Thursday, December 8, 2011
Toxic Toys
Monday, October 24, 2011
A Clean House
Friday, October 14, 2011
Dream of Stability
Monday, October 3, 2011
THAT look
Friday, September 30, 2011
Incrementally Awesome
As usual, what applies to babies and toddlers easily applies to adults. We often wait and wish for the big achievements without appreciating the small ones we make each day. In waiting we can get depressed at the length of time it takes to achieve our goals. Sometimes it is hard to see the small steps we take, but each one can be important, and often times essential, to achieving that end goal.
For example, in the Weight Watchers program (which I've done multiple times and am planning on doing again) there is a big emphasis on small goals. Looking down the road at the final weight loss goal can seem so far away, but if you aim for 5% or 10% of your weight -- or aim for goals that don't even measure on the scale (just keeping track of your food, or walking up an extra flight of stairs each day) -- you find that you are constantly able to achieve, and that end goal seems not as important, and at the same time, much more achievable. When I lose track on Weight Watchers, I find it is often because I am no longer paying attention to those smaller goals, or having trouble seeing the smaller achievements.
Part of the problem is that seeing those small steps requires a level of optimism and good spirits that can be really difficult to achieve on a day to day basis -- at least when it comes to looking at yourself. With my son, I have no problem keeping up that optimism and good spirits -- he gets so excited himself about the small achievements himself that it's impossible not to be infected by his smiles.
Why is it so much easier to revel in the tiny achievements Imp makes, but not at my own? Part of it is frankly, he's 11 months old, and I'm 32 with a PhD and a career in mind. We're at slightly different stages developmentally. I suppose too, as we get older, bigger steps are often required to get to a goal. But part of it is self imposed -- you can see it even with how we track ages. With a baby, we count weeks, then months, then as a toddler, half years, then years, and at this age, we even start referring simply to decades (I'm a thirty-something). A decade is a damn long time. There is a clear problem with this long-time-span way of thinking: if we constantly aim for only the big goals, it is so easy to get lost along the way.
It may seem silly to revel in the small things (today I wrote my blog -- good job, Maggie! What a big girl you are!) but how silly is it instead to only ever focus on humongous, hard to achieve goals? If the only time I ever rewarded my son with praise was at the big things -- crawling, sitting up, walking -- he might never discover that those incremental steps he makes are important. So I cheer each step, even if it comes immediately afterwards with a fall. Now just to do the same for myself.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Balance
It's funny though, we've been waiting for him to take the first solo steps for a while. Imp was an early crawler, an early stander-with-support, and an early cruiser, but then he was content. He could get where he wanted to go, and didn't really seem motivated to walk. He never has really been that into the thing where you hold the kids hands and they walk with you. He prefers to lift his legs up and hang like a little monkey. Of course, friends of mine with one 2.5 year old and one 7 month old are ecstatic that they're second child isn't crawling yet, and find it amusing that we are so excited about Imp walking -- I have a feeling the handful we already have with Imp is just going to get more... handfully.
In the meanwhile, I have started TAing (Teaching Assistant) and taking voice lessons again. The TA thing is totally voluntary -- as a postdoc, I don't have to do any teaching, but my TA experience in grad school was so minimal that I felt I needed something more. So I talked to one of the teaching-only faculty here, and she suggested I could TA for her. I'm learning tons, but man is it taking up a lot of time. I have to be even more careful planning my week to make sure I don't slack in my research. And then I added voice lessons -- not even weekly -- but still, even more time. However, TAing and the voice lessons are something I look forward to so much right now. They are a good portion of what is keeping me going, as my research has been a good portion searching and not so much finding. After my first voice lesson, I came back to the lab and one of my colleagues looked at me and said "Maggie, you look so... happy!" The TAing is essential to my career development. The lessons are one of the few things I am doing totally for me. So, makes life more hectic, but somewhat necessary things.
So as Imp tries to figure out the necessary muscle movements for walking, and I try to figure out how much I can squeeze into my schedule and not go nuts, both Imp and I are figuring out a very important skill -- balance. Him on his feet, me with my time. It strikes me that life is often about balance, from the day we first try to lift our heads up on our shoulders, we are trying to learn new ways to balance. I have tried to balance busy schedules many times -- sometimes with disastrous results -- but each time is a new learning experience. A lot of what I'm balancing now is essential to either my career, my well-being, and my capacity as a mother. But while falling for Imp is a learning experience, for me it might not be such a good idea. We'll see how this semester goes...
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Imp, the Destructor
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Everybody Pukes
This morning, Imp woke at 6 a.m. ready to play. I had allowed Husband to sleep as much as possible through the night by feeding Imp every 3 hours even though we had been working on stretching it to 6 - Husband had gotten a call from his boss at 10 p.m. last night to have a rather heated discussion about some major miscommunications they'd been having, and he was anticipating another unpleasant meeting today with some other parties involved... so I let him sleep. He was stressed and anxious, I was exhausted, and Imp was his typical teething self. Good morning all!
Husband wanted to take the car to the dealer to be fixed this morning before his meeting because the driver's window was not closing properly, so he tried to move as quickly as possible to get out of the house. Of course, this was one of those mornings when Imp wanted to be held or played with at all times, so I was in some ways grateful for the 6 am wakeup because of the extra time it allowed. Husband left with the car by 7:30, and right before Imp's aunt/nanny came out to take care of him, he spat up rather spectacularly all over my shirt. I went to change, leaving him fussing in the livingroom. I heard Nanny Aunt come out of her room and go to the bathroom, and while I stepped over to the mirror to tie a headband in my hair, I stepped in a giant pile of cat puke. Nanny Aunt came out to deal with fussing Imp, I changed socks and cleaned up the puke, and then stepped out of the house to go to the car -- only to remember Husband had taken it to the dealer. My bike still had a flat tire from 2 weeks ago, so I figured since I had to walk the 1.5 miles to work, I'd drop it off at the bike repair shop just 3 blocks in the opposite direction. Of course, I walked it over there only to see they don't open until 10 am (it was 8:30), so I walked it back to the house, and then noticed Husband had called -- it turned out the dealer only took cars by appointment, so he'd driven to the subway station instead and would have to take it in next week. So I could have taken the car, which might have been nice in this heat...
On days like this, two thoughts quickly pop into my head -- 1st: why is it that all the small creatures in my house puke everywhere? 2nd: How the hell are these things the "best possible" things that can happen to me? I read "Zen and the Art of Happiness" a few years ago, and I found it the be rather soothing and helpful, though at times it is stretch to make the philosophy apply. Maybe I'm being puked on to remind me to be more humble? Maybe Husband is going through all of his work-based-hell to help him deal with these situations in the future? Or to help him learn to remain calm and cool-headed under stress? Maybe walking to the bike shop to find it closed, or driving to the dealer to find one needs an appointment is a reminder to plan ahead?
As I write this, I am trying to ignore the ache in my cheek from going to the dentist yesterday (lost a filling which my insurance may not cover the repair of since it was so recent), and I keep having to backspace using a broken backspace key (it broke a week ago), and stretching out my arches, which are slightly achy from walking 1.5 miles in new sneakers which do not have anywhere near the arch support all the reviews said they had... the best possible thing...
At least for the moment I'm not covered in puke. Simple blessings.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
The Routine Essentials
Last night, we had our first experience, since establishing a bedtime routine, of getting Imp to sleep in a location different than home. We planned it as well as we could, packing up everything we could need to keep his nighttime routine as much the same as possible -- his favorite bath toys, his blue puppy, his "Goodnight Moon" board book -- and hoped for the best. Imp has never been the best of sleepers, and we had worked very hard at setting down a routine that worked. Usually, during the week, I get home between 5 and 5:30, then he gets dinner around 5:30-6, immediately followed by a bath, then a little bit of play time before starting the bedtime routine at 7-7:30 (feeding, diaper change, book, song, bed). Nervously, we did our best to replicate these exact things with as minimal "stuff" as possible. Amazingly, it worked. Imp went to sleep at 7:15, and didn't wake until his feeding at 10 (typically 10-11, when we usually go to bed).
I was so glad, and frankly, so surprised how well having a few familiar things and a set routine worked, even in a strange location. Yes, all the books tell you how much babies love routines, but seeing it work was more of a relief than I can explain. We didn't really start this routine until Imp was 6 months old. When he was born, Imp did not like at all sleeping on his back -- he slept in a swing, a bouncy chair, or in the bed with us. The third of these, which became our standard after the first month or so, scared the crap out of me. I had read far too much about the dangers of having the child in the bed with you -- SIDS, possible suffocation, etc, that I was afraid to move at night. I would hold him so carefully making sure that his face was completely uncovered and protecting him from the minute possibility of myself or my husband rolling on to him. I inevitably woke up stiff and achy, but at least I knew he was okay. When he got a little older, we would place him on a waterproof pad between us, but both my husband and I were so worried that we would sleep on less than a third of the bed each, giving Imp the lion's share in the middle. In the evenings I would hold Imp to get him to sleep, and he went through one period where he would scream even while I held him. Every once in a while we tried to put him in the crib, but we would inevitably not be able to deal with the tears and would bring him back to bed with us. For all the good things I had heard about cosleeping, none of us ever really slept while doing it, and so we started trying to figure out what to do to fix the situation. Imp needed to learn to sleep in his crib, on his own.
We turned to books -- reading all about the various "training" methods, and finally settled on one we felt we could deal with. Until we get a bigger apartment, Imp will share a room with us, so the "cry it out" methods we felt would never work. And cosleeping wasn't working either -- so most of those "no cry" solutions were also out. We settled on one in between -- "The Sleep Lady" method specifically -- which involved putting Imp to sleep drowsy but awake, staying with him until he fell asleep, but slowly, night by night, moving farther away while he went to sleep until we could put him down and leave the room without him crying. One of the keys to this method (along with almost every other method) was the routine. I looked at the advice about how you shouldn't feed them right before putting them down, the importance of a "lovey" (his blue dog), and all the other suggestions, and found something that worked for us. It took a few weeks, but eventually, we could put him down, leave the room, and he would at least half the time go down without a fuss. Of course, we've had some bumps -- when he learned how to stand up and spit his pacifier across the room was an issue, for example, but for the most part, he goes down to sleep fairly well, and stays down until our pre-bed feeding.
Taking this set routine and moving it out of the familiarity of his bedroom was something I wasn't sure would work at all. But it did, and now I can shake off some of my fears about our upcoming family vacation, and other future adventures, knowing that at least for now, it worked.
But babies aren't the only ones that need routines. One of the main stress issues I've been having lately is how often I feel that I am rushing around, always working at something, but nothing is ever really getting done. There always seems to be laundry to do, bathrooms to clean, urgent experiments to plan, pressing papers to read, etc. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I am trying to figure out ways to make myself feel good every time I accomplish these little things, but it still feels sometimes like I am just running around like the proverbial chicken. Career wise, I often feel like I'm treading water -- I know where I want to go, and I think I know how to get there, but the destination seems so distant, and the goals so long term, that I often feel like I'm making no headway. But lately, I've started making checklists, setting mini goals, and making myself my own routine, and so far I feel a lot better. I downloaded a few apps for my phone to help (never knew how much I'd LOVE a smart phone) -- a checklist app, a daily chore app -- and somehow, just seeing things get checked off every day, even the routine things, makes me feel like I'm getting somewhere. While sometimes it may seem monotonous and pointless, there is comfort in the routine, and seeing it checked off in front of me serves as a reminder that even the simplest step does have a point. Even if it's just a matter of knowing that if I keep on top of the little things, the daily things, then the big things don't seem so big any more.
For babies, routine is having the same story every night, the same stuffed animal to hug. For adults, I suppose, it's having a set of goals every day, and a means to acknowledge when they have been achieved. If I can set my routine, then maybe it won't matter where I go (literally or figuratively), and I can feel like everything will be alright. It's like the PhD/Mom's equivalent to "Goodnight Moon".
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The Measure of Success
Imp has many things in this world he wants to do, and he is finally figuring out how to do them. Chase the cat, climb the gate, figure out how to open the entertainment center, knock all his toys off the shelf -- you know, important things. I love watching him when he sees something he wants across the room. You can watch the decision to move form in his face, and then he goes (faster and faster each day), gets that thing, sits down, studies it, and occasionally lets out a gleeful "AAHHH". What delight it is to be able to move and achieve a goal. For months he had to subsist laying on his back or belly, fully at the mercy of his parents, but now, he can get into almost anything he wants, often to the dismay of his parents. But we can't help being proud when he figures something new out, even if it is something we don't particularly want him to do (last night, he figured out how to pull the stopper out of the drain during his bath, for example).
Success in life is measured in many ways. Accolades, awards, degrees, certificates of completion -- all signify that you have achieved in the eyes of others. But what about the simple successes, the day to day achievements. Nobody is going to give you a certificate for getting out of bed in the morning, or eating a healthy breakfast, or just doing the work you are expected to do. These successes may seem mediocre, but they are successes nonetheless.
When we are children, we get praise for the simplest things. Lifting our head up, crawling, clapping our hands, having a good diaper, etc. As adults we stop praising each other for the simple things, but that shouldn't stop us from praising ourselves. We can still measure success by awards and accolades, but why wait for someone else to give them to us?
Today I earned virtual gold stars for not eating a big cookie in the breakroom, for biking to work, for staying on task with my experiments (I am writing this blog while incubating my protein in various solutions) and for helping the students in my lab with their various tasks. Tonight I can earn more virtual gold stars by "working out" with my son (consisting of dancing around the living room and maybe doing some baby-resistance exercises), folding the laundry, or working on my son's scrapbook. No one else may sing my praises, but as I praise my son for pulling himself up on the couch or figuring out how to put one stacking cup in another, I can think to myself about the praise-worthy things I have done each day, and let my son's gleeful noises be all the praise I need.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Bumps and Bruises
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Mom Hair
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Time Management
But where do you begin? When is the best time to do all the things you want to do? For now I'm just trying to figure out how to keep the laundry from (literally) piling up everywhere, or how to make sure we have vegetables to eat at every meal, but what about all those other things I want to do? I am not too far behind in making Little Man's 1st year scrapbook, but I haven't even opened the sewing machine my husband got me last Christmas... and then there is work... okay, yes, maybe I try to do a few too many things at once...
I have one friend of a 3 year old who tells me that we are even ahead of the game from where she was with her child at the same time when it comes to adapting from the fairly carefree life of a childless couple to the relative insanity of being first-time-parents. I'm sure I'll figure it out in time -- of course by then we'll probably be having another child, and then there's a whole new set of worries...
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Perspective
But I had a thought this morning as I plodded up the stairs from the parking lot to my building. This weather reminded me of the Blue Mountains in Australia, and the most perspective-altering vacation I've ever taken. Five years ago, my husband (then still my boyfriend) and I took a trip to Australia for a friend's wedding in which he was Best Man and I was singing. We spent two weeks there, the first week before the wedding in and about Sydney, staying with our friend's parents and in a Sydney hotel, and the second week we took three days to go backpacking in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney, and then 3 days in the coastal town of Umina where our friend's family had a vacation home. The whole trip was incredible, but the backpacking trip was in many ways life changing. I look back on that trip as being important for testing my limits, and for learning to see the wonder in many things.
It started out like so -- we took the train to a town called Katoomba, where there was a natural monument called The Three Sisters, a hiking trail called the National Pass, and (we were told) plenty of places to camp. We stopped at the information center and asked where we should go. The woman there told us we couldn't just camp anywhere off the trail, like we had thought, but that there was a spot called Ruined Castle on the trail that was a popular backpacker destination. We could camp there, she said, and all we had to do was walk down some stairs down to the bottom of a cliff, where the trail was, and we could easily walk to Ruined Castle in an afternoon. It was about 1pm when we started, so we hoped we could get there by sundown. We found the staircase, called the Giant Staircase, and started our descent.
Now, keep in mind that my husband and I were in only mildly good shape, and this was our first time backpacking. We had loaded our packs with enough food for three days, and water for at least one. They were heavy. and the Giant Staircase consisted of a metal scaffold staircase, straight down, for 1000 ft or over 800 steps. We very very carefully made our way down, but when we got to the bottom, we considered ourselves to be doing pretty good. The path was wide and inviting, and the scenery was lush and green. We walked along the path for a bit, and we passed the train that went up the side of the cliff back into town -- the normal route for tourists wanting to explore the area. We figured we had just a few hours, and we'd be able to set up camp and enjoy a magical night.
After we passed the train, however, the path abruptly changed character. What had been easily wide enough for three people and fairly smooth shrank down to a narrow, rocky, one person trail through plenty of brush. Undeterred, we kept onward, knowing that we had to find two landmarks before we hit Ruined Castle, one called "Landslide" and the other "The Golden Stairs". We kept walking and walking, thinking maybe we found one or the other, but it wasn't until we hit Landslide that we knew we were in trouble.
Landslide was exactly that -- a place where the cliff had slid down into the valley back in 1928. The path, once we got there, went from being a narrow but navigable trail to a boulder climb, marked with the occasional metal pole or painted white arrow. The ground was littered with pebbles, and getting a sure footing became very difficult. The cliff was on the right of us, and on the left a steep descent into a tree-filled valley of unknown depth. We also thought we were in the middle of nowhere, and far from any civilization by this point. Now, I am 5'3", and some of these boulders we had to climb over and then jump off of were easily a few feet high -- so for a short, somewhat clumsy woman carrying 25% more weight than usual, and with a deep fear of falling off of precipices -- this was absolutely wretched. So wretched, in fact, that at one point, I had a breakdown. I sat down, started to cry, and told my husband I just could not go on. I still remember the fear in his eyes as he tried to figure out how the hell he was going to get me out of there. Finally, after much coaxing, he got me to move again, and we made it past landslide, and back to the walking trail.
At that point, I got a second wind, and we marched on swiftly, looking for the Golden Stairs and then on to Runined Castle. But the day's hours were becoming fewer, the light was lessening, and we still had not found the Golden Stairs. Finally, after about 7 hours of hiking we came upon a sign. "Golden Stairs. Ruined Castle, 6 km". We were ready to die. 6 kilometers??? And night approaching. We looked at our map, and found that at the top of Golden Stairs there was a gated road. So we climbed up the cliff -- this time on uneven rock stairs with no real railings, just the occaisional rope at the steep parts -- using up the absolute last of our energy, and got to the top of the cliff. We put up our tent behind a sign on the side of the road, and spent an uneasy night. It was windy, and we thought we were in the middle of nowhere, but we kept seeing a mysterious white van drive by -- and since my mother-in-law had decided to regale us with stories of campers being murdered by the mob after seeing secret activities by accident right before we left... my husband slept with our camping shovel in his hand, ready to bludgeon any invader at a moment's notice.
The next day, we found that what we thought was the middle of nowhere was a commonly used dirt road. People jogged by, walking their dogs, and we found that the mysterious white van was one of potentially many camping vans. At one point as we packed up, a group of tourists came to hike down the Golden Stairs on the way to Ruined Castle. We started walking back to town, and discovered that at the top of cliff where I had my breakdown was a housing development -- if I had yelled loud enough, a whole mess of suburbanites would have heard me. We also discovered that what had taken us 7 hours at the base of the cliff took us two hours on top -- if we had walked to the GOLDEN stairs instead of the GIANT staircase, we would have easily made it to Ruined Castle in an afternoon. We still want to find the woman at that info center...
So the next night, we decided to take it easy, and took the train to a town where there was a designated campground, just a 5 km walk from the train station. Of course, though, that night, it started to rain. And it rained all night. My husband and I were crammed in our tiny two person tent all rainy night. But at least we felt safe, and the next morning, the mist still falling, we saw a beautiful sight.
The mountains where we stayed had hugged the mist to themselves, so it looked as if we were walking above the clouds. We walked back to the train and breathed in the damp air, determined to find a nice dry hostel to stay in for our final night in the Blue Mountains (which is a whole other story), but I remember the dampness seeming not that bad. It felt clean and cool, especially with the promise of a warm bed that night. In retrospect, it seems even more magical, that morning in the mountains. We had survived a crazy ordeal and had made it out better.
Later we looked up the trail in that stretch and found that it was rated "expert" -- pretty much as difficult as you can get without needing special equipment. We were nieve and full of bad information when we attempted it, but that trip gave me a lot of new perspective. I had found my limits and surpassed them. I had felt like I couldn't go on, but I pushed through. And after all that, we found that so many of those percieved dangers were really not -- we had been safe all along, but for lack of knowledge, we feared the worst. And we got through to a beautiful misty morning, and a few days later to a glorious sunrise over the ocean after we reached the vacation house in Umina. Those moments would not have been so beautiful, so glorious, if not for the rough experience the days before.
So now as I look, bleary eyed, out the window to the grey, damp day, and prepare myself for my workday, I think about that morning with very similar weather but in a very different time. What makes this day dreary and that day soothing and magical? Perspective. I was tired then too, but tired with triumph and the promise of good times ahead. If I just shift my perspective just a little, I can remember the feeling of that morning back in the mountains, and suddenly my fatigue doesn't feel so overwhelming.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Am I doing it wrong?
Take the sleep thing, for example. My husband slept with his parents for the first two years of his life, and wanted to do the same with our son, but in my family, while (as far as I remember) we were in a crib in my parents room for the first few months of life, we were all taught to sleep on our own much earlier than 2. we both turned out just fine (I think), but if you ask certain people, they would say either his parents or my parents were horrible people for how we were taught to sleep.
I was uncomfortable with the idea of cosleeping because of all I'd heard about the potential for smothering the child in the family bed. We always planned on having him in a crib in our room (partially out of necessity due to the size of our apartment, but we would have done it for the first few months regardless). However, our son did not like to sleep flat on his back. He slept okay in a swing, but we didn't have room for the swing in our bedroom and we turned off the heat and used a space heater at night to save money, so we couldn't really keep him in the livingroom at night. We tried having him in a chair which we placed in the crib, but he woke so frequently that we eventually switched to having him share the bed with us. This presented multiple issues. First, Little Man, while technically a "happy spitter", spat up a LOT. Pretty much anywhere he laid down was destined to be wet within a matter of minutes. Second, my husband and I were so paranoid about smothering him that we ended up sleeping on less than equal thirds of the bed, and I ended up with many nasty back, neck and shoulder aches because of it. Thirdly, Little Man was a very very restless sleeper, and we wondered if part of it was that he was overheating (he tends to run warm) or uncomfortable with our movements.
Finally, after 6 months, we decided to "train" him to sleep in his crib. I read and read and read all the books I could find about how to get a child to sleep better. One common trait among all the books? THEY ALMOST ALL MAKE YOU FEEL GUILTY IF YOU CONSIDER ANY OTHER METHOD. Same with the websites. Whether I was looking at no-tears or cry-it-out or something inbetween, every "expert" had found all the supporting evidence they needed to convince you that they were right and everyone else was wrong. Truth is, there are very few actual scientific studies to tell you one thing or another. Most studies out there try to look at cause and effect by what parents tell them they did, which often is not what actually happened. Often unintenionally, parents misreport how they raise their children because most people just can't remember every little detail that could be important in a scientific study. So the results are anecdotal and inconclusive. When I finally found a book I liked, ("Good Night, Sleep Tight") it was because out of everything I had read, the author made me feel the least guilty, and her method just seemed to make sense to me. It is essentially an "inbetween" method -- you place the child in the crib and let them cry a little, but you don't leave them alone. When you're "training" them, you sit with them, talk to them, and wait until they fall asleep before you leave them. My husband and I figured this way he would go to sleep in the crib but still be able to trust that we would be there.
So far (we've gone three nights) Little Man fusses for a bit, usually for less than 10 minutes, but each night his fussing gets less. He is breastfed, and I feel weird about night weaning just yet, so I feed him every three hours and if he wakes up inbetween, my husband goes to soothe him. Some people would say we're horrible for still letting him wake up to eat, some would say we're horrible for not feeding him every time he wakes up. But this is what works for us right now -- and I am not ashamed to admit that feeding him at night alleviates some of my guilt about letting him cry at all. (Which other people would say is horrible). I already miss letting him sleep in my arms, but having the freedom to watch loud TV, work on crafts, or frankly, go to the bathroom without having to worry if he'll wake up, is nice. I have to fight every instict not to go to him and snuggle him when he cries (which still other people would say is terribly wrong) but each night, as he fusses less and less in his crib, I feel like this will work out better for everyone in the long run. My back already feels better, it is nice to be able to cuddle with my husband again, and in opposition to all the cosleeping advocates, I honestly feel my son sleeps better when he can move around and get himself comfortable. He is a long baby and has always liked to stretch, and being in the crib allows him to do so. So it seems to be working.
Why then do I feel like I'm doing something wrong? I don't think it's because I am. I felt like I was doing something wrong when we were cosleeping, and I'd feel even more like I was doing something wrong if we let him cry-it-out. I'd feel like I was doing something wrong if I nightweaned him now, or if I fed him every time he woke up to soothe him. And almost every mom you talk to would tell me that I was doing something wrong if I chose one option or another, and many probably think I'm doing something wrong for trying to live somewhere in the middle. Those few who say "you have to do what works for you and the baby" still have their opinions, and I'm sure secretly think that whatever way that worked for them must be the right way, or of course it wouldn't have worked. Devout Baptists, or Hindus, or Buddhists, or Wiccans, all would say that the other is somehow not right, and even agnostics or Unitarians wouldn't be on the spiritual path they are if they didn't have some reason for believing everyone else is wrong. Parenting has it's own religious sects, and many would defend their beliefs as fervently. So I guess I'll always be wrong, no matter what I do. But in some ways I'll always be right. The scientist in me will have to deal with the absolute lack of logic of it all, but maybe the Mom will someday accept that as long as I love Little Man as best I can, no matter what I do will be right. Someday.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Discovery
Then there's me -- part of me would love him to get those teeth, move those legs, feed with that spoon -- and part of me is scared s***less about it. I suppose it's the dilemna of every mother. You want your child to achieve great things, but at the same time, you don't want them to grow up. I love my son at this age. Just a few months ago, he was nothing but a little warm doll in my arms, and now he squirms and squeals and laughs and loves with such eagerness. The way he discovers the world is just fascinating to watch. The slow study of everything from the cat's twitching tail to the trees in the wind to the menu at a restaraunt -- everything is wonderful and marvelous in the eyes of a 6 month old. I don't want him to lose that facination with the world, ever. I fear with the passing of time that he might.
I suppose as a scientist, the thrill of discovery is one of the things I prize most about life. In my spiritual life, I also find the journey to spiritual discovery in some ways even better than the discovery itself. I almost fear the passing of time because I don't want the discovery to end. I want to keep learning and not find that I have learned all there is to learn. Having that thrill in learning is one of the most important things I want for my son as well.
I know that discovering the world is something that is continuous and fascinating for years at a young age, and one of the best things about having a child is that you can rediscover the world through their eyes. Watching Little Man struggle to figure out how to get those knees working underneath him is incredible. Watching each step -- first figuring out how to lift his head, then his chest, then his belly, then get up on his knees, now his feet... the slow passing of each skill as it progresses to the next -- is awesome. Everything takes time, but soon he'll have figured it out, and then watch out, world! And watch out everything within arms reach...
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Wants and Needs
Part of the issue I think is that Little Man is at the age when wants and needs begin to differentiate. At birth, babies wants and needs are the same -- feeding, changing, cuddling, sleeping -- all are basic needs. While some people think that cuddling is a want, really it's as much a need as eating -- babies who don't get cuddled and loved don't thrive. It's a scientific fact. But now, at 6 months old, my LM knows the difference, and his wants are not necessairly his needs. He wants to be cuddled all the time, he needs to sleep. He wants to eat every other hour at night, he definitely doesn't need to (being that he has gone as long as 5 hours during the day). Wants and needs are not the same -- or are they?
I think that even as adults, we sometimes have issues differentiating wants and needs. Eastern philosophy is full of ideas about how to differentiate them. Buddhism is about letting go of all "wants" to achieve happiness. Confucianism states that we must want to follow strict rules and order to achieve serenity. In Taoism, if a want is one with the "way" we should not fight it, but if it leads us off of our natural path, then it is to be avoided. So in some ways, Buddhism states we should differentiate wants and needs clearly and only go for the needs, Confucianism states we should learn to want what is right and orderly, and Taoism states that wants are really not bad as long as they keep us in harmony with nature.
So, back to my sleepless, cuddly son. His wants and needs are becoming separate things, but how to deal with it? Of the above philosophies, I favor Taoism the most, and currently my dear little man is most definitely not in harmony with nature. Since he is incapable of meditating on the Tao te Ching (I figure we have to wait until he can at least hold a book without eating it to work on that one), I must figure out how to apply it for him. Which of his wants are in tune with the Way? Well, since his fussing and crying unless he is being held is in conflict with MY way (I cannot sleep while holding him all night), and for now, my way and his way need to be the same way...
Really, we just need to get the boy to sleep on his own. And when he's older I'll totally weird him out when I explain how I thought about ancient Chinese philosophy when considering how.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Joy
I try to remember when I felt such joy as my little man in his jumper. When I was able to let go and let things be. The trees have burst with gold and green, the flowers are blooming, the air is warm. I bike to work and try to capture it, but I seem preoccupied with what I have to do when I get there and the fear of getting rear-ended by a distracted driver. I look outside and try to imagine it, but my mind wanders to the data I must analyze, the things I have to prepare for church on Sunday, the songs I want to be writing, crafts I want to be doing, life I wish I was living.
Wouldn't it be lovely to just hang in a jumper, take in the world with the eyes of a child, and let yourself dance, unencumbered. BOING.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Sleep and Data
And the only other thought in her head is what her husband likes repeating,"whoever coined the phrase 'sleeping like a baby' needs to be kicked in the clown".