here and there. I try to let this happen whenever I have something that I've been meaning to think about and figure out, because I find that my "thinking" facial expression looks a lot like my "interested" facial expression, as long as I make sure to keep eye contact. If you let the eye contact go, it's all over. He will know you're not listening.
In any event, I'm sure one day Ryan will start to catch on and start to tell me a fake story, so I try to pay particular attention to any glimmer in his eye that might indicate he's trying to trick me. I don't know how crafty your husband is, but you should probably look out for that, too.
3. Never get blamed for dropping the ball.
Forget to tell your husband that you guys have to drive two hours tomorrow to go have lunch with your grandmother? No you didn't! He simply forgot that you already told him.
I'm sure you've already tried this. I mean, it's so obvious. But, if it didn't work, either your husband's memory isn't bad enough, and I don't feel bad for you, or, possibly, you just need to try a little harder.
First, make sure you also "forget" to tell him good news on occasion. It's triple pay check month? I told you three times already! You were supposed to decide how you want to celebrate! Get it?
Second, act like he already gave you grief for it. Well if I didn't tell you last Wednesday, why did you huff about it? You get it.
4. Get what you want for dinner. (Kind of.)
This one really only works if what you want is burritos, and your husband is almost always subconsciously craving burritos.
What should we do for dinner?
I thought you said you felt like burritos.
Oh yeah! Let's get burritos.
That may never be useful to you, but I pull that one out at least once or twice a month.
5. Trick him into agreeing with you on almost any subject.
This one is fairly amazing, but I would caution that it shouldn't be used as frequently as some of the above tactics.
All you do is back off completely and pretend that you agree with him. Then later, say, I know we think (insert whatever you pretended to agree on), but, like you said before, (insert something that supports your point), and the more I think about it, maybe (insert whatever you thought in the first place).
Nope, he never said that thing you said he said. But he doesn't know that. He forgot.
And, now that it came from "him" and not you, he won't argue with it.
I know we said we should get racks on the Jeep before getting a new camera, but like you said before, Fin's growing fast and we'll want good pictures of every stage, and the more I think about it, maybe we really should get the camera first.
Yes, now, on the Casper family list of upcoming major purchases, a Canon EOS Rebel T4i does come before the Jeep rack system Ryan wants.
The important skill here is in knowing for how long you need to pretend to agree with him. Sometimes, you have to wait days. Yes, you have to pretend he's right when you know he's wrong, for days. Hopefully your disagreement isn't over a time-sensitive topic, because sometimes that's an unworkable situation. But, when I'm in a pinch, if I'm feeling lucky, and Ryan's been particularly forgetful, and I know that he truly knows less than nothing on the issue, I'll go for the retroactive, Well, I think it's like what you said last week...
I say that this works on almost any subject, because this is destined to fail with whatever subject(s) your husband is really an expert on. Ryan, for example, has a few deep skill sets: surfing, fishing, mostly all ocean-related things really, emergency medicine, carpentry, cars. Now, I'm no marriage counselor (as you can probably tell), but it's very important to acknowledge when your partner knows more than you do.
There you have it. I hope this saves some other husbands from face punches as it has saved mine. XO.
You see, as a general rule, men are forgetful. It can be annoying. More than annoying, really. Basically, the only way to avoid the desire to punch your husband in the face every time he forgets something, is to capitalize on that sh*t.
I suppose if your wife is forgetful, one could use the following ideas on one's wife. But, if you are a man with a forgetful wife, chances are you're actually just a man who forgot that his wife has a great memory.
Now, the degree to which you can practice the following is directly tied to just how forgetful your husband is. I do all of these things nearly every day.
Also, you really have to sell it every time, or else he will start to get suspicious. Unless he's oblivious in addition to forgetful.
If you do it right, you can enjoy the following life improvements almost immediately:
1. Never again watch a movie you don't want to see.
Just tell him you've already seen it. This works particularly well for us, because we don't have cable and our antenna only gets one channel, so we watch the hell out of Netflix.
The key to success with this one is mixing it up. Here are some responses that have worked for me:
Simply and definitively, We've seen that already.
I think we've seen that one... What was it about? (Pause to let him read just a few words.) Emphatically, Oh yea. Yup.
That sounds familiar, who's in it? (Pause to let him name an actor.) I'm pretty sure we've seen that one. (This works best when there's a well-known actor in it.)
Oh we watched that one awhile ago, it was alright, but not good enough to watch again.
Oh that one was stupid, I think you were asleep.
You have to know your husband to know how often you can get away with this. I do it all the time because Ryan very frequently really does suggest titles we've seen already. Since it's often legitimate, sometimes his memory sparks, and he realizes it. So, he'd really never think to question me. I mean, he's even come home from the grocery store all excited to watch a movie that we've already gotten from Red Box. Seriously. The Campaign with Zack Galifinakis and Will Ferrell? How do you forget you saw that?
2. Never hear another long-winded story from his past.
Does your husband do this, too? Tells you stories from his glory days, usually at least seven times? Or is it just because mine is 12 years older than me and feels like he needs to justify his age with tales of excitement from long, long ago? The thing is that a lot of them are interesting the first time. A 720-POUND TUNA?? But, everyone knows that the third time you tell a story, you inescapably make it boring. I know you caught a 720-pound tuna, Ryan. I caught a fish once, too.
At a certain point in your marriage, you have officially heard all the interesting stories. And then there are the ones that might be new, but aren't even close to interesting. So, you'd rather just not hear any stories, to be honest. It's okay, your husband can't hear what you're thinking. This is a safe place. So let's get to work.
Managing this requires some finesse. You have to lay the groundwork when he starts telling a story you've actually already heard. You have to develop a consistent reaction every time he begins a familiar tale, I had the best mac and cheese ever in Aspen... I'd finish my runs for the day and go to this restaurant at the bottom-- (I've heard about Aspen's mac and cheese like nine times, which sounds like an exaggeration, but if anything, is an understatement.)
I have this look, it's like a frozen half-eye-roll. He got the message quickly, and started asking, Oh, have I told you this already? So, then I'd say yes, and recite back a few details. Eventually, I started making the same expression when I really wasn't quite sure whether I had heard the story he was about to tell or one that was close enough that I just didn't want to listen, at which point I simply dropped the detail recitation.
But, it's important to still let him tell a few stories here and there. I try to let this happen whenever I have something that I've been meaning to think about and figure out, because I find that my "thinking" facial expression looks a lot like my "interested" facial expression, as long as I make sure to keep eye contact. If you let the eye contact go, it's all over. He will know you're not listening.
In any event, I'm sure one day Ryan will start to catch on and start to tell me a fake story, so I try to pay particular attention to any glimmer in his eye that might indicate he's trying to trick me. I don't know how crafty your husband is, but you should probably look out for that, too.
3. Never get blamed for dropping the ball.
Forget to tell your husband that you guys have to drive two hours tomorrow to go have lunch with your grandmother? No you didn't! He simply forgot that you already told him.
I'm sure you've already tried this. I mean, it's so obvious. But, if it didn't work, either your husband's memory isn't bad enough, and I don't feel bad for you, or, possibly, you just need to try a little harder.
First, make sure you also "forget" to tell him good news on occasion. It's triple pay check month? I told you three times already! You were supposed to decide how you want to celebrate! Get it?
Second, act like he already gave you grief for it. Well if I didn't tell you last Wednesday, why did you huff about it? You get it.
4. Get what you want for dinner. (Kind of.)
This one really only works if what you want is burritos, and your husband is almost always subconsciously craving burritos.
What should we do for dinner?
I thought you said you felt like burritos.
Oh yeah! Let's get burritos.
That may never be useful to you, but I pull that one out at least once or twice a month.
5. Trick him into agreeing with you on almost any subject.
This one is fairly amazing, but I would caution that it shouldn't be used as frequently as some of the above tactics.
All you do is back off completely and pretend that you agree with him. Then later, say, I know we think (insert whatever you pretended to agree on), but, like you said before, (insert something that supports your point), and the more I think about it, maybe (insert whatever you thought in the first place).
Nope, he never said that thing you said he said. But he doesn't know that. He forgot.
And, now that it came from "him" and not you, he won't argue with it.
I know we said we should get racks on the Jeep before getting a new camera, but like you said before, Fin's growing fast and we'll want good pictures of every stage, and the more I think about it, maybe we really should get the camera first.
Yes, now, on the Casper family list of upcoming major purchases, a Canon EOS Rebel T4i does come before the Jeep rack system Ryan wants.
The important skill here is in knowing for how long you need to pretend to agree with him. Sometimes, you have to wait days. Yes, you have to pretend he's right when you know he's wrong, for days. Hopefully your disagreement isn't over a time-sensitive topic, because sometimes that's an unworkable situation. But, when I'm in a pinch, if I'm feeling lucky, and Ryan's been particularly forgetful, and I know that he truly knows less than nothing on the issue, I'll go for the retroactive, Well, I think it's like what you said last week...
I say that this works on almost any subject, because this is destined to fail with whatever subject(s) your husband is really an expert on. Ryan, for example, has a few deep skill sets: surfing, fishing, mostly all ocean-related things really, emergency medicine, carpentry, cars. Now, I'm no marriage counselor (as you can probably tell), but it's very important to acknowledge when your partner knows more than you do.
There you have it. I hope this saves some other husbands from face punches as it has saved mine. XO.
Monday, July 29, 2013
3 Signs You're Over-Attachment-Parenting
Psych. I don't there's such a thing.
I do not like to put my five month-old down. Like, at all.
I am well aware that a lot of people think holding a baby too much can "spoil" him or her. Listen, you can put your kid down as much as you want. But whatever you do, don't accuse a mom of "spoiling" her baby unless you have substantial evidence that it causes harm.
And by evidence, I mean more than the panicked vague assertion I heard from my husband one day when he misinterpreted Finley's gas for clingy-ness.
You hold him too much, he's getting too used to it.
Really? So even though all the research says it makes them more independent in the long run--
I don't care what research says. Everyone says they'll get too attached.
Everyone does? So now that we're listening to "everyone" instead of research, can you name one specific person?
I don't need to. It's EVERYONE.
So out of EVERYONE, you cannot tell me one specific person's name, who held his or her child too much, and which child, upon learning to walk, still wanted to be held all the time?
I'm wrong and stupid and you are smart and always right. (This is what I chose to hear, because whatever he actually said was not a person's name.)
Here's the thing. I work, and I have a commute. I'm gone 11 hours a day. And my baby is on a good sleeping schedule. This means that I have, almost without fail, precisely two hours of awake time with my awesome kid on weekdays. All the weekdays. And on weekends, I have to clean, to my dismay, which means I have to put him down for a good chunk of both days. And this is how it's been since I went back to work when he was two months old. Mathematically, it makes sense not to put him down when I can hold him.
And here's the other thing. He's a wild man. I know what the odds are that he'll want to be held once he's mobile. Again, math is on my side. And you can't argue with math. Everyone knows that.
You know you're in the club if:
1. Your baby has ice cream on his leg.
My in-laws were in town from south Florida one recent weekend. As I ate a ginormous burger with my boy sleeping in my lap, head on my left arm, they looked at me as if I were eating the poop out of his diaper. All three of them were telling me to put him down. I'm not sure what they didn't understand. Two of my favorite things in the world right now are eating and holding my kid. When I get to do them at the same time, it's like being stampeded by puppies. And, I'm good at it. I actually managed to eat that half-pound of grass-fed goodness without anything falling on Fin-- not even a drop of cheese or avocado, which might be the only thing more amazing than the fact that it took me about five minutes to destroy. But, ice cream, which I prefer a little melt-y, is a different story. I've had to lick ice cream off him a few times. Maybe I just need more practice. Any excuse to eat more ice cream.
2. He's quiet when you put him down. Or he's not.
As often as I hold Fin, I know for a fact that he can play happily by himself. I also know that sometimes he doesn't want to, and he gets pissed off when he gets put in his pack n' play.
You might be tempted to panic, like my husband does, on those rare days that your baby has something going on and wants to be held. If that happens, just wait a day, maybe even a week, before you accuse your spouse of spoiling the baby. We had a really rough week or two just before he was a month old, when Fin was really gassy and really didn't want to be put down. Fortunately, my husband didn't dare say anything to me during that week. (He was still afraid of new mom hormones back then. Life was so much simpler.)
No matter how often he wants to be held as a baby, he won't be a baby forever. If you think a little boy is never going to leave mommy's side just because she held him whenever he wanted to be held as a baby, I think you're psychotic. That simple.
3. The back of his head is wicked round.
Most babies spend a lot of time on their backs, so if you carry your baby a lot, you might notice that he or she starts to look a little different. That is to say, more awesome.
My husband is 41 and has been surfing for decades, which is reason enough for him to idolize Kelly Slater, the 40 year-old surfer who holds like 11 or 12 world championships, and the record for both youngest and oldest world champion. And he is beautiful. One other thing about Kelly Slater is that he rocks a shaved head, so when Ryan realized his hair was starting to get a little thin in one area, he told me he wanted to shave his head "like Kelly Slater". The problem is, Ryan's head is not as beautifully round as Kelly Slater's, and would therefore look creepy and ugly. I didn't know how to put that gently, but apparently my blank stare sufficed. Ryan still has hair.
Attachment Parenting: Your beautifully round-skulled child will thank you one day.
I do not like to put my five month-old down. Like, at all.
I am well aware that a lot of people think holding a baby too much can "spoil" him or her. Listen, you can put your kid down as much as you want. But whatever you do, don't accuse a mom of "spoiling" her baby unless you have substantial evidence that it causes harm.
And by evidence, I mean more than the panicked vague assertion I heard from my husband one day when he misinterpreted Finley's gas for clingy-ness.
You hold him too much, he's getting too used to it.
Really? So even though all the research says it makes them more independent in the long run--
I don't care what research says. Everyone says they'll get too attached.
Everyone does? So now that we're listening to "everyone" instead of research, can you name one specific person?
I don't need to. It's EVERYONE.
So out of EVERYONE, you cannot tell me one specific person's name, who held his or her child too much, and which child, upon learning to walk, still wanted to be held all the time?
I'm wrong and stupid and you are smart and always right. (This is what I chose to hear, because whatever he actually said was not a person's name.)
Here's the thing. I work, and I have a commute. I'm gone 11 hours a day. And my baby is on a good sleeping schedule. This means that I have, almost without fail, precisely two hours of awake time with my awesome kid on weekdays. All the weekdays. And on weekends, I have to clean, to my dismay, which means I have to put him down for a good chunk of both days. And this is how it's been since I went back to work when he was two months old. Mathematically, it makes sense not to put him down when I can hold him.
And here's the other thing. He's a wild man. I know what the odds are that he'll want to be held once he's mobile. Again, math is on my side. And you can't argue with math. Everyone knows that.
You know you're in the club if:
1. Your baby has ice cream on his leg.
My in-laws were in town from south Florida one recent weekend. As I ate a ginormous burger with my boy sleeping in my lap, head on my left arm, they looked at me as if I were eating the poop out of his diaper. All three of them were telling me to put him down. I'm not sure what they didn't understand. Two of my favorite things in the world right now are eating and holding my kid. When I get to do them at the same time, it's like being stampeded by puppies. And, I'm good at it. I actually managed to eat that half-pound of grass-fed goodness without anything falling on Fin-- not even a drop of cheese or avocado, which might be the only thing more amazing than the fact that it took me about five minutes to destroy. But, ice cream, which I prefer a little melt-y, is a different story. I've had to lick ice cream off him a few times. Maybe I just need more practice. Any excuse to eat more ice cream.
2. He's quiet when you put him down. Or he's not.
As often as I hold Fin, I know for a fact that he can play happily by himself. I also know that sometimes he doesn't want to, and he gets pissed off when he gets put in his pack n' play.
You might be tempted to panic, like my husband does, on those rare days that your baby has something going on and wants to be held. If that happens, just wait a day, maybe even a week, before you accuse your spouse of spoiling the baby. We had a really rough week or two just before he was a month old, when Fin was really gassy and really didn't want to be put down. Fortunately, my husband didn't dare say anything to me during that week. (He was still afraid of new mom hormones back then. Life was so much simpler.)
No matter how often he wants to be held as a baby, he won't be a baby forever. If you think a little boy is never going to leave mommy's side just because she held him whenever he wanted to be held as a baby, I think you're psychotic. That simple.
3. The back of his head is wicked round.
Most babies spend a lot of time on their backs, so if you carry your baby a lot, you might notice that he or she starts to look a little different. That is to say, more awesome.
My husband is 41 and has been surfing for decades, which is reason enough for him to idolize Kelly Slater, the 40 year-old surfer who holds like 11 or 12 world championships, and the record for both youngest and oldest world champion. And he is beautiful. One other thing about Kelly Slater is that he rocks a shaved head, so when Ryan realized his hair was starting to get a little thin in one area, he told me he wanted to shave his head "like Kelly Slater". The problem is, Ryan's head is not as beautifully round as Kelly Slater's, and would therefore look creepy and ugly. I didn't know how to put that gently, but apparently my blank stare sufficed. Ryan still has hair.
Attachment Parenting: Your beautifully round-skulled child will thank you one day.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
4 Lies About Breastfeeding
Know why I don't criticize moms who don't breastfeed? It's f*cking hard. Sometimes impossible.
I've heard a bunch of lies about breastfeeding. Lies become material for criticizing formula feeders, lies make it difficult to distinguish the hard from impossible, and lies are just annoying.
So I'd like to debunk the following (I've always wanted to debunk something):
1. "Your body will produce the right amount." (My mom)
No. And I have no idea why she told me this, because she supplemented fairly early because she was afraid she wasn't making enough. (And despite not being EBF, I have always been very, very healthy. On the rare occasion that I stayed home from school (and now work), it was almost always because I was faking it.)
I've had a lot of friends give up once they first tried to pump and were only getting a couple ounces at a time. That's exactly what I was getting when I first started. I gave myself a month to get a backup supply for when I went back to work, which resulted in somewhere around 30 ounces, if that. But, that was buffer enough as long as I pumped the equivalent of what Finley ate while we were apart. But I didn't. At first.
I Googled the hell out of ways to increase milk supply and found some good stuff. Like this and this and this.
The best of that good stuff: snacking. The downside, though, is that you're snacking on oatmeal and carrot juice. And fenugreek supplements. (Spell check doesn't even know what fenugreek is. No, I don't mean "greenback".) And worse, no candy canes! I know. It's July. I'm not sure whether I'm turning into Buddy the Elf or if it's just forbidden fruit syndrome, but as soon as I read that peppermint decreases milk supply, all I've wanted is a stupid candy cane. And then there's the unthinkable horror that I'll still be breastfeeding and stocking when it actually is Christmastime. I wonder how many Christmas cookies I'll have to eat to compensate for not having candy canes. I digress.
And, it's even harder than giving up peppermint. For a long stretch, I had to be rocking the dairy cow setup for about four hours of the work day to yield four bottles, and sometimes I'd still come up short. As long as Finley only downed three a day, we were cool. But then he started going for four, so we did a little role reversal and I started waking him up in the night for more feedings to give production a kick and fill him up. It took a couple months to get out of the woods, and if I drop the ball on any part of my routine, it's instant regression.
Even if you're willing to work your tail off to keep your kid on nothing but boob milk, it could be out of your hands. Not every mom has an office door and a job where it's usually okay to be in isolation for more than half the workday. And for those moms, hard might really be impossible. That's a big reason I get annoyed at moms judging other moms.
2. "If it hurts, you're doing it wrong." (The Internet)
Just because those mobsters over at La Leche League claim to know how to get it to work without pain, doesn't mean I'm doing it wrong. If my kid is eating, and he's not hungry, I'm doing it right. Listen, Internet, you can tell me that it doesn't HAVE to hurt or something, but don't tell me I'm doing it wrong. YOU'RE doing it wrong! (I kid. I know they're loving humans over at LLL. I know.)
It hurt bad. Like, I would have traded that pain for giving birth again. Toe-curling pain. I was in a constant state of fear of that latch.
And no, I didn't bother to get a consultant. Very often during those first few weeks, I was clothed in at least three bodily fluids. I didn't need to worry about a consultant smelling me, and the problem seemed pretty obvious: There was a creature sucking on my raw nipples for, I don't know, seven hours a day? My friend had a baby two months before me, and she took breastfeeding classes, read books, saw a consultant, maybe more than one. And while basically everything about her makes me feel like a bit of a slacker, I felt pretty okay about things when she told me it hurt for a month for her, too.
Praise the Lord, it got better around a month. I don't think I'd still be breastfeeding if it hadn't.
3. "You have to start supplementing to get enough sleep." (Friends with babies)
There's another option: co-sleeping. It's so easy. Call me lazy, but I prefer the easy way. You can also call me well rested. Because I am. And you get to dangle You've never had to wake up at night to take care of the baby over your spouse's head for, like, the rest of your lives.
I'm sure that's not always the silver bullet combo it has been for me. And, if you're not into co-sleeping, night feedings are what they are, in which case this number 3 isn't so much a lie for you. Lying about a lie. That's no good.
4. "The weight comes right off when you breastfeed." (Everyone who hasn't breastfed)
Seriously. Don't count on it.
I tried to make this happen. Around week two, I wanted to eat every pretzel, dark chocolate chip, bagel, granola bar, and piece of pizza I saw. And I more or less did. A box of granola bars would last one day in our house. And after a full day of eating, I could totally take care of one of those huge bags of Pirate's Booty all by myself. And then ask my husband to get me ice cream.
I hadn't been a big eater during pregnancy, so I actually watched myself gain weight since I gave birth, which I was pretty sure was backwards. So, after a few weeks, I foolishly attempted to get control of my lumberjack appetite. And my production went down.
So, I figured, f*ck that, I need to eat. Cheese. Chocolate. Peanut butter. Almond butter. Regular butter. Eventually my appetite got slightly less lumberjacky, but pounds are still not melting off of me. The only melting going on is in the form of cheese.
I've heard a bunch of lies about breastfeeding. Lies become material for criticizing formula feeders, lies make it difficult to distinguish the hard from impossible, and lies are just annoying.
So I'd like to debunk the following (I've always wanted to debunk something):
1. "Your body will produce the right amount." (My mom)
No. And I have no idea why she told me this, because she supplemented fairly early because she was afraid she wasn't making enough. (And despite not being EBF, I have always been very, very healthy. On the rare occasion that I stayed home from school (and now work), it was almost always because I was faking it.)
I've had a lot of friends give up once they first tried to pump and were only getting a couple ounces at a time. That's exactly what I was getting when I first started. I gave myself a month to get a backup supply for when I went back to work, which resulted in somewhere around 30 ounces, if that. But, that was buffer enough as long as I pumped the equivalent of what Finley ate while we were apart. But I didn't. At first.
I Googled the hell out of ways to increase milk supply and found some good stuff. Like this and this and this.
The best of that good stuff: snacking. The downside, though, is that you're snacking on oatmeal and carrot juice. And fenugreek supplements. (Spell check doesn't even know what fenugreek is. No, I don't mean "greenback".) And worse, no candy canes! I know. It's July. I'm not sure whether I'm turning into Buddy the Elf or if it's just forbidden fruit syndrome, but as soon as I read that peppermint decreases milk supply, all I've wanted is a stupid candy cane. And then there's the unthinkable horror that I'll still be breastfeeding and stocking when it actually is Christmastime. I wonder how many Christmas cookies I'll have to eat to compensate for not having candy canes. I digress.
And, it's even harder than giving up peppermint. For a long stretch, I had to be rocking the dairy cow setup for about four hours of the work day to yield four bottles, and sometimes I'd still come up short. As long as Finley only downed three a day, we were cool. But then he started going for four, so we did a little role reversal and I started waking him up in the night for more feedings to give production a kick and fill him up. It took a couple months to get out of the woods, and if I drop the ball on any part of my routine, it's instant regression.
Even if you're willing to work your tail off to keep your kid on nothing but boob milk, it could be out of your hands. Not every mom has an office door and a job where it's usually okay to be in isolation for more than half the workday. And for those moms, hard might really be impossible. That's a big reason I get annoyed at moms judging other moms.
2. "If it hurts, you're doing it wrong." (The Internet)
Just because those mobsters over at La Leche League claim to know how to get it to work without pain, doesn't mean I'm doing it wrong. If my kid is eating, and he's not hungry, I'm doing it right. Listen, Internet, you can tell me that it doesn't HAVE to hurt or something, but don't tell me I'm doing it wrong. YOU'RE doing it wrong! (I kid. I know they're loving humans over at LLL. I know.)
It hurt bad. Like, I would have traded that pain for giving birth again. Toe-curling pain. I was in a constant state of fear of that latch.
And no, I didn't bother to get a consultant. Very often during those first few weeks, I was clothed in at least three bodily fluids. I didn't need to worry about a consultant smelling me, and the problem seemed pretty obvious: There was a creature sucking on my raw nipples for, I don't know, seven hours a day? My friend had a baby two months before me, and she took breastfeeding classes, read books, saw a consultant, maybe more than one. And while basically everything about her makes me feel like a bit of a slacker, I felt pretty okay about things when she told me it hurt for a month for her, too.
Praise the Lord, it got better around a month. I don't think I'd still be breastfeeding if it hadn't.
3. "You have to start supplementing to get enough sleep." (Friends with babies)
There's another option: co-sleeping. It's so easy. Call me lazy, but I prefer the easy way. You can also call me well rested. Because I am. And you get to dangle You've never had to wake up at night to take care of the baby over your spouse's head for, like, the rest of your lives.
I'm sure that's not always the silver bullet combo it has been for me. And, if you're not into co-sleeping, night feedings are what they are, in which case this number 3 isn't so much a lie for you. Lying about a lie. That's no good.
4. "The weight comes right off when you breastfeed." (Everyone who hasn't breastfed)
Seriously. Don't count on it.
I tried to make this happen. Around week two, I wanted to eat every pretzel, dark chocolate chip, bagel, granola bar, and piece of pizza I saw. And I more or less did. A box of granola bars would last one day in our house. And after a full day of eating, I could totally take care of one of those huge bags of Pirate's Booty all by myself. And then ask my husband to get me ice cream.
I hadn't been a big eater during pregnancy, so I actually watched myself gain weight since I gave birth, which I was pretty sure was backwards. So, after a few weeks, I foolishly attempted to get control of my lumberjack appetite. And my production went down.
So, I figured, f*ck that, I need to eat. Cheese. Chocolate. Peanut butter. Almond butter. Regular butter. Eventually my appetite got slightly less lumberjacky, but pounds are still not melting off of me. The only melting going on is in the form of cheese.
Friday, July 19, 2013
4 Things I've Learned About Co-Sleeping
Disclaimer: Like everything I write, this is about my personal experience. I might try to sound as though you should find it worthwhile; I might even include links to legitimate science. But no, I don't think my way is for everyone. I have come to that conclusion based on the fact that not everyone wants to do it my way.
1. It doesn't mean your infant will die.
I know this because Finley is still alive. I was really banking on this, since, like a lot of moms, I would do anything to keep my baby alive.
I read things like this and this and this, and decided I could do it safely.
If you can't do it safely, it would probably be a bad idea for you.
2. It doesn't mean your infant will refuse to sleep alone.
Well, I haven't tried putting my boy down on his own for the night since the first night we got home and I was really tired and didn't yet have the co-sleeping logistics worked out.
But, I can tell you that you can put him down for a nap, and nap he will. Unless he has a burp, in which case he will go bonkers.
3. It does mean you'll get to sleep.
Finley had a fussy week-and-a-half around the end of his first month, and there were a few nights in that time that I could relate to the plight of the "every mom". Other than that, I would have to lie. Which I have done. It's really awkward to tell a frazzled fellow new mom that you get all the sleep you want and are never tired. That's not the best way to make friends. You get a reaction similar to what you'd get if you slapped a puppy in front of her.
Worse, try telling that to someone who has a vendetta against co-sleeping. Then it's like slapping a puppy and a kitten.
So, Finley goes to sleep around 7pm, wakes up to eat a couple times maybe, and is up for the day around 6am. I don't usually remember the feedings because it goes like this: Open Eyes; Flop; Suckle-Gulp (times a few); Un-Flop; Sleep.
If I have to pee, I change him too, but that doesn't happen every night. I assume that's okay because he doesn't get pissed off if I don't change him and we haven't experienced diaper rash yet.
4. It does mean people will judge you.
Um, because they're jealous. (See number 3.) No, I'm kidding. They might not be jealous, they might really think it's a poor decision.
The most common reaction I get to admitting that we co-sleep is a semi-contorted facial expression, which is my signal to go find someone else to talk to, because I would much rather them think I am wrong than try to convince them I am not. (I was one of the cool kids in college. You know, on the debate team. So, in those four years, I did enough arguing and persuading to cover the rest of my life.)
But since this is my blog and I get to say what I want and ignore comments, I'll be straightforward about what I think. Ultimately, co-slept kids are more independent and just better in a whole bunch of other ways. I really like how Mark frames the discussion.
As to logistics, I don't care how long it takes for Fin to wean away and sleep on his own. I don't care if he does it when he's a year, or when he's ten years.
However, I can't say with any degree of certainty whether my husband is okay with that last thing I wrote. I know, you're supposed to be on the same page or at least communicate about those things.
Well, the reason I don't know is only because he doesn't know. If you bring up the story about John, who sleeps on his couch while his two daughters (ages 5 and 8) sleep in his bed with his wife, Ryan will demand a transition plan for independent sleeping. But, if you tell him how Pete, the race car driver, has a ginormous half-room-sized sunken couch in his living room, where he sleeps nightly along with his wife, 13 year-old daughter, and 10 year-old son (with whom he often performs "Boats N Hoes" as a duet), he instantly becomes long-term co-sleeping's biggest advocate.
I'm not sure whether the above paragraph came across as real or not, but it is. John is a friend of a friend, and Pete is my in-laws' neighbor. And those were both Ryan's real reactions.
One of our favorite things to do as a married couple is to "table" issues. It's a great way to not have to deal with something. And, I know that sounds lazy, but you could run through a million hypotheticals and still be caught off guard by an unanticipated nuance. Or, you could just wait and see what happens, and then adjust on the fly. We're both good on the fly, so that's how we do.
1. It doesn't mean your infant will die.
I know this because Finley is still alive. I was really banking on this, since, like a lot of moms, I would do anything to keep my baby alive.
I read things like this and this and this, and decided I could do it safely.
If you can't do it safely, it would probably be a bad idea for you.
2. It doesn't mean your infant will refuse to sleep alone.
Well, I haven't tried putting my boy down on his own for the night since the first night we got home and I was really tired and didn't yet have the co-sleeping logistics worked out.
But, I can tell you that you can put him down for a nap, and nap he will. Unless he has a burp, in which case he will go bonkers.
3. It does mean you'll get to sleep.
Finley had a fussy week-and-a-half around the end of his first month, and there were a few nights in that time that I could relate to the plight of the "every mom". Other than that, I would have to lie. Which I have done. It's really awkward to tell a frazzled fellow new mom that you get all the sleep you want and are never tired. That's not the best way to make friends. You get a reaction similar to what you'd get if you slapped a puppy in front of her.
Worse, try telling that to someone who has a vendetta against co-sleeping. Then it's like slapping a puppy and a kitten.
So, Finley goes to sleep around 7pm, wakes up to eat a couple times maybe, and is up for the day around 6am. I don't usually remember the feedings because it goes like this: Open Eyes; Flop; Suckle-Gulp (times a few); Un-Flop; Sleep.
If I have to pee, I change him too, but that doesn't happen every night. I assume that's okay because he doesn't get pissed off if I don't change him and we haven't experienced diaper rash yet.
4. It does mean people will judge you.
Um, because they're jealous. (See number 3.) No, I'm kidding. They might not be jealous, they might really think it's a poor decision.
The most common reaction I get to admitting that we co-sleep is a semi-contorted facial expression, which is my signal to go find someone else to talk to, because I would much rather them think I am wrong than try to convince them I am not. (I was one of the cool kids in college. You know, on the debate team. So, in those four years, I did enough arguing and persuading to cover the rest of my life.)
But since this is my blog and I get to say what I want and ignore comments, I'll be straightforward about what I think. Ultimately, co-slept kids are more independent and just better in a whole bunch of other ways. I really like how Mark frames the discussion.
As to logistics, I don't care how long it takes for Fin to wean away and sleep on his own. I don't care if he does it when he's a year, or when he's ten years.
However, I can't say with any degree of certainty whether my husband is okay with that last thing I wrote. I know, you're supposed to be on the same page or at least communicate about those things.
Well, the reason I don't know is only because he doesn't know. If you bring up the story about John, who sleeps on his couch while his two daughters (ages 5 and 8) sleep in his bed with his wife, Ryan will demand a transition plan for independent sleeping. But, if you tell him how Pete, the race car driver, has a ginormous half-room-sized sunken couch in his living room, where he sleeps nightly along with his wife, 13 year-old daughter, and 10 year-old son (with whom he often performs "Boats N Hoes" as a duet), he instantly becomes long-term co-sleeping's biggest advocate.
I'm not sure whether the above paragraph came across as real or not, but it is. John is a friend of a friend, and Pete is my in-laws' neighbor. And those were both Ryan's real reactions.
One of our favorite things to do as a married couple is to "table" issues. It's a great way to not have to deal with something. And, I know that sounds lazy, but you could run through a million hypotheticals and still be caught off guard by an unanticipated nuance. Or, you could just wait and see what happens, and then adjust on the fly. We're both good on the fly, so that's how we do.
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