I've been resisting the migration away from Blogger for a while. There are a number of things I like about Blogger, but the number of things I don't like is getting larger all the time.
So, if you'd like to join me for further adventures in baby hoarding and snarking about perfectly nice things (and I hope you will), please change your subscription link to http://glumbunny.wordpress.com.
(And don't worry, Anonymous. You don't need to be logged in to comment. I'm all about the needs of my secret people.)
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Nine months. Eleven weeks.
Bun Bun is nine months old today. I celebrated by cutting her hair. Turns out having a baby with lots of hair means having a baby whose hair is always in her face, and who pulls out anything you put in to hold it back, and promptly puts it in her mouth. And I kept being all, I can't beeeeear to cut it, until this morning I was like, What on earth am I thinking! CUT IT! So I did (just the part that hangs over her eyes), and it looks TERRIBLE, as you might imagine. I suppose it's never too early to discourage vanity. And, um, this should be quite effective. But it's out of her face now.
She is crawling merrily and confidently, sitting up like a pro, and is now all about pulling to stand and falling over and hitting her head. I DO hope that's a brief phase. She has discovered the magic of putting THINGS into other THINGS, and I am very proud of her.
Bunlet, meanwhile, is eleven weeks and two days of gestational age today. On Friday we have our ultrascreen (NT measurement, blood tests). I will become extremely worried a few days before and will be certain that terrible news is awaiting me.
I received a catalog from a maternity clothing company and, in the process of putting it in the recycling, I may have seen a page or two. They depicted pregnant women (always about twenty and not actually pregnant) in the company of a four- or five-year-old child. Not this Fertile Whore. Bun Bun and Bunlet will be, if this really happens, not quite sixteen months apart.
In other news, last night Mr. Bunny and I had a more successful going-out-to-dinner experience. Then when we got home he tried to put the moves on me and I was like oh my god you are so out of your motherfucking MIND. And then I felt guilty. But feeling guilty was better than crawling out of my skin with horror.
She is crawling merrily and confidently, sitting up like a pro, and is now all about pulling to stand and falling over and hitting her head. I DO hope that's a brief phase. She has discovered the magic of putting THINGS into other THINGS, and I am very proud of her.
Bunlet, meanwhile, is eleven weeks and two days of gestational age today. On Friday we have our ultrascreen (NT measurement, blood tests). I will become extremely worried a few days before and will be certain that terrible news is awaiting me.
I received a catalog from a maternity clothing company and, in the process of putting it in the recycling, I may have seen a page or two. They depicted pregnant women (always about twenty and not actually pregnant) in the company of a four- or five-year-old child. Not this Fertile Whore. Bun Bun and Bunlet will be, if this really happens, not quite sixteen months apart.
In other news, last night Mr. Bunny and I had a more successful going-out-to-dinner experience. Then when we got home he tried to put the moves on me and I was like oh my god you are so out of your motherfucking MIND. And then I felt guilty. But feeling guilty was better than crawling out of my skin with horror.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
OH, MARRIAGE!!!
This morning Mr. Bunny was reading the paper and ostensibly caring for our child. I passed by and pointed out that she had lifted up the rug and was merrily scavenging under it for things to eat. (I mean, not food--I'm talking bits of lint and tiny particles of mystery stuff that are invisible to any eye but a baby's ohmygod I swear we're clean.) He retorted that he was supervising, and that according to the Latin roots (super + video), to supervise is to overlook. AH HAHAHAHAHA. It was our mutual fondness for Latin that first brought us together, and a good Latin joke always reminds me why I love him.
And yet, mere hours later, I am refusing to speak to him.
It started yesterday. I'd found us some babysitters so we could spend time together. I hear it's good for a marriage. When you don't know anyone, it's actually rather hard to find babysitters, but I'd managed, and even had them over to play with Bun Bun to make sure they were not psychotic. And then we'd finally gotten around to actually booking one. And we were going out to dinner which I enjoy, and I'd been looking forward to it all week, but somehow the evening got entangled in this awkward thing where it wasn't clear whether we were going out to dinner or meeting a new friend of Mr. Bunny's, so no reservation for dinner was made. And despite the fact that we live in a city where it's never hard to find a table, every restaurant we like was booked, so we had to settle for a place I don't like, and I was PISSED. I got over it so as not to ruin the whole night, but not before I spent a lot of time yelling at Mr. Bunny in my head. (Things like, you don't care about our marriage at aaall! Waaaaaahhh!) And I guess there was Festering Resentment. And then today he snapped at me and I became furious, but because I had to make dinner, I transformed the fury into more Festering Resentment, and then during dinner, we had a fight we seem to have now and again about food. Briefly, he is less on board with the BLW method of feeding our child because he has concerns about her choking, even though she's never choked, and when I give her something more challenging to eat, and she gags, he gets really upset, and then so do I, and then we squabble in a very suppressed fashion. And the whole thing makes me feel like an incompetent parent, and it ruins dinner, which is often something it took me actual time to make and that I was looking forward to enjoying as a family.
Being angry at your spouse, particularly when he's a very good spouse, is so damn boring. But I feel like that's one of two modes for me these days. The other being, like I said last time, totally non-present.
A few months ago we had some mildly rough patches. Just grumpy and tense. And then things got better, and I'd started to feel like we were almost our old selves, and then...I got pregnant. And now I don't have any energy to put into our marriage. And particularly not when my efforts to make sure we stay solid go like they did last night.
And yet, mere hours later, I am refusing to speak to him.
It started yesterday. I'd found us some babysitters so we could spend time together. I hear it's good for a marriage. When you don't know anyone, it's actually rather hard to find babysitters, but I'd managed, and even had them over to play with Bun Bun to make sure they were not psychotic. And then we'd finally gotten around to actually booking one. And we were going out to dinner which I enjoy, and I'd been looking forward to it all week, but somehow the evening got entangled in this awkward thing where it wasn't clear whether we were going out to dinner or meeting a new friend of Mr. Bunny's, so no reservation for dinner was made. And despite the fact that we live in a city where it's never hard to find a table, every restaurant we like was booked, so we had to settle for a place I don't like, and I was PISSED. I got over it so as not to ruin the whole night, but not before I spent a lot of time yelling at Mr. Bunny in my head. (Things like, you don't care about our marriage at aaall! Waaaaaahhh!) And I guess there was Festering Resentment. And then today he snapped at me and I became furious, but because I had to make dinner, I transformed the fury into more Festering Resentment, and then during dinner, we had a fight we seem to have now and again about food. Briefly, he is less on board with the BLW method of feeding our child because he has concerns about her choking, even though she's never choked, and when I give her something more challenging to eat, and she gags, he gets really upset, and then so do I, and then we squabble in a very suppressed fashion. And the whole thing makes me feel like an incompetent parent, and it ruins dinner, which is often something it took me actual time to make and that I was looking forward to enjoying as a family.
Being angry at your spouse, particularly when he's a very good spouse, is so damn boring. But I feel like that's one of two modes for me these days. The other being, like I said last time, totally non-present.
A few months ago we had some mildly rough patches. Just grumpy and tense. And then things got better, and I'd started to feel like we were almost our old selves, and then...I got pregnant. And now I don't have any energy to put into our marriage. And particularly not when my efforts to make sure we stay solid go like they did last night.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Discombobulated
I keep looking for words to describe my mental state, but nothing seems to really capture the quality.
I feel strange. I feel Unable to Process. I go to work, I focus on work, but it's like being underwater. I find myself in a classroom with a lesson plan in front of me, I carry it out, but it's autopilot-tastic. I had a seriously overwhelming urge to ditch class yesterday.
I am happy to be with my child, but part of me is never there. It's not like I'm thinking of other things, either, I'm just...gone. I am happy when I think of my possible future child, but it's the same--there's a missing part of me, and I don't know where it is. My husband hardly exists. He's that creature who does an inadequate job when it comes to cleaning things.
Today I'm wondering if it's just the fact that this is the shittiest time of year, when nothing ever feels quite right. I used to mock people who couldn't handle winter, but now I live in a place that is not only cold, but endlessly grey, and I understand. It's like living in a Russian novel, and not something mildly cheery like Pushkin*, but something extra gloomy and hopeless, like Solzhenitsyn. And there's no vodka in my novel.
Or maybe I'm just Adjusting. Maybe the experience of infertility forced me to redefine myself, and now, hey, now that I'm a Fertile Whore, I get to redefine myself again. Maybe it's just going to take a while for all this shit to catch up with me, to sink in.
And yes, I DO feel like an asshole for writing anything but UNICORNS ARE FALLING FROM THE SKY considering how perfect and wonderful my life is, but this is what's going on, and I feel the need to express it so I can move on to other things, like WHY BUN BUN FEELS THE NEED TO MAKE A HIGH PITCHED WHINE THROUGHOUT DINNER THESE DAYS.
*Yes, fine, it would be a short story or poem or play in that case.
I feel strange. I feel Unable to Process. I go to work, I focus on work, but it's like being underwater. I find myself in a classroom with a lesson plan in front of me, I carry it out, but it's autopilot-tastic. I had a seriously overwhelming urge to ditch class yesterday.
I am happy to be with my child, but part of me is never there. It's not like I'm thinking of other things, either, I'm just...gone. I am happy when I think of my possible future child, but it's the same--there's a missing part of me, and I don't know where it is. My husband hardly exists. He's that creature who does an inadequate job when it comes to cleaning things.
Today I'm wondering if it's just the fact that this is the shittiest time of year, when nothing ever feels quite right. I used to mock people who couldn't handle winter, but now I live in a place that is not only cold, but endlessly grey, and I understand. It's like living in a Russian novel, and not something mildly cheery like Pushkin*, but something extra gloomy and hopeless, like Solzhenitsyn. And there's no vodka in my novel.
Or maybe I'm just Adjusting. Maybe the experience of infertility forced me to redefine myself, and now, hey, now that I'm a Fertile Whore, I get to redefine myself again. Maybe it's just going to take a while for all this shit to catch up with me, to sink in.
And yes, I DO feel like an asshole for writing anything but UNICORNS ARE FALLING FROM THE SKY considering how perfect and wonderful my life is, but this is what's going on, and I feel the need to express it so I can move on to other things, like WHY BUN BUN FEELS THE NEED TO MAKE A HIGH PITCHED WHINE THROUGHOUT DINNER THESE DAYS.
*Yes, fine, it would be a short story or poem or play in that case.
Friday, January 20, 2012
It's ALIVE
I had to beg for an ultrasound, but I got one, and there's a real live fetus in there. I say fetus because I'm nine weeks today. The fetus, who shall be known as Bunlet (Mr. Bunny chose it) has a heart (with beating), and what appears to be a head, too.
It was such a strange and different experience. Last time, it was my trusty RE who wanded me, and he was practically triumphant when he found that little blob. Mr. Bunny was by my side, and the joy of the moment was indescribable. This time, my OB seemed surprised that I wanted a scan. I explained that I'd had some spotting and that my symptoms had abruptly vanished right after, and she became concerned. And while I was concerned too, seeing her become concerned made me feel like crying. But at this practice, the ultrasound suite is a separate entity, so she had to see if they could squeeze me in. She said it probably wouldn't be the same day, so Mr. Bunny went home. And then they could squeeze me in, but I was being treated as something scary, and I was now alone, and I became more and more tearful, and I thought a lot about the many women I know who have had to sit in the room with the feelings of doom surrounding them and everyone being abrupt and emotionless because they fear they are about to deliver bad news... And then they probed me, and there it was, my precious fetus. Everything as it should be. And I felt like the angel of death had hovered over me and then decided to pass me by, even though in reality I was just being histrionic the whole time and Normal Women (whoever they are) don't even pay attention to things like spotting and absence of symptoms and don't expect all pregnancies to end in death.
So. That's that. And the only thing that feels like last time is that I have to rush off to a hideous three hour committee meeting and can't really even pause to digest this.
(But I do want to say, however awkwardly, that if you are really struggling with your family building right now and are hurting and beat down, and reading about this just makes you too sad, this would be a good time to leave and not come back until things are better for you, which I SO hope is soon, and not like you need my permission to leave or anything, but I sure understand and would never want to cause you pain, but I can't help it, this is just what's happened to me.)
It was such a strange and different experience. Last time, it was my trusty RE who wanded me, and he was practically triumphant when he found that little blob. Mr. Bunny was by my side, and the joy of the moment was indescribable. This time, my OB seemed surprised that I wanted a scan. I explained that I'd had some spotting and that my symptoms had abruptly vanished right after, and she became concerned. And while I was concerned too, seeing her become concerned made me feel like crying. But at this practice, the ultrasound suite is a separate entity, so she had to see if they could squeeze me in. She said it probably wouldn't be the same day, so Mr. Bunny went home. And then they could squeeze me in, but I was being treated as something scary, and I was now alone, and I became more and more tearful, and I thought a lot about the many women I know who have had to sit in the room with the feelings of doom surrounding them and everyone being abrupt and emotionless because they fear they are about to deliver bad news... And then they probed me, and there it was, my precious fetus. Everything as it should be. And I felt like the angel of death had hovered over me and then decided to pass me by, even though in reality I was just being histrionic the whole time and Normal Women (whoever they are) don't even pay attention to things like spotting and absence of symptoms and don't expect all pregnancies to end in death.
So. That's that. And the only thing that feels like last time is that I have to rush off to a hideous three hour committee meeting and can't really even pause to digest this.
(But I do want to say, however awkwardly, that if you are really struggling with your family building right now and are hurting and beat down, and reading about this just makes you too sad, this would be a good time to leave and not come back until things are better for you, which I SO hope is soon, and not like you need my permission to leave or anything, but I sure understand and would never want to cause you pain, but I can't help it, this is just what's happened to me.)
Monday, January 16, 2012
Busy head
School starts tomorrow, and I'm feeling my usual pre-semester jitters. Both my classes are far smaller than usual, which is a good thing, but makes me feel unpopular and weirdly out of things. Plus, one class is made up primarily of students who...how to put it...have not impressed me in other courses. Some of them are clearly floundering with this whole college thing, like the girl who has decided that because she's gotten too many Ds and Fs, med school is out of her reach. So she's going to apply to PhD programs. I know I should put aside any preconceptions about these people, but because I'm human, walking into a class filled with students I'd rather never see again...it's hard to generate a lot of fire in the old teaching belly.
Meanwhile, there's my baby. Monday will be my day at home with her this semester, and I should be savoring the fuck out of today. She's in a magical delicious moment of just starting to crawl and just starting to push up to a sitting position and just starting to reach up for things, and it chokes me up because it's so cool. I'll plop her on her belly and turn around to find her sitting there, or on her knees pulling something off a shelf... I like to pretend she's telling me, Hey Mama, I got this. I'm ready for a new phase... The nanny transition week was fine. I feel a little numb about the whole thing, still, and I really don't like having my baby smell like someone else (fabric softener or perfume or whatever), but I think my biggest source of anxiety was how well Bun Bun did. Do I even matter to her? I sure hope so. So anyway, being with her today and knowing I won't be tomorrow...hard, weird, hard, distracting.
Then there's my uterus and its mysterious contents. I don't mind waiting a few more days to find out what's in there, my fear is that I won't actually know on Friday. I have no sense of what goes on at a normal first OB appointment. Will they give me an ultrasound? SURELY they will give me an ultrasound. Surely they won't just take some blood and weigh me. Surely? I miss the days of the medical community treating me like a miracle. I still feel like a miracle.
Anyway, that's what's going on in my pretty little head today. I leave you with this totally gratuitous photo of Bun Bun, in her first excursion in her Bun Bunting.
Meanwhile, there's my baby. Monday will be my day at home with her this semester, and I should be savoring the fuck out of today. She's in a magical delicious moment of just starting to crawl and just starting to push up to a sitting position and just starting to reach up for things, and it chokes me up because it's so cool. I'll plop her on her belly and turn around to find her sitting there, or on her knees pulling something off a shelf... I like to pretend she's telling me, Hey Mama, I got this. I'm ready for a new phase... The nanny transition week was fine. I feel a little numb about the whole thing, still, and I really don't like having my baby smell like someone else (fabric softener or perfume or whatever), but I think my biggest source of anxiety was how well Bun Bun did. Do I even matter to her? I sure hope so. So anyway, being with her today and knowing I won't be tomorrow...hard, weird, hard, distracting.
Then there's my uterus and its mysterious contents. I don't mind waiting a few more days to find out what's in there, my fear is that I won't actually know on Friday. I have no sense of what goes on at a normal first OB appointment. Will they give me an ultrasound? SURELY they will give me an ultrasound. Surely they won't just take some blood and weigh me. Surely? I miss the days of the medical community treating me like a miracle. I still feel like a miracle.
Anyway, that's what's going on in my pretty little head today. I leave you with this totally gratuitous photo of Bun Bun, in her first excursion in her Bun Bunting.
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| She'd like you to know that she's wearing nothing but a diaper under this bunting. |
Monday, January 9, 2012
No *interesting* updates, but a lot of updates.
Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for not spitting on me. As many of you said, it's silly to feel so dreadful about something so wonderful, but I think you also understand that it's impossible not to. So many of the people I've come to care about are going through particularly awful things right now...I feel like I've been suddenly transformed into your annoying fertile friend who's always popping out babies while you suffer. I guess I'll just do my best to not be an asshole (which I'm super good at, right?), but please, if you can't bear to read this space anymore, don't feel one bit conflicted about going away forever. Or at least until things are better for you, which I dearly hope will be very, very soon.
And thank you also for offering reassurance. I have nothing new to report on the uterine front. I've had a couple more spotting episodes, and some stabbing back pain that made me certain I'd wake up in a pool of blood, but I haven't. So far. My appointment is on the 20th. I considered asking that it be moved up, but I decided I simply don't want to know. That may seem bizarre, but I'm about to go through a major transition life-wise, and I don't think I could handle bad news.
I'm going back to work next week. In fact, today is my last real day with Bun Bun, as the rest of this week will be Nanny Transition Week.
Yes, we've decided to go the nanny route, which is impossible for me to wrap my head around. I vividly recall how scornful I was of the professor in grad school who had a nanny when her kids were young. Nanny = someone else raising your kids, right? Obviously. I wish she were just a babysitter, but sadly, she's got actual nanny credentials, so I pretty much have to refer to her as a nanny. She's a sweet, calm, quiet young thing and I think she'll be just right for Bun Bun. It might have helped seal the deal when she revealed that she's got a pet rabbit. Not that I approve of rabbits being kept as pets--we deserve to be FREE, but still, it means she should be good at taking care of my baby bunny.
So, I have faith in Bun Bun's new caregiver, and I am so grateful to have the luxury of bringing someone in*, but I still go all blank in the head when I think about leaving her. I am trusting that it will get easier quickly, which is what many of you have promised.
It doesn't help that I am NOT excited to go back to work, and that I can't quite fathom actually pulling it off. It's been a loooong time since I had to actually work. Ill be teaching two classes, which I haven't done for over a year, and I supposedly also have this research program? Or something? None of it feels real, and I'm just foggy and numb. And scared, and sad, and...FREAKED OUT pretty much covers it.
So anyway, that's why I don't want to add an ultrasound to the mix. Sure, it might be reassuring news, but if not, where exactly do I fit in a D&C?
*Not because taking her somewhere would be bad, no, I don't think that at all, just because it makes a lot of sense for us.
And thank you also for offering reassurance. I have nothing new to report on the uterine front. I've had a couple more spotting episodes, and some stabbing back pain that made me certain I'd wake up in a pool of blood, but I haven't. So far. My appointment is on the 20th. I considered asking that it be moved up, but I decided I simply don't want to know. That may seem bizarre, but I'm about to go through a major transition life-wise, and I don't think I could handle bad news.
I'm going back to work next week. In fact, today is my last real day with Bun Bun, as the rest of this week will be Nanny Transition Week.
Yes, we've decided to go the nanny route, which is impossible for me to wrap my head around. I vividly recall how scornful I was of the professor in grad school who had a nanny when her kids were young. Nanny = someone else raising your kids, right? Obviously. I wish she were just a babysitter, but sadly, she's got actual nanny credentials, so I pretty much have to refer to her as a nanny. She's a sweet, calm, quiet young thing and I think she'll be just right for Bun Bun. It might have helped seal the deal when she revealed that she's got a pet rabbit. Not that I approve of rabbits being kept as pets--we deserve to be FREE, but still, it means she should be good at taking care of my baby bunny.
So, I have faith in Bun Bun's new caregiver, and I am so grateful to have the luxury of bringing someone in*, but I still go all blank in the head when I think about leaving her. I am trusting that it will get easier quickly, which is what many of you have promised.
It doesn't help that I am NOT excited to go back to work, and that I can't quite fathom actually pulling it off. It's been a loooong time since I had to actually work. Ill be teaching two classes, which I haven't done for over a year, and I supposedly also have this research program? Or something? None of it feels real, and I'm just foggy and numb. And scared, and sad, and...FREAKED OUT pretty much covers it.
So anyway, that's why I don't want to add an ultrasound to the mix. Sure, it might be reassuring news, but if not, where exactly do I fit in a D&C?
*Not because taking her somewhere would be bad, no, I don't think that at all, just because it makes a lot of sense for us.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Shock, happiness, fear...sorrow?
On December 17th, I discovered that I had accidentally gotten knocked up. Yeah, like some fifteen-year-old or some crack whore. I had no idea how to write about such an unfair and ridiculous event, so I wrote nothing at all.
The experience has been one of very complex emotions, with an awful lot of guilt. Because I didn't plan it. Because there wasn't the same hope and anticipation leading up to the discovery, because the little embryo wasn't cherished with all the love in the world from day one. And perhaps because of that hefty dose of guilt, all along, I've been thinking I deserved to miscarry. I'm sure at least one Anonymous is thinking the same thing.
But I've also been so happy, as the reality began to sink in, bit by bit.
I am about seven weeks today. Yesterday I started spotting. Today the nausea that's been constant for the past week is gone, abruptly and completely. I think about undercooked eggs served in a dirty ashtray with a side of cold bacon grease...nothing. Instead of feeling exhausted as I have for the past week, I feel practically sprightly.
I've been thinking about the fact that when I called my OB's office to make an appointment, the scheduler didn't even congratulate me. It's like she knew this was just an absurd little interval. Like she knew I didn't deserve this little life.
The experience has been one of very complex emotions, with an awful lot of guilt. Because I didn't plan it. Because there wasn't the same hope and anticipation leading up to the discovery, because the little embryo wasn't cherished with all the love in the world from day one. And perhaps because of that hefty dose of guilt, all along, I've been thinking I deserved to miscarry. I'm sure at least one Anonymous is thinking the same thing.
But I've also been so happy, as the reality began to sink in, bit by bit.
I am about seven weeks today. Yesterday I started spotting. Today the nausea that's been constant for the past week is gone, abruptly and completely. I think about undercooked eggs served in a dirty ashtray with a side of cold bacon grease...nothing. Instead of feeling exhausted as I have for the past week, I feel practically sprightly.
I've been thinking about the fact that when I called my OB's office to make an appointment, the scheduler didn't even congratulate me. It's like she knew this was just an absurd little interval. Like she knew I didn't deserve this little life.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
The art of seduction
Sex is still extremely infrequent in our household. And while I did determine that I can have an orgasm without pissing myself (Yay.), I still don't have much interest, and there's also the fact that after Bun Bun's in bed (around 7), we just want to kick back, and then before you know it, I have no love left for anything but my pillow. Fortunately, I have stumbled upon the key to reigniting the FLAME.
This excerpt comes from a poster on relationships that recently appeared in the bathroom down the hall from my office, in the section entitled "consent can be sexy". And although college students are the intended audience, I think we can all learn something, don't you? I'm going to try it out as soon as possible.
Hey, Mr. Bunny. What do you think about doing sexy action?
Well, Bunny, I really like sexy action. Can we do that?
This excerpt comes from a poster on relationships that recently appeared in the bathroom down the hall from my office, in the section entitled "consent can be sexy". And although college students are the intended audience, I think we can all learn something, don't you? I'm going to try it out as soon as possible.
Hey, Mr. Bunny. What do you think about doing sexy action?
Well, Bunny, I really like sexy action. Can we do that?
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Advice on two matters, one unrelated to BABIES.
Oh People of the Internet, share your wisdom with me!
1. As part of Operation Flail Around Helplessly in Pursuit of Childcare, we are looking into in-home care. (Edited to add: in MY home. As in, a nanny.) I'm doing my first interview next week. I suppose the purpose of such a meeting is really just to get a vibe. Would I trust this person with the thing that's most precious to me on earth? I'm guessing it will be instantly clear--all I really need is a thin slice. But I should probably also have some, like, questions, just to pass the time. Any thoughts on what to ask? Any general advice? Besides staying home with her because it's best? (Just a little shout out to Anonymous.)
2. I teach the same course every spring semester, and FUCK, the spring semester will be rolling around again soon. Last time an odd thing occurred: About 25% of the students got Ds or Fs. It's never happened before--usually there's one F at most. I've reviewed my behavior, my level of clarity about my expectations, the amount of feedback I provided, etc., and honestly don't think I did anything radically different. The only difference I could think of was that I was pregnant. (Ooops, sorry, this was supposed to be unrelated to babies...) Did they think I was going to be a softie because I was all maternal or some shit? Despite the fact that I told them at the beginning that I am a hard ass when it comes to deadlines and grading? (And yes, I used the phrase hard ass.) ANYWAYS, my question for you is, what should I do this time around?
1. Change nothing.
2. Be meaner. Make it clear that I am really, really mean. I'm thinking something modeled on Professor Snape. Rely on extrinsic motivation.
3. Be nicer. Go all Dead Poet's Society or something. Rely on intrinsic motivation.
4. Quit my job.
(Speaking of which, I met with a senior colleague who was on my tenure committee, and she was all you're so awesome, you're definitely getting tenure, and when I left her office, I thought OH FUCK. I know I'm a huge jerk to be so cavalier about a stable (beyond stable, really) job in these tough times, but hey, that's what I thought.)
1. As part of Operation Flail Around Helplessly in Pursuit of Childcare, we are looking into in-home care. (Edited to add: in MY home. As in, a nanny.) I'm doing my first interview next week. I suppose the purpose of such a meeting is really just to get a vibe. Would I trust this person with the thing that's most precious to me on earth? I'm guessing it will be instantly clear--all I really need is a thin slice. But I should probably also have some, like, questions, just to pass the time. Any thoughts on what to ask? Any general advice? Besides staying home with her because it's best? (Just a little shout out to Anonymous.)
2. I teach the same course every spring semester, and FUCK, the spring semester will be rolling around again soon. Last time an odd thing occurred: About 25% of the students got Ds or Fs. It's never happened before--usually there's one F at most. I've reviewed my behavior, my level of clarity about my expectations, the amount of feedback I provided, etc., and honestly don't think I did anything radically different. The only difference I could think of was that I was pregnant. (Ooops, sorry, this was supposed to be unrelated to babies...) Did they think I was going to be a softie because I was all maternal or some shit? Despite the fact that I told them at the beginning that I am a hard ass when it comes to deadlines and grading? (And yes, I used the phrase hard ass.) ANYWAYS, my question for you is, what should I do this time around?
1. Change nothing.
2. Be meaner. Make it clear that I am really, really mean. I'm thinking something modeled on Professor Snape. Rely on extrinsic motivation.
3. Be nicer. Go all Dead Poet's Society or something. Rely on intrinsic motivation.
4. Quit my job.
(Speaking of which, I met with a senior colleague who was on my tenure committee, and she was all you're so awesome, you're definitely getting tenure, and when I left her office, I thought OH FUCK. I know I'm a huge jerk to be so cavalier about a stable (beyond stable, really) job in these tough times, but hey, that's what I thought.)
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Turkey made my baby cry, but at least she sleeps brilliantly
As usual, I have gotten my way in the care and feeding of our baby.
We proceeded with the baby-led weaning approach, despite the doctor's objections. She does splendidly with feeding herself and I love the whole thing very intensely. Mr. Bunny seemed to have an epiphany when he was in charge of making dinner for once. He made a veggie burger for me, a hamburger for himself, and a tiny hamburger for Bun Bun. Gee, it's nice not having to make her something special, he said. NO FUCKING SHIT.
(I also had an epiphany watching her nom down on beef for the first time. It made me both delighted and extremely disgusted, and I realized this is how my husband feels about vegetables.)
I love it because it means we can eat dinner together instead of one of us gobbling down food and then holding her while the other gobbles down food. I love it because it passes a difficult evening hour when she needs extra entertaining. I love it because it involves sharing. I love it because she seems to love it. She ate the fuck out of a pile of lentil stew and cornbread tonight. My almost-seven-month-old can pick up a lentil. I love it because we got to attach her little chair to the table at Thanksgiving and put some food in front of her and then carry on with our dinner, together.
So far the
only thing that she has declined to eat is turkey. It actually made her
cry. Which was hilarious. We took it away, and she happily ate squash. She's had chili and limes and meatballs and asparagus and butternut
squash and tomatoes with hummus and all manner of fruits, and all SORTS of things.
Plus, my sister in law--a nutritional epidemiologist who studies childhood obesity--was most impressed with the whole thing at Thanksgiving. Of course, then her dog bit one of the children in attendance, so maybe I don't care what she thinks.
And although I hate the BLW book (the one entitled BLW, because of the absurdly sweeping claims about the benefits of this approach--drives me totally nuts, even though I know it's not meant to be evidence-based), I don't care if it IS a fad. Sensible things can start as fads. And it's normal in other places. And I love it. SO THERE.
I also love the fact that my baby once again requires nothing from me from 7pm until about 5 or 6 am. Operant conditioning is effective, and in our case, it was the silver bullet. She figured out what was happening quite quickly. Most nights are now 100% cry-free, and we are far less anxious about bedtime. And night in general. But I should confess that there have been two painful moments since the initial period. One night she cried at 3am for about twenty minutes on and off. I promise you that I thought all the horrible things about myself that anyone who believes this approach is unwise would want me to think, and I wept, and there was black despair. And on Thanksgiving night, when my sister-in-law was staying down the hall, Bun Bun felt the need to indulge in ten minutes of angry screaming before falling asleep.
Perhaps she feared the return of TURKEY.
I know this approach won't work with all babies, and I know that it may not work long-term with MY baby, but every night that it does work is a night that it fucking works. I get to savor holding her at bedtime instead of hoping and praying that when I put her down, she won't cry. I get to wallow in bed in the middle of the night instead of standing in her room wondering why she weighs a thousand pounds more than she does during the day, and why nothing I can do will make her go back to sleep. And I assure you, I am deeply, deeply grateful for this easy, cheerful, miraculous, lentil-grasping baby.
We proceeded with the baby-led weaning approach, despite the doctor's objections. She does splendidly with feeding herself and I love the whole thing very intensely. Mr. Bunny seemed to have an epiphany when he was in charge of making dinner for once. He made a veggie burger for me, a hamburger for himself, and a tiny hamburger for Bun Bun. Gee, it's nice not having to make her something special, he said. NO FUCKING SHIT.
(I also had an epiphany watching her nom down on beef for the first time. It made me both delighted and extremely disgusted, and I realized this is how my husband feels about vegetables.)
I love it because it means we can eat dinner together instead of one of us gobbling down food and then holding her while the other gobbles down food. I love it because it passes a difficult evening hour when she needs extra entertaining. I love it because it involves sharing. I love it because she seems to love it. She ate the fuck out of a pile of lentil stew and cornbread tonight. My almost-seven-month-old can pick up a lentil. I love it because we got to attach her little chair to the table at Thanksgiving and put some food in front of her and then carry on with our dinner, together.
 |
| Is it trashy to eat with my shirt off, Mama? |
Plus, my sister in law--a nutritional epidemiologist who studies childhood obesity--was most impressed with the whole thing at Thanksgiving. Of course, then her dog bit one of the children in attendance, so maybe I don't care what she thinks.
And although I hate the BLW book (the one entitled BLW, because of the absurdly sweeping claims about the benefits of this approach--drives me totally nuts, even though I know it's not meant to be evidence-based), I don't care if it IS a fad. Sensible things can start as fads. And it's normal in other places. And I love it. SO THERE.
I also love the fact that my baby once again requires nothing from me from 7pm until about 5 or 6 am. Operant conditioning is effective, and in our case, it was the silver bullet. She figured out what was happening quite quickly. Most nights are now 100% cry-free, and we are far less anxious about bedtime. And night in general. But I should confess that there have been two painful moments since the initial period. One night she cried at 3am for about twenty minutes on and off. I promise you that I thought all the horrible things about myself that anyone who believes this approach is unwise would want me to think, and I wept, and there was black despair. And on Thanksgiving night, when my sister-in-law was staying down the hall, Bun Bun felt the need to indulge in ten minutes of angry screaming before falling asleep.
Perhaps she feared the return of TURKEY.
I know this approach won't work with all babies, and I know that it may not work long-term with MY baby, but every night that it does work is a night that it fucking works. I get to savor holding her at bedtime instead of hoping and praying that when I put her down, she won't cry. I get to wallow in bed in the middle of the night instead of standing in her room wondering why she weighs a thousand pounds more than she does during the day, and why nothing I can do will make her go back to sleep. And I assure you, I am deeply, deeply grateful for this easy, cheerful, miraculous, lentil-grasping baby.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
A little rant about toys
We recently achieved a new level of parenthood: We aquired a set of blocks. I LOVE THESE MOTHERFUCKING BLOCKS.
My father in law gave us the uppercase set, and we dug them so much
we checked to see what else they had, and discovered they have a
lowercase set, and the animals on the lowercase set are BABY VERSIONS of
the uppercase set, and they did it up RIGHT, so that frog --> tadpole
(and not some "baby frog" bullshit) and butterfly --> caterpillar, and...
The texturey faces are perfect for chewing on, and Bun Bun can play with them forever.
Which is helpful, because Bun Bun's world is a bit toy-deprived. I mean, she has a whole basket of toys, but a lot of them are wooden, and only a few make noise. Every two weeks or so, I freak out about this, fearful that not surrounding her with blinking, squeaking, talking plastic objects will means she'll never learn to solve differential equations. And then I watch her play with the grain of the wood floor for an hour and feel better.
Maybe it's because I grew up playing with rocks and sticks, or because I read the Little House books too many times, or because I'm fearful of what we're doing to our children with that there modern' livin', but I keep gravitating towards boring wooden toys and not too many of them, at that.
I remind myself that people grew up smart before Fisher Price, and that she's fine, and then a few weeks later it happens again.
And then it slowly began to dawn on me... There are people making a living by creating and then profiting from this kind of insecurity. There are people trying to convince me that my child needs this or that, and if I don't buy it for her, she will be stupid or unprepared or somehow at a disadvantage. Don't get me wrong--I'm not normally a crazy tinfoil hat person who sees conspiracies everywhere, and I am certainly not suggesting that I am somehow GOOD for not buying the latest gadget and anyone else is BAD for buying it. But it seems to me like you should buy a toy because you find it cool and fun and believe it will lead to endless hours of enjoyable interaction (or endless hours of your baby out of your hair so you can bathe), not because the box tells you your baby won't learn to walk or count or whatever without it.
So here's my plan. The next time I find myself feeling bad because Bun Bun doesn't have a Fisher Price TeethingMathCrawlSortTieShoes MegaPlayCastle, I'll just quietly mutter: FUCK YOU, capitalism.
 |
| If you're insane, you can buy the periodic table set and start your baby nice and early. Me, I plan to get the Russian ones next. |
The texturey faces are perfect for chewing on, and Bun Bun can play with them forever.
Which is helpful, because Bun Bun's world is a bit toy-deprived. I mean, she has a whole basket of toys, but a lot of them are wooden, and only a few make noise. Every two weeks or so, I freak out about this, fearful that not surrounding her with blinking, squeaking, talking plastic objects will means she'll never learn to solve differential equations. And then I watch her play with the grain of the wood floor for an hour and feel better.
Maybe it's because I grew up playing with rocks and sticks, or because I read the Little House books too many times, or because I'm fearful of what we're doing to our children with that there modern' livin', but I keep gravitating towards boring wooden toys and not too many of them, at that.
 |
| Save me from the boring wooden toys, internet people. |
I remind myself that people grew up smart before Fisher Price, and that she's fine, and then a few weeks later it happens again.
And then it slowly began to dawn on me... There are people making a living by creating and then profiting from this kind of insecurity. There are people trying to convince me that my child needs this or that, and if I don't buy it for her, she will be stupid or unprepared or somehow at a disadvantage. Don't get me wrong--I'm not normally a crazy tinfoil hat person who sees conspiracies everywhere, and I am certainly not suggesting that I am somehow GOOD for not buying the latest gadget and anyone else is BAD for buying it. But it seems to me like you should buy a toy because you find it cool and fun and believe it will lead to endless hours of enjoyable interaction (or endless hours of your baby out of your hair so you can bathe), not because the box tells you your baby won't learn to walk or count or whatever without it.
So here's my plan. The next time I find myself feeling bad because Bun Bun doesn't have a Fisher Price TeethingMathCrawlSortTieShoes MegaPlayCastle, I'll just quietly mutter: FUCK YOU, capitalism.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Oh pediatrician, you make me sad.
Mr. Bunny took Bun Bun in for her six month checkup on Friday, while I was at work. When he gave me the report, it seemed clear that I am an inadequate mother in several ways.
ONE. We've started Bun Bun on solids. I'd heard about this baby-led weaning deal where you skip purées and let the baby feed itself, and I thought that sounded awesome. It was a thrill to see Bun Bun picking up pieces of banana and pear and mango and smearing them all over her face and nomming them down in a gaggy sort of way. I'd also done some spoon feeding if we were eating something that was appropriate, like puréed soup. I'd given her some harder things, too, like orange slices and lime wedges, which she seemed happy with. And it made me happy to sit at the table and share food with her. The doctor? Not happy. Choking hazard. Bad mother. I'm not sure which things precisely he objected to, since I wasn't there to ask, but Mr. Bunny's report made me feel chastised and depressed. Partly because Mr. Bunny was a bit nervous about the whole thing, too, although he'd agreed to do it. So I felt like I was wrong and he was right. And the truth is, I jumped into it because it made sense to me, and I read a few websites, but didn't do exhaustive research, so I wasn't totally sure of myself...
I was also informed that she should start eating three meals a day as soon as possible, instead of my lazy one or two.
And, Mr. Bunny selected a few delicious MEAT SLURRIES (a.k.a. baby food featuring meat) for me to spoon feed her. (I'm vegetarian but have no plans to raise Bun Bun that way.) Those things are fucking GROSS, and not because they contain meat.
So anyways, something that was happy is now SAD. I've ordered a BOOK, and we'll see what I think after reading it. Maybe I'll continue with the BLW, maybe I'll modify it a bit, I dunno. I need to figure out which principles are important to me and see if I can keep them alive in a way that Mr. Bunny is comfortable with.
TWO. After being a wonderful sleeper for about five months, Bun Bun has begun waking multiple times a night. Sometimes only two, but sometimes four or five (which, yes, I know, probably sounds good to some of you, but still), and feeding her and putting her back down is no longer sufficient.
Before she was born, I was pro sleep training and Mr. Bunny was con. But she didn't need it, so we'd agreed that we'd revisit the whole issue if she ever did. When she started her recent waking pattern, we'd been riding it out hoping she'd go back to her old ways. It had been about a month, so Mr. Bunny asked the doctor. Even though I KNEW what he'd say, it still made me feel bad to hear it. The word counterproductive was used regarding my tendency to feed her to get her to shut up. Some version of sleep training was recommended. BAD, BAD MAMA.
And the thing that particularly pissed me off about this one was the fact that, had it not been for Mr. Bunny, I'd have tried sleep training long ago.
Last night Mr. Bunny and I both had some kind of hideous 12 hour bug. (I hope. Please don't come back, hideous thing.) Mr. Bunny was vomiting and my whole body ached. So we started sleep training using the semi-gentle method described in this book I like because it says I can drink. You choose a 10 hour window and neither feed nor pick up during that window, though you can check in at increasingly longer intervals. It went well, and although it made me cry to leave the room without picking her up, it genuinely seems right for all of us.
I know there are competing views on both these issues, and I'm not ideologically committed to either camp, really. I just want to do what makes sense to me, what I believe best combines all our interests. And hey, I guess this is what parenting is: Carefully figuring out what you think is best, negotiating with your partner if you've got one, and then being told you're doing it all wrong.
ONE. We've started Bun Bun on solids. I'd heard about this baby-led weaning deal where you skip purées and let the baby feed itself, and I thought that sounded awesome. It was a thrill to see Bun Bun picking up pieces of banana and pear and mango and smearing them all over her face and nomming them down in a gaggy sort of way. I'd also done some spoon feeding if we were eating something that was appropriate, like puréed soup. I'd given her some harder things, too, like orange slices and lime wedges, which she seemed happy with. And it made me happy to sit at the table and share food with her. The doctor? Not happy. Choking hazard. Bad mother. I'm not sure which things precisely he objected to, since I wasn't there to ask, but Mr. Bunny's report made me feel chastised and depressed. Partly because Mr. Bunny was a bit nervous about the whole thing, too, although he'd agreed to do it. So I felt like I was wrong and he was right. And the truth is, I jumped into it because it made sense to me, and I read a few websites, but didn't do exhaustive research, so I wasn't totally sure of myself...
I was also informed that she should start eating three meals a day as soon as possible, instead of my lazy one or two.
And, Mr. Bunny selected a few delicious MEAT SLURRIES (a.k.a. baby food featuring meat) for me to spoon feed her. (I'm vegetarian but have no plans to raise Bun Bun that way.) Those things are fucking GROSS, and not because they contain meat.
So anyways, something that was happy is now SAD. I've ordered a BOOK, and we'll see what I think after reading it. Maybe I'll continue with the BLW, maybe I'll modify it a bit, I dunno. I need to figure out which principles are important to me and see if I can keep them alive in a way that Mr. Bunny is comfortable with.
TWO. After being a wonderful sleeper for about five months, Bun Bun has begun waking multiple times a night. Sometimes only two, but sometimes four or five (which, yes, I know, probably sounds good to some of you, but still), and feeding her and putting her back down is no longer sufficient.
Before she was born, I was pro sleep training and Mr. Bunny was con. But she didn't need it, so we'd agreed that we'd revisit the whole issue if she ever did. When she started her recent waking pattern, we'd been riding it out hoping she'd go back to her old ways. It had been about a month, so Mr. Bunny asked the doctor. Even though I KNEW what he'd say, it still made me feel bad to hear it. The word counterproductive was used regarding my tendency to feed her to get her to shut up. Some version of sleep training was recommended. BAD, BAD MAMA.
And the thing that particularly pissed me off about this one was the fact that, had it not been for Mr. Bunny, I'd have tried sleep training long ago.
Last night Mr. Bunny and I both had some kind of hideous 12 hour bug. (I hope. Please don't come back, hideous thing.) Mr. Bunny was vomiting and my whole body ached. So we started sleep training using the semi-gentle method described in this book I like because it says I can drink. You choose a 10 hour window and neither feed nor pick up during that window, though you can check in at increasingly longer intervals. It went well, and although it made me cry to leave the room without picking her up, it genuinely seems right for all of us.
I know there are competing views on both these issues, and I'm not ideologically committed to either camp, really. I just want to do what makes sense to me, what I believe best combines all our interests. And hey, I guess this is what parenting is: Carefully figuring out what you think is best, negotiating with your partner if you've got one, and then being told you're doing it all wrong.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Reflections at six months. With pie charts.
About a week before Bun Bun was born, Mr. Bunny and I were having a conversation we'd had many times before. People had been telling us that having a baby was sooooooooooo hard, harder than we could eeeeeeeeeever imagine. And we were wondering why. I mean, how bad could it be? Was it really true that we should get paper plates because we'd be too exhausted to wash dishes? Would we really be so desperate for help that we'd wish we had people around and regret asking them to stay away for a month? Could two people really not care for one baby without falling apart? Weary of having the same conversation, we decided to take a quantitative approach. We'd write down all factors that we thought contributed to the whole babies are so hard business, and then estimate their impact. We did it, and then we sealed it in an envelope and agreed to open it in six months.
Bun Bun's six month birthday was this weekend, so we opened the envelope. Here's what we predicted.
Sleep deprivation, incompetence, and lack of preparation are self-explanatory. With isolation/ resistance to change, we were thinking that people who like to go out would have a hard time being trapped at home, and that people might resent the loss of their old lives. You hear about people being all waaaah, I never get to have beers with my buddies anymore. That kind of thing. We decided to create one large category called "baby hard." We wanted to capture the various ways in which caring for a baby might be genuinely hard, but in the end we felt they all boiled down to...crying. So "baby hard" included the following items that might change the equation considerably, depending on how they worked out.
So, our chart shows that we expected sleep deprivation to be the major portion, with baby hard coming in second, and a few other things playing minor roles.
When we considered the reality we were pretty pleased with our predictions, overall. But we did do a little revision.
Self-aggrandizement, incompetence, and lack of preparation no longer figure in. Naturally. And baby hard has not grown at all, because our baby is fucking easy. The surprise was that the whole isolation / resistance to change was a factor for us. Despite never really wanting company before, I went through a very intense longing for just one friend with a baby. This lasted from months 2 -5 or so. I still like the idea, but I no longer consider accosting random women with babies. So isolation turned out to affect me after all. And the resistance to change I've described here: we both like time alone, but figuring out how to arrange that proved more problematic than expected.
So it was an interesting exercise. But we also decided that the chart fails to capture an important feature of our experience, which I've tried to show here:
I'm not sure what the pies are even made of, but it's been clear from the beginning that having an easy baby is a whole other universe from having a typical baby, let alone a hard baby. For instance, yeah, we would like more sleep, but our sleep deprivation is a tiny little crumb compared to the giant wedge that is the sleep deprivation of the average parent. Ditto the baby hard. As much as I struggled with nursing, I can see that my experience was pretty normal, and so much easier than the battles many have faced. And yes, there are times when I am crawling out of my skin because of the crying, but it's, like, the easiest possible version of that phenomenon.
In conclusion, the one piece of wisdom I have for prospective parents is this: You have no idea what it will be like until you meet that baby. It might be rainbows and flowers, it might be like being boiled alive.
Oh, and be sure to get an easy baby.
 |
| There it hung on the fridge. We decided to open it when Bun Bun was six months old, rather than six months after sealing it. |
Bun Bun's six month birthday was this weekend, so we opened the envelope. Here's what we predicted.
Sleep deprivation, incompetence, and lack of preparation are self-explanatory. With isolation/ resistance to change, we were thinking that people who like to go out would have a hard time being trapped at home, and that people might resent the loss of their old lives. You hear about people being all waaaah, I never get to have beers with my buddies anymore. That kind of thing. We decided to create one large category called "baby hard." We wanted to capture the various ways in which caring for a baby might be genuinely hard, but in the end we felt they all boiled down to...crying. So "baby hard" included the following items that might change the equation considerably, depending on how they worked out.
- Baby temperament. Colicky baby = harder.
- Baby health. Sick baby = harder.
- Breastfeeding. If it goes poorly = harder.
- PPD. In this case, I'd be the one crying.
So, our chart shows that we expected sleep deprivation to be the major portion, with baby hard coming in second, and a few other things playing minor roles.
When we considered the reality we were pretty pleased with our predictions, overall. But we did do a little revision.
Self-aggrandizement, incompetence, and lack of preparation no longer figure in. Naturally. And baby hard has not grown at all, because our baby is fucking easy. The surprise was that the whole isolation / resistance to change was a factor for us. Despite never really wanting company before, I went through a very intense longing for just one friend with a baby. This lasted from months 2 -5 or so. I still like the idea, but I no longer consider accosting random women with babies. So isolation turned out to affect me after all. And the resistance to change I've described here: we both like time alone, but figuring out how to arrange that proved more problematic than expected.
So it was an interesting exercise. But we also decided that the chart fails to capture an important feature of our experience, which I've tried to show here:
In conclusion, the one piece of wisdom I have for prospective parents is this: You have no idea what it will be like until you meet that baby. It might be rainbows and flowers, it might be like being boiled alive.
Oh, and be sure to get an easy baby.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Ooof! Daycare!
You know, when I wrote that last post, I was zoomed in on my own emotional state, and forgot that daycare is a hot button issue, with strong feelings in various camps. Hence the little throwdown in my comments section. And it makes perfect sense--what could be more emotionally charged than considering how this choice might impact THE REST OF YOUR CHILD'S LIFE, particularly in a community where people waited a long time for this baby and where many face the possibility of never having another. And where the choice is so tied up with one's identity as a person, a woman, a mother.
I don't pretend to have expertise in this area, and I know enough ink has been spilled on the topic to replace all the water in all the oceans. So please forgive me from writing about this from a place of relative ignorance. But as part of my Psych Ph.D., I did take developmental psych courses, and I wanted to share a couple of things.
First, the issue of whether daycare is good or bad for infants (focusing just on infants) is not settled. How could it be? It depends on what you mean by good and bad and how you're assessing. For example, are you measuring effects on cognitive development and later academic performance? Are you measuring physiological markers of stress like salivary cortisol*? Are you measuring levels of aggression or other behavioral problems? Are you measuring attachment or other social/emotional indices? The truth is, you can find evidence FOR and AGAINST on every one of these dimensions. Partly because effects depend tremendously on quality of care, quality of the parent-child relationship, and a ton of other shit. It's a complex multi-dimensional space, AND it's constantly in flux as attitudes change and as care gets better. So the point is: if you want to prove that daycare is bad, you can find evidence, and if you want to prove it's good, you can find evidence. People in both camps are highly motivated to find support for their choices (e.g., as someone who must use childcare, I'm motivated to find proof that it's okay for Bun Bun), but I think we are all obligated to consider the whole picture.
(I highly recommend this lovely review**, though it's got a bit of a metatheoretical take that might not be of much interest if you're just looking for an answer.)
The second thing I want to share is a beautiful study** that I think illustrates just how little objectivity some of us have on this topic. In this (2006, i.e., RECENT) study, college women (you know, modern, educated women) were shown videos of mother-child interactions and asked to rate them on a number of dimensions to do with quality of care (e.g., "The stimulation/encouragement that the mother provides"). Half the participants were told the mothers were stay at home mothers and half were told the mothers were working mothers. There's a lot more to the study, but the finding I want to share is this. Stay home mothers were rated higher overall than working mothers. In other words, being told these are stay at home mothers! led modern, educated women to perceive the interactions as indicating better care than being told these are working mothers. Please read the original study as it's not perfect, BUT, I think anyone who believes there's an objective truth to this question should consider that finding very carefully.
I want to stress that I've written all of this from the point of view of someone who is ambivalent about the whole thing. Plenty of women are eager to return to work and thrilled with the experience of daycare or in-home care. I am delighted for them, and would hate them to think I'm suggesting they should feel bad about their choice. In many ways, I envy them.
Let me end by saying this. Maybe you believe women who can't afford to stay home for 18 months shouldn't have children. I'd say you're only entitled to that opinion if you yourself have elected to forgo reproduction for that reason alone. In reality, it's awfully sad how little choice many of us have in the matter. There's the fact that many of us spent years building our careers and these careers won't wait for us (academia perhaps being an extreme case, where there's no getting off the carousel and then hopping on again--not if you want to ride the same brightly-colored pony). And issues of personal fulfillment and shit aside, there's pure economics. One persistent finding is the BAD effects of non-parental care (in multiple dimensions) often emerge for women who have jobs they don't like and who can't afford quality care. Just think about the size of the segment of the American population that describes, and weep. If you truly believe daycare is evil, take that passion and use it to help these women.
*Want to get FUCKING DEPRESSED? Read a bunch of papers about STRESSED BABIES.
**Leave an e-mail in a comment if you want the full papers and have no way of accessing them. I'll send them if I don't think you're some hater who's just going to plague me with mean e-mails.
I don't pretend to have expertise in this area, and I know enough ink has been spilled on the topic to replace all the water in all the oceans. So please forgive me from writing about this from a place of relative ignorance. But as part of my Psych Ph.D., I did take developmental psych courses, and I wanted to share a couple of things.
First, the issue of whether daycare is good or bad for infants (focusing just on infants) is not settled. How could it be? It depends on what you mean by good and bad and how you're assessing. For example, are you measuring effects on cognitive development and later academic performance? Are you measuring physiological markers of stress like salivary cortisol*? Are you measuring levels of aggression or other behavioral problems? Are you measuring attachment or other social/emotional indices? The truth is, you can find evidence FOR and AGAINST on every one of these dimensions. Partly because effects depend tremendously on quality of care, quality of the parent-child relationship, and a ton of other shit. It's a complex multi-dimensional space, AND it's constantly in flux as attitudes change and as care gets better. So the point is: if you want to prove that daycare is bad, you can find evidence, and if you want to prove it's good, you can find evidence. People in both camps are highly motivated to find support for their choices (e.g., as someone who must use childcare, I'm motivated to find proof that it's okay for Bun Bun), but I think we are all obligated to consider the whole picture.
(I highly recommend this lovely review**, though it's got a bit of a metatheoretical take that might not be of much interest if you're just looking for an answer.)
The second thing I want to share is a beautiful study** that I think illustrates just how little objectivity some of us have on this topic. In this (2006, i.e., RECENT) study, college women (you know, modern, educated women) were shown videos of mother-child interactions and asked to rate them on a number of dimensions to do with quality of care (e.g., "The stimulation/encouragement that the mother provides"). Half the participants were told the mothers were stay at home mothers and half were told the mothers were working mothers. There's a lot more to the study, but the finding I want to share is this. Stay home mothers were rated higher overall than working mothers. In other words, being told these are stay at home mothers! led modern, educated women to perceive the interactions as indicating better care than being told these are working mothers. Please read the original study as it's not perfect, BUT, I think anyone who believes there's an objective truth to this question should consider that finding very carefully.
I want to stress that I've written all of this from the point of view of someone who is ambivalent about the whole thing. Plenty of women are eager to return to work and thrilled with the experience of daycare or in-home care. I am delighted for them, and would hate them to think I'm suggesting they should feel bad about their choice. In many ways, I envy them.
Let me end by saying this. Maybe you believe women who can't afford to stay home for 18 months shouldn't have children. I'd say you're only entitled to that opinion if you yourself have elected to forgo reproduction for that reason alone. In reality, it's awfully sad how little choice many of us have in the matter. There's the fact that many of us spent years building our careers and these careers won't wait for us (academia perhaps being an extreme case, where there's no getting off the carousel and then hopping on again--not if you want to ride the same brightly-colored pony). And issues of personal fulfillment and shit aside, there's pure economics. One persistent finding is the BAD effects of non-parental care (in multiple dimensions) often emerge for women who have jobs they don't like and who can't afford quality care. Just think about the size of the segment of the American population that describes, and weep. If you truly believe daycare is evil, take that passion and use it to help these women.
*Want to get FUCKING DEPRESSED? Read a bunch of papers about STRESSED BABIES.
**Leave an e-mail in a comment if you want the full papers and have no way of accessing them. I'll send them if I don't think you're some hater who's just going to plague me with mean e-mails.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
So yeah, daycare
I've been avoiding thinking about it, refusing to count the weeks until January. I even made it Mr. Bunny's job to set up appointments so I could keep hiding. But now the time has come when even HE thinks it's time to find a place, and has been saying things like, we should really start looking into it, to which I respond, it's your fucking problem waaaaaaaaah!
Let me be clear: I think daycare is GOOD for babies. Intellectually, I accept that it's not a bad thing, may even be helpful for a baby who doesn't know a lot of other babies. And I don't really expect Bun Bun to care, though I do worry that the timing will interact poorly with the separation anxiety a lot of kids experience around nine months, leading to endless guilt and misery for Mama. But it's not that I have qualms about daycare qua daycare. That said, I wouldn't choose to do it if I didn't have to. If I could, I'd stay home with her for a year at least.* And okay, I suppose I could ask my chair for a leave of absence, and I might get it, but what would happen to my career if I spent another semester gazing lovingly into my child's eyes? Of course, do I even care about my career?
Um...anyway, I didn't actually intend this to be about the emotional turmoil and the questioning and the blah blah, I really just wanted to ask...how the hell does one find a place that feels right?
So far we've only been to one, and I was so choked up and freaked out I don't think I really absorbed much. Is it going to be like that at ALL of them? Or was it just the fact of having to really contemplate leaving her? Should I visit one that I know is unacceptable (smells like piss, flies on the babies**) just so I will gain some perspective, and feel better about the other options? Is there going to be a place that feels right to me, where I can imagine Bun Bun being happy?
Or can I only imagine her safe and contented in my tender lovin' arms?
[A couple of things I feel compelled to add based on comments:
1. I hope I didn't suggest to anyone that NOT doing daycare is BAD by saying daycare is good. Totally don't feel that way, as I hope is made clear by my desire to stay home.
2. I can't stay home next semester. I'm under contract. Maybe next year I could wrangle something, but I'm screwed for January-May. Which makes me sad.]
*I know, I get eight months, which is so fucking wonderful. But not enough. Because I'm a greedy whore.
**Sorry. Not good to joke about flies on babies, but these are the images that go through my mind...
Let me be clear: I think daycare is GOOD for babies. Intellectually, I accept that it's not a bad thing, may even be helpful for a baby who doesn't know a lot of other babies. And I don't really expect Bun Bun to care, though I do worry that the timing will interact poorly with the separation anxiety a lot of kids experience around nine months, leading to endless guilt and misery for Mama. But it's not that I have qualms about daycare qua daycare. That said, I wouldn't choose to do it if I didn't have to. If I could, I'd stay home with her for a year at least.* And okay, I suppose I could ask my chair for a leave of absence, and I might get it, but what would happen to my career if I spent another semester gazing lovingly into my child's eyes? Of course, do I even care about my career?
Um...anyway, I didn't actually intend this to be about the emotional turmoil and the questioning and the blah blah, I really just wanted to ask...how the hell does one find a place that feels right?
So far we've only been to one, and I was so choked up and freaked out I don't think I really absorbed much. Is it going to be like that at ALL of them? Or was it just the fact of having to really contemplate leaving her? Should I visit one that I know is unacceptable (smells like piss, flies on the babies**) just so I will gain some perspective, and feel better about the other options? Is there going to be a place that feels right to me, where I can imagine Bun Bun being happy?
Or can I only imagine her safe and contented in my tender lovin' arms?
[A couple of things I feel compelled to add based on comments:
1. I hope I didn't suggest to anyone that NOT doing daycare is BAD by saying daycare is good. Totally don't feel that way, as I hope is made clear by my desire to stay home.
2. I can't stay home next semester. I'm under contract. Maybe next year I could wrangle something, but I'm screwed for January-May. Which makes me sad.]
*I know, I get eight months, which is so fucking wonderful. But not enough. Because I'm a greedy whore.
**Sorry. Not good to joke about flies on babies, but these are the images that go through my mind...
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Holiday of My People
Halloween is my favorite holiday. And even though I have once again failed to make the giant snake to wrap around the tree in our front yard that I keep talking about, I did succeed in making Bun Bun's costume. Mr. Bunny has wanted her to be a pumpkin since long before she was even a gleam in our RE's eye. So a pumpkin she is, and a mighty sweet one, if I do say so myself.
Mr. Bunny says the costume has surpassed his wildest dreams.
We also toured our first daycare today, in preparation for January. I am feeling extra thankful to have this time with my little pumpkin today. And in light of Jennifer's shitty news, and thinking of Misfit's scan tomorrow, and thinking of all of you, I'm feeling so insanely EXTRA grateful that Bun Bun is here with me. So grateful that I need to gorge myself on tiny candy bars and cry.
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| Mama, I'm a PUMPKIN! |
 |
| Mr. Bunny chose the buttons. |
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| Please don't make me into a pie, Daddy. |
Mr. Bunny says the costume has surpassed his wildest dreams.
We also toured our first daycare today, in preparation for January. I am feeling extra thankful to have this time with my little pumpkin today. And in light of Jennifer's shitty news, and thinking of Misfit's scan tomorrow, and thinking of all of you, I'm feeling so insanely EXTRA grateful that Bun Bun is here with me. So grateful that I need to gorge myself on tiny candy bars and cry.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Never having sex again
The last time we had the old Intimate Relations, I opted to forgo orgasm. As I've been perfectly willing to discuss before, I don't have an orgasm from intercourse alone. This time, I thought it might be nice to have one. Well, friends, I pissed myself. Yes, just as I was thinking, Hurrah, my first orgasm in almost six months! I perceived an odd wetness. A spreading wetness. A substantial spreading wetness.
WHAT THE FUCK. How come nobody told me this was a THING?!?! Those of you who have had postpartum sex are seriously to blame here.
Or is it just me? It can't just be me!
In case you're curious, I don't think I actually got there, if you know what I mean. I was too surprised. My response was to say, Something...has...happened. I think I'll have to change the sheets.
AND SO: pregnant, parenting, lost all hope of ever being either, I don't care. If you're not doing Kegels RIGHT NOW, you should be.
WHAT THE FUCK. How come nobody told me this was a THING?!?! Those of you who have had postpartum sex are seriously to blame here.
Or is it just me? It can't just be me!
In case you're curious, I don't think I actually got there, if you know what I mean. I was too surprised. My response was to say, Something...has...happened. I think I'll have to change the sheets.
AND SO: pregnant, parenting, lost all hope of ever being either, I don't care. If you're not doing Kegels RIGHT NOW, you should be.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Robot harnesses
As you know, I am a baby, and have limited mobility. Consequently, I am forced to use a giant robot to get around. You know, like Ripley.
I have two robots. One is a bit softer and smells milky, and the other
one is easier to control--I can get it to go for super long
walks instead of just the stupid laundry room. But when you get right down to it,
robots are pretty much all the same. I HAVE found that there
are large differences in the comfort of the harness used to attach me to
the robot, though, and I wanted to share my findings with other babies.
I started with the Moby, back when I was a newborn. At first I thought my robot was just inept, but as time went on, I determined that it's just NOT the harness for me. It's squashy. I like to look around, and my robot kept trying to tuck my head in, and I'd pull it out, and then it would flop around on my neck, and then my robot would have to hold me in, and it was just...absurd. And when I started talking to other babies, some of them agreed. While it's funny to watch the robot struggle with the harness like it's wrestling a boa constrictor, ultimately...not worth the trouble.
I tried the Baby Björn next. But I found that both robots would take me off waaaaay before I was ready. It was almost as though the harness caused them some kind of PAIN. I know, I have a foolish tendency to anthropomorphize...but the robots kept making these weird groaning noises that made them seem almost human. So that one's out.
Then I found two that work great, the Mei Tai and the Beco Gemini. The Mei Tai works well with my milky robot and I loved it when I couldn't really control my head. The Gemini works with BOTH my robots, AND I can face forward or backward. (I know--there has been some discussion among babies about whether it's good for us to face forward, but my physical therapist assures me that any harness where my adorable pudgy knees are level-ish with my plump, delicious little rump is okay when used in moderation.) And later I can go on my robot's hip or back! Both these harnesses are comfy and taste great, too. The Gemini even has these little dangly things that I can chew on. Mmmmm. Since I got these good harnesses, I've been having a lot more fun. I take my robots to the grocery store, and all around the house, and the library and...everywhere!
OH, and I DID try out that rolling cart thing. You know, where the robot pushes you? I hate it. I can't see shit and when I want to sleep, there's no warm robot chest to snuggle into. So these are my recommendations, for what they're worth. Gotta get back to work--I'm trying to program my robot to give me a beer but all I get is a piece of banana.
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| I'll fuck you up, Aliens. |
I started with the Moby, back when I was a newborn. At first I thought my robot was just inept, but as time went on, I determined that it's just NOT the harness for me. It's squashy. I like to look around, and my robot kept trying to tuck my head in, and I'd pull it out, and then it would flop around on my neck, and then my robot would have to hold me in, and it was just...absurd. And when I started talking to other babies, some of them agreed. While it's funny to watch the robot struggle with the harness like it's wrestling a boa constrictor, ultimately...not worth the trouble.
I tried the Baby Björn next. But I found that both robots would take me off waaaaay before I was ready. It was almost as though the harness caused them some kind of PAIN. I know, I have a foolish tendency to anthropomorphize...but the robots kept making these weird groaning noises that made them seem almost human. So that one's out.
Then I found two that work great, the Mei Tai and the Beco Gemini. The Mei Tai works well with my milky robot and I loved it when I couldn't really control my head. The Gemini works with BOTH my robots, AND I can face forward or backward. (I know--there has been some discussion among babies about whether it's good for us to face forward, but my physical therapist assures me that any harness where my adorable pudgy knees are level-ish with my plump, delicious little rump is okay when used in moderation.) And later I can go on my robot's hip or back! Both these harnesses are comfy and taste great, too. The Gemini even has these little dangly things that I can chew on. Mmmmm. Since I got these good harnesses, I've been having a lot more fun. I take my robots to the grocery store, and all around the house, and the library and...everywhere!
OH, and I DID try out that rolling cart thing. You know, where the robot pushes you? I hate it. I can't see shit and when I want to sleep, there's no warm robot chest to snuggle into. So these are my recommendations, for what they're worth. Gotta get back to work--I'm trying to program my robot to give me a beer but all I get is a piece of banana.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Secret people
A few people I read have recently gone private or written about their fears of being found by people who know them In Real Life, as the kids say.
I also started using the new blogger interface, which does not permit you to hide from certain facts about visitors, whereas before my policy has always been to cover my eyes and ears and say la la la about anything to do with page views, reader's locations, etc. (On the principle that if I respect your privacy you'll respect mine.)
And I allow anonymous comments because mainly I get nice anonymous people (I love you, Anonymous!), but now and again I get one that's genuinely mean (what the fuck, Anonymous?). Usually because I've been offensive about something or other, as is my way. And I have no plans to water down my opinions...any more that I do already, because for me there's no point in writing if I can't be at least a little honest.
Anyhow, these things in combination have made me wonder whether I am the world's largest moron to be putting my intimate details out there with only the thinnest veil of anonymity to protect me. I mean, I'm basically relying on the kindness of my fellow woman, and on being too boring to attract a lot of readers. It makes me wonder how people get found out. I've been in charge of websites and tracking traffic and such before, so I know the obvious stuff, but people getting found out seems to rely on people trying to find people, and I just wonder, who does that? Or maybe it's just that I don't read a whole lot of stuff on the internet so I don't ever accidentally bump into someone who seems eerily familiar...
What do you guys think? Am I going to end up fired (because I call my colleagues assholes), shamed (because my STUDENTS could read about my SEX LIFE), divorced (because my husband could read about my marital frustrations)?
I also started using the new blogger interface, which does not permit you to hide from certain facts about visitors, whereas before my policy has always been to cover my eyes and ears and say la la la about anything to do with page views, reader's locations, etc. (On the principle that if I respect your privacy you'll respect mine.)
And I allow anonymous comments because mainly I get nice anonymous people (I love you, Anonymous!), but now and again I get one that's genuinely mean (what the fuck, Anonymous?). Usually because I've been offensive about something or other, as is my way. And I have no plans to water down my opinions...any more that I do already, because for me there's no point in writing if I can't be at least a little honest.
Anyhow, these things in combination have made me wonder whether I am the world's largest moron to be putting my intimate details out there with only the thinnest veil of anonymity to protect me. I mean, I'm basically relying on the kindness of my fellow woman, and on being too boring to attract a lot of readers. It makes me wonder how people get found out. I've been in charge of websites and tracking traffic and such before, so I know the obvious stuff, but people getting found out seems to rely on people trying to find people, and I just wonder, who does that? Or maybe it's just that I don't read a whole lot of stuff on the internet so I don't ever accidentally bump into someone who seems eerily familiar...
What do you guys think? Am I going to end up fired (because I call my colleagues assholes), shamed (because my STUDENTS could read about my SEX LIFE), divorced (because my husband could read about my marital frustrations)?
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