Having a dog . . .

is nothing like have a baby.  Nothing.  I'm just saying.

Getting there

I am getting there.  This schedule is starting to feel routine.  I'm starting to adjust to our new normal, as it were.  We're also starting to figure out how this schedule is affecting each of us.

For example, Bear has adjusted to JK wonderfully; in fact, his teacher told me that he has adjusted better than some of the kids who are now in SK.  He is, however, a crabby, cranky mess the first 45 minutes he is home from school.  This can wreak havoc on the afternoon.  We're starting to figure out, though, that he needs some time to decompress.  So, we've been letting him have some quiet time to himself when he first gets home.  Some days he colors, some days he paints, some days he looks at books by himself.  After about 30 minutes, he is back to his usual happy self. 

As for me, I am relying a lot on our schedule.  I work when the boys are at school.  I focus on being with them when we're home together.  Archer and I are squeezing in moments together in between everything.  I won't lie; it's been tough.  It's chaotic, and the evenings and afternoons are often frenetic.  We get home, we unpack, we play for a while, then we do homework, we practice music, and we make dinner.  After dinner we have bath, storytime, and bed.  Archer and I often manage to squeeze in a few moments of work after all three boys are asleep, or we just hang out together before falling asleep and starting all over again. 

PPD

I've been having a rough few weeks.  One minute I'm fine, the next I want to cry.  Most moments I manage to keep it together, but there have been a few days in which I've just cried for a while.  I am, as I've blogged before, a crier, but it isn't like me to sob for an entire morning.  Archer asked me how I was doing yesterday, and I said, I feel like I'm having good days and bad days.  He asked if he could make an observation, and I said yes.  He said that my cycles are more regular following George's birth than following Wild Man's and Bear's.  He has noticed that I am more uneven than usual about a week before my period starts and at least three days into my period.  I immediately knew he was right, and now I'm trying to keep track of my cycles.  Prior to having Wild Man, I was on the pill, and I was also on the pill immediately following his birth as well as Bear's.  While I primarily took the pill for birth control, I found that it helped regulate the hormonal shifts I seem to be experiencing lately.  I told Archer I may go back on it for that reason, but then I don't want to do that.  So I started doing some research.  Now I wonder if I don't have a late-onset PPD.  I know that mothers can experience PPD up to a year following the birth of a child, and I'm still within that time frame for George's birth.  But honestly, all the descriptions are so different.  Do I have the Baby Blues (a term I hate, by the way, as it is just so dismissive) or more severe depression?  Or am I just tired and struggling to compensate for a lack of sleep?  Most of the time, I feel like myself.  I feel good.  But several times a week I have an urge to just cry.  But then, so do most mothers I know.  I mean, parenting is a hard, hard job.  It is exhausting and draining, and it can be demoralizing.  It's full of high-highs and low-lows.  Mothering is an emotional roller coaster in and of itself.

Academic Mothering

I consider myself an academic mother; for me, the name, such as it is, merges my professional and personal life.  I am an academic, and I am a mother.  It is impossible to every stop being one or the other.  I am both simultaneously.  I am always thinking about my children and the things I need to do for them, and I'm always thinking about my research and writing.  There is no separation.

Many of my friends, especially my close friends, are also academic mothers, although I don't know how many of them would self-identify in that way.  Among these friends, I've observed something that I find disconcerting.  A few of these friends, two in particular, speak about mothering and their children with something close to disdain.  Now, these two women love their children; I don't mean to suggest otherwise.  They light up when their children walk into the room, and they tell delightful stories about their children.  But when in certain groups, primarily groups in which other academics are present, they act as though they hate parenting, as though their children keep them from their "real" work, and as though their "careers" are more fulfilling than parenting.  This makes me really uncomfortable for several reasons.

First, as I've blogged before (a long, long time ago), CU is fairly friendly to faculty members with families.  In fact, CU has an astounding number of faculty members with young children.  Part of this, I think, is due to Canadian culture, which allows for year-long parental leaves, and part of this is due to the unionized environment of CU (for example, despite being the equivalent of an American R1, the tenure requirements are fairly manageable and clearly spelled out; also taking parental leave of a certain length delays tenure by a full-year).  People here have kids.  People with kids bring their kids to class on occasion and many bring their kids to events and meetings.  Archer and I often have the boys on campus, especially now as we're in the odd time when my leave has ended but we don't have full time child care for Bear and we don't have any child care for George.  To return to my original point, no one here has ever made me feel less than anyone else because I have children.  Sure, I have colleagues who never ask about my children, but that's okay because I never ask about their dogs, for example.  I don't feel as though people question my abilities as an academic because I'm a mother, or at least I don't feel as though most of my colleagues do.

My friends' tendency to disparage parenting and their own children makes me uncomfortable because it's a performance, a carefully constructed one at that.  It is as though these two women, both of whom have tenure and have proven themselves as teachers and researchers, as it were, believe they have to project a certain image of themselves in order to maintain their academic credibility.  I think this just perpetuates the unequal way many academic parents are treated.  Everyone knows I have children, and everyone knows I'm happy to talk about my children.  But everyone also knows I am a successful teacher and a good researcher.  I am able to be both without disparaging one or the other.

This is not to say that I'm always secure in my role, and I do think my friends' tendency to speak badly of parenting is due to their own insecurities.  But I am secure in my role as a mom.  I know I'm a good mom.  I have three happy, healthy, confident children to support that belief.  I'm less secure in my role as an academic, although I am becoming more confident.  But I also believe that the two roles, the two halves of myself, as it were, can't be separated, and I don't want them to be.  I think my friends are more insecure about their ability to mother effectively while maintaining the active research and service loads that they do.  I know things are going to fall through the cracks, and mostly I'm okay with that.  I don't have to be a perfect mother, and I certainly don't have to be a perfect academic.  I'd rather be happy, get some work done, and hang out with my kids.

Dear Judgmental Park Mother:

Yes, I allow my three-year-old to have juice boxes, not that that is any of your concern.  He's also only recently potty trained, and he still requests a diaper when he needs to poop.  As the one time I forced him to poop on the potty, he was severely traumatized--as in he cried hysterically for an hour--I happily oblige him so that he doesn't refuse to poop.  Oh, and he also no longer naps every day, but he does sleep for almost 13 hours straight every night.  Let me know if there is any other aspect of my parenting or my child's life you'd like to comment on.

For the record. . .

I hate baby talk.  I do not speak baby talk to my children (although I don't necessarily talk to them like they are adults).  Baby talk drives me absolutely insane.  Seriously.  Insane.

Wild Man is in Grade 1!

Wild Man boarded the school bus this morning like an old pro.  Meanwhile I cried.  Bear did too, but he wanted to go with Wild Man to "ride the bus stop, Mama!" as he kept declaring.  After getting him on the bus, Archer and I loaded up Bear and George and drove over to Wild Man's school.  We wanted him to take the bus to get him used to it, but we also wanted to watch him go into school on his first day (parents weren't allowed in the building this morning).  I felt like a helicopter mom until we arrived at the school and saw a group of parents all waiting to see their first graders and kindergartner-ers getting off the bus.  A friend of Wild Man's got on the bus after he did, so they sat together and walked in together.  I felt better knowing he has a friend already.  Even if they don't end up in the same class they can play together at recess.  I was very proud of how well he handled it.  Now I can't wait to hear how his day went.

The Rundown

Archer has been out of town for about 48 hours now, and he'll get back late this evening, well after the boys are asleep.  Lots of stuff has happened in his absence, so here is the rundown.

• He left Thursday morning, just as the boys were finishing breakfast.  The morning routine can be stressful at our house, so I consciously changed the routine to make it less stressful on me.  All in all it went quite well, and we were out of the house by 8:30.  Of course, we ran into some construction traffic, which meant we didn't arrive at the Bear's daycare until 10 minutes before Wild Man had to be at Kindergarten.  Luckily a good friend with whom we often trade drop off duties was dropping off his son at the same time I was trying to drop off Bear, and he offered to take Wild Man to school as he had to take his daughter there too.  So Thursday morning worked out fairly well.
• Over half of my Thursday class decided not to show up, which was annoying, but it also meant that the students who managed to show up were treated to an impromptu paper workshop session.
• I spent the afternoon in a spontaneous meeting and then caught up on some reading and grading.
• I picked Wild Man up, took him with me to the library, and then we got Bear and headed home.  
• The evening routine went smoothly--primarily because I didn't have to cook.  I just heated up some leftover sauce and meatballs, and the boys were more than happy with spaghetti. The boys were both in bed by bedtime, although Bear fought going to sleep for quite a while.  After 30 minutes, I made it clear I'd had enough and 10 minutes later he was sound asleep.
• I went to bed soon after, and Friday morning went fairly smooth as well.
• Yesterday was a bit of a challenge for me.  I don't like waiting, and I spent the day waiting to hear the results of a meeting in which Research Department discussed non-competitive hires.  Although this was a full department meeting, Dr. English had asked that I not attend.  To be honest, that irritated me more than a bit.  First, I go to department meetings; that is just what I do.  Second, there were several agenda items being discussed that were pertinent to me for various reasons.  I didn't want to be present for the discussion that tangentially concerned me--not at all.  But I didn't like be excluded from the whole meeting.  I also didn't like the way Dr. English, who assured me that this would be a conversation about hiring not about me, had put the discussion on the agenda.  It was worded in such a way that it seems impossible that my name wasn't brought into it.  The meeting was at 11, but I didn't hear anything until 3:30, which meant I didn't get much done other than constantly hitting the refresh button on my email.
• The news was good, I guess.  The department, collectively, is finally ready to move forward with this hire, so I have been formally invited to interview with the department.  A date still has yet to be determined.  I ran into Dr. English on my way out who said he'd be happy to meet with me to discuss the process again (I think he's feeling more than a bit guilty about how long and drawn out this has been), and we briefly discussed date.  It looks like it won't be scheduled until the end of April.  As tactfully as I could I said, sooner rather than later would be better for me as I don't really want to interrupt my talk for a bathroom break.  He laughed, but my expression made it clear I wasn't joking.
• Then I picked up the boys, got some milk, and came home.  We played, we ate dinner, and the boys went to bed.  
• Today may prove to be challenging as it is raining, but we have a playdate and dinner plans for later this afternoon.  I'm hoping to make it till bedtime with my sanity in tact.

A third child

A few weeks ago, Wild Man asked me, “Mommy, are Bear and I ever going to have a baby sister?’  Wild Man has been asking this particular question for about a year now.  He is very interested in babies, and he is especially preoccupied with a baby sister.  His most recent interest in babies was prompted by the birth of Baby Minerva, the daughter of our friends. 

Wild Man loves Baby Minerva.  The few times he has seen her he has doted on her.  He displays a gentleness with Baby Minerva that he no longer demonstrates with Bear.  Now, Wild Man loves Bear, and Bear most certainly loves Wild Man.  Their relationship, however, is one of extremes.  Wild Man is either giving Bear his favorite car, or Wild Man is holding Bear’s favorite car over his head while saying, “Oh, is this the car you want, Bear? I found it first!”  Likewise, Bear is either bringing Wild Man books so they can read together, or Bear is smacking Wild Man in a vain attempt to get Wild Man to pay attention to him.  In other words, they are siblings.  One minute they are hugging, and the next they are fighting. 

In contrast, Wild Man was sincerely interested in helping care for Baby Minerva.  He brought her toys, he repeatedly found her pacifier for her, and he even wanted to help give her a bottle.  Now, I’m not naïve enough to think that Wild Man would display this level of interest consistently if Archer and I were to have a third child.  I am, after all, the youngest of three.  Of all people, I know how much a third child can disrupt the lives of older children.  In fact, my own sister still identifies the day our parents brought me home from the hospital as one of the most traumatic days of her life (I take that with a grain of salt, though, given that my sister is more than a bit dramatic. . . ).  Wild Man’s question and interest did get me thinking about a third child again, something that I haven’t given much thought to recently. 

In the wake of Wild Man’s question and his continuing interest in babies, I’ve found myself thinking about a third child.  Do we want a third child?  If I had asked myself this question a year ago, I think the answer, for me at least, would have been a definitive yes.  I would have said that having a third child depended on so many things, but I would have definitely said I wanted another child.  Now as I ponder that question, I’m no longer as sure as I was.

So, do I want a third child?  Well, yes and no.  I do want a third child for most of the reasons I wanted a second child—I enjoy being a mother, and I enjoy parenting.  Given my position at CU, I would now be entitled to a year-long maternity leave, something I wasn’t able to experience with either Bear or Wild Man.  I have also profoundly enjoyed watching Wild Man and Bear’s relationship develop.  But I also don’t think having a third child is the most responsible decision we could make.  Children are expensive, and having third child limits what we’re able to offer Wild Man and Bear.  This may seem like a materialistic way to respond to parenthood, but it is a fact, plain and simple. 

Given the nature of what we do, Archer and I will be traveling a fair amount through our careers.  I feel like we can afford to turn many of the research trips into family trips for the four of us, which means that Wild Man and Bear will experience a fair amount of the world as children, something I didn’t have an opportunity to do.  Our trip to Italy, for example, would have been exponentially more expensive if we had to buy a fifth plane ticket. 

Beyond cost, there are other factors.  I would like to sleep through the night before I’m forty, for example.  We’re also at a point where Wild Man is becoming very independent.  We no longer have to stand watch over everything he does anymore, and I can see that point with Bear in the not-so distant future.  I’m not sure I want to start all over again, even given how joyful I find the entire experience of having an infant.  Archer and I are also able to get out of the house at least once a month to have dinner together at a real restaurant.  Our ability to do that (and the simple fact that we finally have a reliable babysitter

So it seems that I’m coming to terms with the reality that it is very unlikely that we will have a third child, and while I feel like that is the best decision for many reasons, I also find myself a little sad.  I realize now that I always assumed we would have a third child, and I find myself mourning the loss of that assumed child, which is a strange feeling for me to comprehend and to describe.  This feeling is further complicated by the realization that a decision not to have a third child means I will not have a daughter, and surprisingly, that adds to the sadness I’m feeling.  It seems odd, to me, to be mourning something that I have never known. 

Mothering a Stubborn Child, an update

After Monday night's trauma (ok, so I'm a bit dramatic) of forcing Wild Man to take Motrin to bring his fever down, Archer and I had to do the same thing again on Tuesday morning, Tuesday night, and Wednesday morning, only this time with cough medicine as Wild Man's fever was gone.  Both times, however, we gave him 2 chances to take the medicine on his own.  After the second time he refused we did what has quickly (and a bit alarmingly) become routine.  Archer hugged Wild Man in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides and holding his head steady, while I pried his mouth open and shot the medicine into the back of his cheek (a tip from a friend, who said that doing this makes it harder for the child to spit the medicine out, and she was right).  Each time Wild Man cried like his heart was broken, and each time I became more resigned to this method.  By yesterday morning Wild Man actually admitted the cough medicine made him feel better but that he didn't like it and that he didn't want to take it.  I said, "I know, lovey.  I don't like taking medicine either.  But sometimes we have to take medicine to help us get better.  Until you decide to take it on your own, Daddy and I will have to give your medicine this way, which upsets everyone."  As further inducement to get him to take it, Archer and I had not allowed Wild Man to watch his allotted 30 minutes of television a day or to play any of his many puzzle games on my iPod touch.  I thought this would have encouraged him to take it, especially as Wild Man got sent to his room while Bear watched Sesame Street.  No such luck.  This kid is stubborn.

Yesterday I had a thought.  Medicine does suck.  I don't like taking it, but I'm an adult.  I take it because I know it will make me feel and get better.  Wild Man doesn't get this.  All he knows is that we're forcing him to take something that tastes yucky (and I don't care how much artificial flavor, sugar, or corn syrup the manufacturers add to medicine, it still tastes like crap).  Further, we're forcing him to do something he has had absolutely no say in.  So yesterday I took a risk.  When I picked Wild Man up from kindergarten, I took him directly to the drug store without telling him where we were going.  I led him to the kids' medicine section, and I explained he could choose the kind of medicine he wanted to take.  I did explain that I had to read the box to make sure it was the appropriate kind of medicine for his cough and to make sure it was for his age.  He said, "You mean, I get to choose?"  I said, "Yep, you get to choose.  But if you refuse to take it Mommy and Daddy will have to hold your arms and squirt in down your throat just like with the other medicine until you're better."  Something clicked, and suddenly he was interested.  He pointed out a cold medication with an elephant on the box, so I told him what it was.  Then he picked out a nifty kind that melts on the tongue, and he was really interested in this one.  Unfortunately, it is designed for kids 6 or older, which I told him.  He was disappointed, but he picked another one.  After about 15 minutes he had selected a fever medication (chewable, grape-flavored tablets), a cough medicine (grape-flavored liquid), and chewable vitamins (what I didn't say in the previous post is that he was also refusing the chewable vitamins I picked out, ones high in vitamin D b/c, you know, we live in the land where the sun disappears for winter and we're all vitamin D deficient).  He held all three boxes while I paid, and as soon as we got to the car, he asked for a vitamin.  He had selected these vitamins because they have hippos on them, and as many of you know, Wild Man loves hippos.  Coincidentally, they also have the highest amount of vitamin D of any of the children's vitamins in the store, which made me happy.  As soon as I handed it to him, he happily chomped it down.

At bedtime, I told him he needed to take his cough medicine.  He was wary, even after I reminded him that it was the kind he selected.  As I handed him the medicine cup, he looked at me skeptically.  I said, "Remember, you said you'd take it.  It's your choice to take it on your own or not, but if you don't take it, we'll have to squirt it down your throat again."  He looked at me again and then at the medicine, and then he took it, saying afterward, "Hey, that didn't taste so bad, Mommy."  Archer and I both told him how proud we were, and I am.   I'm also proud of us.  I proud that we did what we had to do, and I'm also proud that we figured out a solution to the problem--for now, at least.  The next time Wild Man needs medicine or vitamins I'll happily take him shopping with me so he can choose.  It seems he wants to be involved in the process, and that's fine by me.  But I'll also be prepared to squirt it down his throat if I have to.

And as a bonus, he took his vitamin this morning without incident.  In fact, he asked for it.

Mothering a Stubborn Child

Wild Man is smart, funny, adventurous, daring, artistic, dramatic, polite, and kind.  Wild Man is also stubborn.  Archer and I have experienced many difficult parenting moments as a result of Wild Man's stubbornness, and we generally get through these moments with a modicum of disruption to our routine, our parenting styles, and our daily lives.  We constantly remind ourselves that we are both stubborn and that our stubbornness has served us well in life as it has led to determination to accomplish the goals we set for ourselves. 

I am the kind of mother that wants Wild Man to ask questions and to understand how things happen and how they work.  At times, Archer feels I allow Wild Man too much room to question and to discuss, but generally Archer agrees with me.  This means we spend a fair amount of time talking about things like why we wear snow boots in the winter.  Despite my belief that this is the right way for us to parent, there are moments when I really just want Wild Man to be quiet and to do as I ask him.  You know, when we're 20 minutes late and I have to be on campus for office hours.  At those moments I'd really just like Wild Man to do as I ask him rather than telling me that Morton, his imaginary pterandon, doesn't have to wear snow boots or that Morton's mommy also said Wild Man doesn't have to wear snow boots. 

For the past three days, Wild Man has been running a fever between 101 and 103.5.  Wild Man is rarely sick, so this is a bit unusual for us.  On Saturday, when he began complaining that the fever was making him uncomfortable, I said, "Well, let's take some medicine.  It will bring your fever down and make you feel better."  Wild Man hasn't had Motrin in a long, long time, but he has seen us give it to Bear, who generally takes it without incident.  So I poured the correct amount in the medicine cup and gave it to Wild Man, who proceeded to drink it down.  And then he proceeded to hold it in his mouth for 15 minutes until he gagged himself.  I told him he couldn't watch any TV until he took his medicine.  He was feeling really crappy, so this wasn't an issue for him at all.  In fact, he curled up on the couch and went to sleep for 2 hours.  When he woke up, his fever was up to 103, and he finally agreed to take some Motrin.  He was feeling better within 15 minutes.  He said, "You were right, Mommy!  The medicine did make me feel better."  I thought we had solved the problem.

Fast forward to yesterday evening.  His fever had returned accompanied with a cough.  I prepared a dose of cough medicine and Motrin.  I reminded him that he had taken both in the past and that both had made him feel better.  He point blank refused to take either one.  Archer and I discussed it with him.  We explained the entire process, reminding him that he would feel better.  We went against every parenting principle we have connected to food and offered him candy as a reward.  I offered to take him to McDonalds today for lunch (Wild Man learned about McDonalds during our trip to the States to attend my grandmother's funeral, and he loves it).  He refused.  So we sent him to bed without the usual stories and told him he couldn't watch TV or play any games until he took his medicine.  An hour later he was crying in his bed because he was so hot (his fever had spiked up to 103 again) that he couldn't get comfortable.  I took him into the bathroom and sat him on the floor.  I told him we would sit in the bathroom until he took his medicine.  He cried that he was tired, but he still refused.  We sat there from 8:30 until 9:45.  Archer came upstairs, and we had a quick consultation.  Wild Man was flushed and glassy-eyed from the fever.  He was barely staying awake, but he continued to refuse to take the medicine.  Archer picked him up and held his arms down, while I squirted the Motrin in the back of Wild Man's throat.  Wild Man cried, and I cried.  I hugged him until he calmed down, and then I put him to bed.  10 minutes later he was asleep.  I checked on him 30 minutes after that, and his fever had dropped. 

I know he needed the medicine, even just to make him sleep more comfortably, but I felt (and feel) horrible.  I feel like I violated some part of our relationship by forcing him to take the medicine.  As crazy (and as academic) as it sounds, I feel like I took away Wild Man's agency.  I did to him what my parents would have done to me--I said, "I am the parent, and I know what is best.  You are not allowed to have any control over your own body because I know what is best for you better than you do.  Now you must do as I say without asking any questions."  I do not want to be that kind of parent.  I do not.  I do not want to have to physically restrain my child to get him to take medicine.  But at the same time, I am the parent, and I do know that sometimes he is going to have to do things he doesn't want to do to get and/or stay healthy.  He is only 4, after all.  And as smart as he is, he doesn't understand illness or medicine. 

I know he needed the medicine, and I know there will be times in the future (like tonight) when he will need medicine.  I may have to do the same thing over again.  That said, I do not feel like I did the right thing at all, but I also don't know what else I could have done. 

Weaning

I've started the process of weaning Bear, who is almost 19-months old.  Prior to my trip, he was only nursing once a day, right before bedtime, and he was rarely nursing to sleep.  I assumed, given my experience weaning Wild Man, this would be fairly easy.  The moment Bear saw me on Sunday evening, however, he began screaming, "Nigh, nigh," his phrase for nursing (as he was only nursing right before bed for the past few months, he has come to associate nursing with going "night, night.").  I was able to get him to sleep Sunday and Monday night without nursing him, and Archer put him to bed Tuesday night.  I did nurse him early in the morning Monday and Tuesday, but he didn't nurse to sleep either time.  Last night was difficult, though.  He is getting over a bad cold, is teething, and is going through some major developmental changes (he's added about 20 words to his vocabulary in the past 2 weeks).  He screamed (and I mean screamed) for an hour before finally falling asleep, and he woke up in the middle of the night screaming "nigh, nigh."  Archer and I took terms calming him down, and while I did nurse him at 1:00 am, I only did so after he calmed down. 

When I finally nursed Wild Man, it was fairly painless.  He was the same age, and he was only nursing right before bed.  He seemed to understand it was time to stop, and when he asked to nurse, I firmly and gently said no.  He cried a bit, but nothing serious.  Certainly nothing to match the screaming fits Bear is having.  I'm doing all of these things with Bear, but to no avail.  And while there is no real need for me to stop nursing, I'm done.  Since February of 2006, I've either been pregnant or nursing, aside from a 4 month respite between weaning Wild Man and getting pregnant with Bear.  As selfish as it may sound, I want my body back, or I want as much of it back as I can have given that I'm a mother of two young children (I mean seriously, I'm not going to be able to go to the bathroom by myself for years to come, so I'd like to have my breasts return to being decorative rather than functional). 

I'm also at the point where I no longer enjoy nursing.  I know Bear is still getting some benefits from it, but he isn't getting much nutrition.  And, frankly, he's barely getting any milk at all.  It is mostly comfort, which I get, but it actually seems to distract him more than it relaxes him.  Instead, he plays with my hair, plays with my earrings, breaks off the breast to talk to me, and then returns to it, giggling.  It's very difficult to get him to relax, which has been the primary reason to continue nursing at bedtime.  But given his reaction, I'm more than a bit conflicted.  The easy thing to do is to just keep nursing him.  But I think that will only prolong the problem.  It isn't as though one day Bear is going to wake up and be willing to stop.  For now the plan is to stop nursing at bedtime so at to end the association with sleep.  I'll continue to nurse as needed in the mornings, but I plan to delay him as long as possible.  Neither Archer nor I are convinced this approach will be easy.

"The case against breast-feeding"

I just posted on this topic at The Rhetorical Situation, including a link to an interview with Hanna Rosin, who wrote an article in this month's The Atlantic under this title, and Dr. Nancy Snyderman, which appeared on the Today Show. But I think it is worth reposting the link to the article and the interview, as I reach a somewhat different audience at Separation of Spheres.

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The Joys of Motherhood

I've been thinking about what it means to be a mother a lot lately. Part of this stems from the fact that I am a mother, and I am about to become the mother of two. But it mostly stems from the media's obsession with celebrity mothers. I confess, I am no different. I love looking at pictures of babies and children, and I am quite happy to collude in the media's infringement upon celebrities' privacy by looking at pictures of Gwen Stefani and her boys or Heidi Klum and her brood.

Lately, though, I've noticed something that I bothers me, as a mother, a woman, and an academic. Many, many celebrity mothers are commenting that they've never been more fulfilled in their lives since they became mothers. They are overwhelmed by the love they feel for their children and feel more satisfied by motherhood than anything they've done professionally. Halle Berry and Michelle Monaghan are two examples of celebrity moms who have recently waxed poetic about motherhood.

On some level, I get what these women (and celebrity moms are by no means the only moms to express such feelings) are saying. I love Wild Man in a way that I have never loved another person. The love I feel for him is vastly different from the love I feel for C. I also take great pride and pleasure in my role as his mom. I love being with him, and I thoroughly enjoy watching him grow up and become his own person. In fact, my favorite thing about being a mom is watching him learn and grow and change, things that I often have very little to do with. That said, I find this tendency, which is so often exhibited by celebrity moms, to wax poetic about how profound and changing a mother's love can be a little disturbing. For me, it promotes the message (as do sites like People's Celebrity Baby Blog) that all women inherently desire to be mothers. Such stories tacitly remind women that they are, indeed, unfulfilled as women until they become mothers, and that really bothers me.

It bothers me because so many women become so wrapped up in what a mother is "supposed" to be that they forget who they are or who they want to be. My own mother had a huge crisis of identity when my sister and I moved out. She, a woman who had worked outside the home for years, had several hobbies, and a great relationship with my dad, didn't know what to do when she didn't have to be someone's "Mom" every single day. She became depressed and completely withdrew from life. She finally went to therapy and is now in a great place, but she has acheived that sense of calm, in part, because my brother still lives at home and likely will for the rest of his life (my brother is deaf, and while he is fully able to live on his own, he depends so much on my mom--and she on him--that he will likely never move out). She "mothers" him every day, so she has maintained the part of her identity that she feared losing.

It seems that the idea that nothing is so fulfilling as motherhood only perpetuates these kinds of identity-crises that many, many women experience. I wish we could revise this perception of motherhood a bit. Again, I find motherhood fulfilling--more fulfilling than lots of things I do--but I also find it hard, frustrating, tedious, and, dare I say it, at times boring. I find more work as fulfilling as motherhood, but I find it fulfilling in a completely different way. I wish more women would say just that: motherhood fulfills one part of me, but it does not complete me, any more than my work completes me. Both make me a more complete person, but neither mothering nor my work makes up the total of me.

Here is another unrelated, but tangential thought that has been running through my head.

A few years ago, author Ayelet Waldman appeared on Oprah, and she stated that she loved her husband more than she loved her four children. Waldman was publicly chastised for being a bad mother and recieved death threats for making these statements. Clearly, she was a "bad mother" because she loved someone more than her children. I was not a mother when Waldman made these statements, but even then, I felt that I understood them. I have since made similar statements to my family and friends, and most seem a bit taken aback until I explain myself. As I just said, I love Wild Man in a way that I do not love C, and I know I will love Z in a similar way. But, in a way, I love C more than I love Wild Man and more than I will love Z. Here's why: I see my time with Wild Man and Z as fixed, as finite, in some strange way. Yes, I will always be there mother and I will definitely always be there for them in every way possible, but they will not always need or want me to be a daily part of their lives. I firmly believe my primary job as a mom is to help my children be the best people they can be, and then, I have to let them go and discover the world for themselves. I want to be in my life forever, but I don't want them to be the center of my life forever. I think that is unhealthy and wouldn't allow them to be their own people on their own terms.

In contrast, I do plan to have C in my life forever. He and I have willingly joined our lives, and I am committed to sustaining this relationship for the long haul. By saying I love him more than my children, I am saying that this is the relationship that I value the most in my life. At some point, our kids are going to grow up and leave us, and at that moment, I don't want to look across the table and wonder "Who the hell is this person?" I figure I have 18 or 20 years with Wild Man and Z; I want to have a lifetime with C. For that to happen, I have to put our relationship first, and I think our kids will recognize and, ultimately, appreciate that.

Academic Mothering

At the conference I attended this past weekend, I went to a panel titled "The Maternal Wall and Strategies of Resistance and Empowerment for Mothers in Academe." Since then, I've been thinking about what it means to be an academic mother (or an academic father) for that matter a lot (as an aside, this is something I think about fairly often given the fact that I am an academic and a mother). One paper in particular resonated with me, and I'm going to attempt to distill the paper's argument.

The paper, which was entitled "Knowing When to Pretend and When to Refuse: Exploring the Complex Struggle of Pretending and Refusing to be an Ideal Academic Worker," argued that academic mothers have to stop pretending to be ideal workers. We have to know when to play the game (i.e., to present ourselves as ideal workers) and when to not play the game. One way this presenter does this is that she refuses to pretend that the familial sacrifices she makes aren't difficult. She also invokes her status as a mother when she simply cannot do something that a colleague needs (or perhaps demands) that she do. That this is a woman who works at a major Northeast research institution made her argument more significant for me. What she said made a lot of sense, and she even extended her argument to academic fathers, arguing that men also have to stop pretending.

But as she presented her paper, I had a nagging question that was making me a bit sick to my stomach. In a room full of academic women, many of whom were grad students, I was not the only one who wondered, "how does this theory work when one is on the job market?" After all, I've been told over and over again to keep my "private" life private when I'm on the market. I have assumed I would not mention my husband or my children until I have a job offer in hand. And this is the precise advice that this presenter gave when several of us asked this question. Then I thought, ok, so I have to pretend to get the job, which is just what I figured.

Then a woman raised her hand and said "I did just that, and it had disastrous consequences." This woman said she never mentioned being married or having a young child until she arrived on campus the summer before she was scheduled to begin teaching. When her colleagues discovered she had a family, several, particularly those on the search committee, became hostile, and more than one shunned her. When the woman said she couldn't attend meetings after 4:00 because of her son, her department chair told her that if he'd known she had a young child he would never have offered her the job. So, here is a woman, who played the interview game correctly, secured the job, and then was treated like a pariah by her department because they felt she'd "betrayed" them in the interview process by not divulging the secrets of her personal life. Needless to say, this story made my nausea return.

Several other women (and the only man who attended the panel) pointed out that it may be more advantageous to be honest during the course of an interview about one's marital and family status, if only to avoid taking a job in an environment that isn't family friendly. And while this makes a lot of sense to me, I'm still not sure I want to tell people "Hey, just so you know, my husband is an academic, and I have two young kids. If you don't like me for those reasons, you probably shouldn't offer me the job." I left the panel still unsure how to handle this situation, should I ever experience it first hand.

As many women at the panel, a lot of whom were tenured profs with children at large research universities, panel pointed out, this is an institutional problem. In fact, as many described situations in which their deans denied their maternity leave, I never felt happier to be living outside the U.S. But, while this is an institutional problem, it is also a problem that I (and many, many of my good friends) am likely to face personally sooner rather than later. I want an academic job, of that I have never been more sure in my entire graduate career. In fact, I have fallen more in love with my topic, with writing, and with research in the last few months. I am excited both to teach and to research, but I also want to have a life outside of academia. I want a job that offers me research support AND that gives me room to be a wife and a mother. I'm not naive enough to think I "can have it all," as I know that I will often have to sacrifice academic progress to be with my family and vice versa. I know it is possible to do this because I know lots of women who do it, my adviser included. What I want to know is why does it continue to be so damn hard for both academic mothers and fathers.

I choose my choice part 2

I'm still thinking about this idea, so this won't be the longer post I eventually hope to write. I do want to clarify a few things though.

First, I didn't mean to suggest that feminists are supposed to feel unfulfilled by motherhood (sorry, Jennie, if I did misread you). Rather what I meant was that there is a stereotype of women, who may or may not be feminists, who have given up their high-powered, high-paying careers to have children. These women are either obsessed with their children or unfulfilled by motherhood. I'm thinking of another SATC episode: "The Baby Shower" which is from the first season. In this episode the ladies attend a shower of a former friend who has left behind her high-paying job as a talent agent for a record company to marry and have a family. Aside for the main characters, all the women at the baby shower have children, and several of them have also left behind similar careers to have families. One woman in particular talks about how she used to manage something like 50 people in a Fortune-500 company (it's been a while since I've seen this episode, so forgive me if I'm getting the details wrong. The gist is correct.). She says "Now I just yell at the gardener," implying that she no longer has an outlet for her passion for work. She is represented as unfulfilled. At the other end of the spectrum there are the women who are completely obsessed by their children. There is one woman who says "I think my son is a god, and I tell him so every day." I think we, and by we I mean women and society at large, buy into these stereotypes a lot. Women are supposed to be either somewhat unfulfilled by motherhood or obsessed with their children. There is no in-between when clearly there is as most mothers I know are incredibly happy to be moms but also struggle to find time to do the things they like and want to do that have little to do with mothering.

Second, Amy Reads writes:

I think feminism gave us the right to choose to have a career outside of "The Home," or to "stay at home" with our children, or both, or neither. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't choose to be a stay-at-home mom, but that doesn't mean I have any less respect for the women who do choose to stay at home, Ph.D. or no. Feminism is All About Choice, and who am I to judge another woman's choices? She certainly should not be able to judge mine.

I agree with everything Ms. Reads has expressed, but unfortunately, we, as women and mothers, are judged for our choices. It is all well and good to say that feminism has provided us with choices and that we shouldn't judge one another for our choices. In an ideal world, that would be the way it is, but we do judge each other for our choices. The "Mommy Wars" wouldn't be a term we're all familiar with if we didn't judge one another. I'm really interested in the guilt (and I'm not sure this is the word I want to use, but it is the best one I can come up with right now) women (and, obviously, I don't mean all women) feel for choosing motherhood rather than a career, or a career rather than motherhood, or "trying to have it all." Why do we wonder whether we are sell-out feminists? Why do stay-at-home moms attack working moms and vice versa? Why can't Charlotte (or Jennie, or Supadiscomama, or Megs, or Ms. Reads, or I for that matter) just make a choice for herself, which is really what I want to believe feminism is about, without having to justify it?

I choose my choice

I'm putting this title up so that I actually blog about this line, which is from an episode of "Sex and the City." I've been thinking about this line ever since Jennie and I had our conversation about motherhood and feminism. I think many women, particularly academic women, struggle with being feminists and being mothers. There is the perception, as Jennie points out, that as ambitious, learned women, we're supposed to feel somewhat unfulfilled by motherhood, particularly if we end up staying home with our children for any length of time. I have to admit that I hadn't given that a lot of thought until Jennie brought it up. Why does that perception exist? Why do we end up feeling guilty, on the basis of our feminist beliefs, if we aren't unfulfilled? Why isn't it ok to have a degree (or even three) and decide to stay home with the kids? Why do we pretend to not be interested in our children when we're in certain circles? I have an anecdote about this. I have a professor who is a staunch feminist and who has a young son. I don't see this professor as often as I would like, and when I do, I invariably ask her how she's doing. To be quite honest, I don't expect her to tell me about her son; we don't really have that sort of relationship, and given that she is who she is, I'm more interested in her work. But she does tell me about her son, and she often shows me a picture. I then comment on how cute he is (not out of sense of obligation either. This kid is genuinely beautiful.). She then makes some sort of self-deprecating comment about her mothering skills. This is a woman who is extremely accomplished and fairly confident. It always bothers me that she makes such self-deprecating comments about her mothering skills.

My gut reaction is this issue is that women are too hard on themselves--we have been taught to expect too much out of ourselves (yes, this is the generic sort of statement that my peeps over at The Rhetorical Situation would hate, but I do think it is a largely true statement). I do believe that we're all insecure about our abilities to mother and to be successful in life in general (as evidenced by my professor's comments), but I'm not quite sure why we continue to feel guilt and confusion over being mothers, wives, and feminists. I am going to think about this some more and revisit this quotation. In the meantimes, does anyone have any thoughts?

The Bad-Mommy Brigade

Ayelet Waldman's essay in NYmag, "The Bad-Mommy Brigade," is laugh-out loud funny, but it also raises some compelling questions about mothering in 2008. Check it out.

Mothering an adult

I've been thinking a lot about the kind of mother I want to be to an adult child, and while I have a long way to go before S is an adult, I'm going to write a series of posts on this topic. I have various issues with my own mother (as well as my mother-in-law), and I want to avoid these issues if at all when S is an adult. I've been contemplating writing a list of things not to do when S is an adult, and that list would include:

• Do not be passive-aggressive; tell adult S how I feel directly.
• Do not expect adult S to parent me.
• Do not force adult S to be "my best friend."
• Do not make adult S feel guilty for living his own life.
• Take pride in the fact that adult S is happy and well-adjusted (I am, of course, assuming he will be).
• Do not expect adult S to put me before his own family.
• Do not expect adult S's life-partner (assuming he has a life-partner) to put me before his/her own family.
• Learn to like S's life-partner's family and get along with them to the best of my ability.
• If unable to do above, do not bad mouth S's life-partner's family to S.
• Offer help and advice to adult S, but do not be offended if he chooses not to take my help or advice.
• Do not ask S what his plans for holidays are some 6 months prior to those holidays.
• Above all, do be loving, kind, thoughtful, and supportive of adult S. Remember, adults often need their parents too.

I think that is a good start, and I may periodically add to it. I want to be the sort of parent that an adult enjoys being around. I want to have an open, pleasant, truthful relationship with my son, no matter what his age is. I definitely do not want to put him in the position of defending me or explaining my hurtful actions to someone he really loves.

Being a feminist mother

"Personally, becoming a mother has enabled me to be much more clear and efficient about what I want and who I want to be. And that feels feminist to me, because it empowers me. I'm not as wishy washy as I used to be. I don't fake things as much. I'm more aware of the realities of what can hurt me in some ways, because I'm painfully aware now of the things that can hurt my daughter, but at the same time, I'm less willing to waste my time or energy or let someone walk over me just to avoid a conflict. My mothering has taught me to see myself as the same sort of precious entity that I see in my daughter. So it has helped me achieve the kind of self-respect and love for myself and others that feminism, no matter how you define it, should be aiming to bring to all women."

I'm still not certain I can articulate why I am a feminist and, therefore, why I am a feminist mother. WWWmama posted the above comment on my previous post on feminism, and I trust that she'll forgive me for reposting it. I am reposting it because wwwmama artfully expressed a lot of the feelings I have about being a feminist, a mother, and a feminist mother. I too feel less passive, less willing to put up with crap than I was before I became a mother (not that I've ever had a high tolerance for crap). I simply don't have the time to waste energy beating around the bush. I've always been direct, but I've become more so now that I'm a mother. Now that I have a child, I don't want to waste time figuring things out; I'd much rather know what is going on, which I too find empowering. I'm not as afraid to ask questions or as willing to let things unfold. I want to avoid passing on my less than wonderful qualities to my son, so I've tried to become more aware of myself. I also want him to be an empathetic and sympathetic human being, so I'm trying to be more empathetic and sympathetic myself. I think awareness, especially self-awareness, is empowering. I hope S will develop a similar level of self-awareness, and that like his father, he too will call himself a feminist one day.