I'm almost finished with my proposal, so I've been thinking a lot about the notion of gendered spaces, especially in my own home. Are there any gendered spaces in my home or in homes in general? I can only think of 2 in my home: the "laundry room" is completely my domain and the "shed" is totally C's domain. That said, I use the shed, and he uses the laundry room. I tend to not think of those spaces as gendered, as much as locations where gendered activities are performed. It is a simple fact of our household that I do the laundry. The shed simply contains all his tools and gadgets (most of which I use too); it is also a storage space for recycling, boxes, etc. So I hesitate to call either space specifically gendered. Do gendered spaces continue to exist in most American homes? In the mid-19th century, for example, studies were considered masculine spaces, as kitchens and parlors were deemed feminine spaces. But I'm not sure such spaces continue to exist, at least not in most households.
I do believe there are gendered public spaces: the spa, the hair salon, the automotive store, etc. But even these spaces are increasingly difficult to identify. I do not believe that our society is becoming less gendered; in fact, in light of 6 years under a conservative administration, I would argue our society is becoming more gendered. But I think the separation is more subtle, more difficult to pinpoint. And for some reason, I can't help be feel this subtle gender separation is equally, if not more dangerous than the more clearly delineated separate spheres of the 18th and 19th centuries.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Parenting through fear
On one of the message boards about pregnancy that I often go to, several of the women are in an uproar regarding Cindy Crawford decision to allow her 5-year-old daughter to pose in a "provocative" way for a children's line of swimsuits. Here is a link to the photo.
Most of the women are concerned about the number of pedophiles viewing this picture and the negative affect it will have on their children. They are also questioning Crawford's ability to parent a daughter, arguing that her modeling career has influenced her ability to make safe decisions for her daughter. I have to say I don't get the controversy. It is, in my mind, a fairly innocent picture. I will concede that the fake tattoo on her lower back is a bit odd, but beyond that, I don't see it as provocative or as a sign that Crawford is a bad parent. The child is not coquettish, flirtatious, or sexualized. When did it stop being ok for a 5-year-old girl to be topless? I remember running around topless at the beach and in my backyard until is was about 6 or so. I'd much rather have see a 5-year-old girl at the beach in a pair of shorts without a top on than see her in some of the horrifically skimpy string bikinis for girls the same age I've come across. Can the naked body, especially the naked body of a child, be presented in a way that isn't sexual? I don't see this as sexual. I do see the outcry to remove it from the internet and the backlash against Crawford as close-minded censorship. I also find it interesting that in all the posts regarding this picture that I've seen no one has mentioned the girl's father. I'm certain the modeling contract required the signatures of both parents, as such contracts typically do. Yet only Crawford is being held accountable; only her parenting skills are being questioned. Obviously, as a mother, she should have known better. She should have refused to allow the photograph to be taken; she should have "protected" her daughter. But from what? A photograph that is actually quite pretty? I find it amazing that rather than seeing the artistic merit in something (and I would argue there is some artistic merit to this photograph), we immediately jump to the conclusion that something is inappropriate, distasteful, and pornographic.
I've been thinking a lot about the fear associated with being a parent lately. I think parents, particularly mothers, are being told to fear everything from germs to premature labor to rebellious teens to pedophiles. That is a big leap, I realize, but it seems to me that there are more and more outlets encouraging us to parent according to fear. Don't do this, don't do that, do eat this, don't feed the baby that, avoid these places, if you do this then this horrific, tragic event will surely occur. I definitely believe in being prepared for the worst, but I'd much spend my time hoping for the best.
Most of the women are concerned about the number of pedophiles viewing this picture and the negative affect it will have on their children. They are also questioning Crawford's ability to parent a daughter, arguing that her modeling career has influenced her ability to make safe decisions for her daughter. I have to say I don't get the controversy. It is, in my mind, a fairly innocent picture. I will concede that the fake tattoo on her lower back is a bit odd, but beyond that, I don't see it as provocative or as a sign that Crawford is a bad parent. The child is not coquettish, flirtatious, or sexualized. When did it stop being ok for a 5-year-old girl to be topless? I remember running around topless at the beach and in my backyard until is was about 6 or so. I'd much rather have see a 5-year-old girl at the beach in a pair of shorts without a top on than see her in some of the horrifically skimpy string bikinis for girls the same age I've come across. Can the naked body, especially the naked body of a child, be presented in a way that isn't sexual? I don't see this as sexual. I do see the outcry to remove it from the internet and the backlash against Crawford as close-minded censorship. I also find it interesting that in all the posts regarding this picture that I've seen no one has mentioned the girl's father. I'm certain the modeling contract required the signatures of both parents, as such contracts typically do. Yet only Crawford is being held accountable; only her parenting skills are being questioned. Obviously, as a mother, she should have known better. She should have refused to allow the photograph to be taken; she should have "protected" her daughter. But from what? A photograph that is actually quite pretty? I find it amazing that rather than seeing the artistic merit in something (and I would argue there is some artistic merit to this photograph), we immediately jump to the conclusion that something is inappropriate, distasteful, and pornographic.
I've been thinking a lot about the fear associated with being a parent lately. I think parents, particularly mothers, are being told to fear everything from germs to premature labor to rebellious teens to pedophiles. That is a big leap, I realize, but it seems to me that there are more and more outlets encouraging us to parent according to fear. Don't do this, don't do that, do eat this, don't feed the baby that, avoid these places, if you do this then this horrific, tragic event will surely occur. I definitely believe in being prepared for the worst, but I'd much spend my time hoping for the best.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
New Motivation
Well, I now have new motivation to get my butt in gear and get my proposal finished in the next 2 weeks: I've been asked to serve as the graduate student rep on my department's search committee. My new goal is to have the proposal finished and approved by my chair by Sept. 30; I hope to have all signatures and revisions by Oct. 10. It's in writing, so I have to stick to it!
Monday, September 18, 2006
Does parenthood equal adulthood?
Based on numerous conversations I've had with my own mother recently, I am beginning to conclude that parenthood does not equal adulthood, neither my own nor my mother's. My relationship with my mother has changed in recent years; she had begun to see me as an adult, and in several instances, I've felt more like the parent than the child. Recently though my mother has made several pointed comments that lead me to conclude that since I have become pregnant she sees me more as a child than an adult. I had thought that my impending parenthood would force her to see me as an adult--not so! She has begun treating me like a teenager again, constantly questioning my decisions, voicing concern about our plans, and repeatedly questioning C's abilities. I expected all but the last. To be quite honest, my mother's love for C has always disturbed me somewhat. From the moment I introduced them, she thought he was perfect. He was the perfect boyfriend who became the son-in-law who could do no wrong. She repeatedly compared him to my sister's husband, always finding C to be exemplary in everything while expressing disgust with my brother-in-law (a bit odd, I know).
But since I've been pregnant, my mother has vocally questioned everyone of C's personality traits, from his relatively laid back style to his anal-ness about certain things. She even suggested I have someone else with me in the delivery room to ensure I wouldn't be alone when C "freaks out." Suddenly the one thing I thought she felt I did completely right--picking out the "perfect mate/son-in-law"--she is unhappy with. Her need to question my decisions and to question C has left me feeling as though I'm suddenly 14 all over again--incapable of doing anything to please her. I've been pondering the ultimately unanswerable questions: will my mother ever see me as an adult? And why does it bother me so much that she still sees me as a child? And how do I avoid treating my child in this way?
But since I've been pregnant, my mother has vocally questioned everyone of C's personality traits, from his relatively laid back style to his anal-ness about certain things. She even suggested I have someone else with me in the delivery room to ensure I wouldn't be alone when C "freaks out." Suddenly the one thing I thought she felt I did completely right--picking out the "perfect mate/son-in-law"--she is unhappy with. Her need to question my decisions and to question C has left me feeling as though I'm suddenly 14 all over again--incapable of doing anything to please her. I've been pondering the ultimately unanswerable questions: will my mother ever see me as an adult? And why does it bother me so much that she still sees me as a child? And how do I avoid treating my child in this way?
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Expectations of Myself and of My Child
I am an overachiever. I was the sort of child who would cry when I did poorly on a test. In fact, my parents never felt they could punish me when I did poorly in school (usually in math classes) because I'd come home sobbing uncontrollably, convinced they no longer loved me. It goes without saying that, as an academic, I have high expectations of myself. I've been advised, by people whose opinions I value and trust, that I will need to lower my expectations of myself in the coming months; I've also been advised by a very good friend and my very smart advisor that I may be able to accomplish more than I think. I realize I have to set smaller goals for myself in the months following the birth of our little one.
All of this has me thinking about my expectations of my child. Will I be a go-with-the-flow kind of mom who lets my child go at his or her own pace? I know myself well enough to know that I am not a go-with-the-flow kind of person. I like to be informed, and like most academics, I go out of my way to keep myself informed. But I'm still not altogether sure what that will mean for me. In the past 8 months, I've read 4 books on pregnancy, 5 books on unmedicated childbirth, and 2 books on breastfeeding. I have read nothing on childrearing, except what is mentioned in these other books. I know from my niece and nephews as well as friends' children about when babies should teeth, roll over, sit up, walk, etc. I've spent enough time with children to know what sorts of discipline techniques I will and will not use.
But I don't know what I expect out of my child. I've been so focused on getting the baby here safely and on getting through my proposal, C's dissertation, multiple family dramas, nursery planning, and countless other things that I haven't really stopped to consider what I expect from the baby. I mean, I don't really expect anything at first, other than lots of sleeping, eating, and pooping. But after that? Will I be one of those mothers who enrolls her child in "Mommy and Me" immediately? Will I try to teach the baby French before s/he can speak English? Will my high expectations of myself extend to my child, and could that make me a bad mother? As I type that I think immediately no. After all, if my child comes home from school crying over the Pythagorean theorem (I never could get that in high school despite countless hours of help from my 9th grade math teacher), I will know what to do--I will calmly inform my child that I have never once had to use it, that not understanding it has not made me a bad person, and that despite my distress over it at 14 I have gone on to lead a productive life. My parents just hugged me and told me it wasn't the end of the world, when, to me, it most certainly was. But what happens if my kid is a math whiz but hates to read or hates art? What if my kid despises literature, thinks art is meaningless, has no interest in learning about the world, and grows up to be a Republican? I certainly don't expect that, but then again, my parents didn't expect me to pursue a Ph.D., join N.O.W., and vote Democrat, and C's parents definitely didn't expect him to become an Art Historian, marry a feminist, and become a raging liberal. I am suddenly realizing that I do have some fairly high expectations for our child: I expect him/her to think somewhat like C and I do.
All of this has me thinking about my expectations of my child. Will I be a go-with-the-flow kind of mom who lets my child go at his or her own pace? I know myself well enough to know that I am not a go-with-the-flow kind of person. I like to be informed, and like most academics, I go out of my way to keep myself informed. But I'm still not altogether sure what that will mean for me. In the past 8 months, I've read 4 books on pregnancy, 5 books on unmedicated childbirth, and 2 books on breastfeeding. I have read nothing on childrearing, except what is mentioned in these other books. I know from my niece and nephews as well as friends' children about when babies should teeth, roll over, sit up, walk, etc. I've spent enough time with children to know what sorts of discipline techniques I will and will not use.
But I don't know what I expect out of my child. I've been so focused on getting the baby here safely and on getting through my proposal, C's dissertation, multiple family dramas, nursery planning, and countless other things that I haven't really stopped to consider what I expect from the baby. I mean, I don't really expect anything at first, other than lots of sleeping, eating, and pooping. But after that? Will I be one of those mothers who enrolls her child in "Mommy and Me" immediately? Will I try to teach the baby French before s/he can speak English? Will my high expectations of myself extend to my child, and could that make me a bad mother? As I type that I think immediately no. After all, if my child comes home from school crying over the Pythagorean theorem (I never could get that in high school despite countless hours of help from my 9th grade math teacher), I will know what to do--I will calmly inform my child that I have never once had to use it, that not understanding it has not made me a bad person, and that despite my distress over it at 14 I have gone on to lead a productive life. My parents just hugged me and told me it wasn't the end of the world, when, to me, it most certainly was. But what happens if my kid is a math whiz but hates to read or hates art? What if my kid despises literature, thinks art is meaningless, has no interest in learning about the world, and grows up to be a Republican? I certainly don't expect that, but then again, my parents didn't expect me to pursue a Ph.D., join N.O.W., and vote Democrat, and C's parents definitely didn't expect him to become an Art Historian, marry a feminist, and become a raging liberal. I am suddenly realizing that I do have some fairly high expectations for our child: I expect him/her to think somewhat like C and I do.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Supermom, Superdad
In my class today, my teaching partner and I asked our class about the inequalities experienced by 19th-century American women and 21st-century American women. It was an interesting moment in my teaching career: for the first time in almost 8 years of teaching, I heard female students state that feminism has a purpose and that women are still struggling for equality, although at a much different level than in the 19th-century. I was equally thrilled and floored, since in my experience, most young women (i.e., 18-22) want nothing to do with feminism and are more than happy to believe that we've achieved equality. Several students pointed out that while women have achieved a great deal, most mothers still haven't achieved equality in parenting. As the discussion moved on to the day's reading, I continued contemplating that in the back of my mind.
When I got home later, I asked C about his feelings on equal parenting, which in all honesty is not something I have really contemplated before. We have, I believe, one of the most equal relationships I've seen, especially in terms of household chores. While I do cook more, he cleans more. In fact, I can't remember the last time I ran the vacuum cleaner or the last time I had to ask him to do it. With the pregnancy, our roles have shifted somewhat; there are things I just can't do right now, things that I typically do. We've also discussed how I won't be able to do much in the first few weeks after the baby's birth as I will be putting in 24 hours a day breastfeeding (I may be exaggerating, but I am also preparing myself for the worst-case scenario). I had no worries until we started talking, and C expressed a few worries of his own.
C has a particularly difficult academic year ahead of him; he's teaching full-time, defending his dissertation in January, and going on the job market. In the middle of all of that, we're having a baby. He is beginning to feel the stress, which I hadn't realized. He is genuinely concerned that he won't be able to be involved as much as he'd like to be and as much as he knows I'm expecting him to be (the guy, who folds my underwear and puts them away unasked, has set up some pretty high expectations). I think he is mostly concerned that he won't have enough time to bond with the baby and with us as a family. How do I assuage those fears? How do I express to my slightly anal husband that if we end up eating off of paper plates for a month that won't be the end of the world? How do I let him know that it is ok to forego office hours for the end of the semester, if doing so helps him maintain some sanity? How do I get him to understand that I don't expect every aspect of parenting to be equal? I don't expect to be Supermom--most days I'm convinced I'm going to irreparably harm our child in some way--and I don't expect him to be Superdad. I just want us to figure this out together.
When I got home later, I asked C about his feelings on equal parenting, which in all honesty is not something I have really contemplated before. We have, I believe, one of the most equal relationships I've seen, especially in terms of household chores. While I do cook more, he cleans more. In fact, I can't remember the last time I ran the vacuum cleaner or the last time I had to ask him to do it. With the pregnancy, our roles have shifted somewhat; there are things I just can't do right now, things that I typically do. We've also discussed how I won't be able to do much in the first few weeks after the baby's birth as I will be putting in 24 hours a day breastfeeding (I may be exaggerating, but I am also preparing myself for the worst-case scenario). I had no worries until we started talking, and C expressed a few worries of his own.
C has a particularly difficult academic year ahead of him; he's teaching full-time, defending his dissertation in January, and going on the job market. In the middle of all of that, we're having a baby. He is beginning to feel the stress, which I hadn't realized. He is genuinely concerned that he won't be able to be involved as much as he'd like to be and as much as he knows I'm expecting him to be (the guy, who folds my underwear and puts them away unasked, has set up some pretty high expectations). I think he is mostly concerned that he won't have enough time to bond with the baby and with us as a family. How do I assuage those fears? How do I express to my slightly anal husband that if we end up eating off of paper plates for a month that won't be the end of the world? How do I let him know that it is ok to forego office hours for the end of the semester, if doing so helps him maintain some sanity? How do I get him to understand that I don't expect every aspect of parenting to be equal? I don't expect to be Supermom--most days I'm convinced I'm going to irreparably harm our child in some way--and I don't expect him to be Superdad. I just want us to figure this out together.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Finally!
I've finally rewritten the introduction to my proposal! It isn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but I have what I think is a solid draft. Here's hoping I can have it done by the end of the week.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
I love teaching!
I often have what I consider an ambiguous relationship with teaching. I love to teach; I love experiencing the moment when a single student suddenly understands something about writing or literature--and, on rare occasions, both. But I'm often frustrated by teaching. As a graduate student, I typically end up teaching introductory courses, which students often have to take to fulfill general education requirements. For the past two semesters I've been lucky enough to teach upper level lit classes in my area. This semester I'm team-teaching a class with my advisor, and it is going so well. Now, my advisor is currently in an administrative position, which means she doesn't have a lot of prep time, so I am doing most of the prep. We primarily communicate through email and plan classes that way; or as she so graciously informed our class today, I plan classes that way. She wants to make sure I'm getting credit for all the work I'm doing, which is really nice.
I'm really enjoying this semester because I'm working with an experienced teacher. While she isn't prepping quite like I am, she can walk into class and start talking about the day's reading without a moment's hesitation. Today she gave the class excellent definitions of passing, the tragic mulatto/a, and republican motherhood without really thinking about it. I am in awe. Part of the reason I love teaching so much is that I often feel I learn more from my students than they do from me. I am definitely learning more than I'm teaching this semester.
I'm really enjoying this semester because I'm working with an experienced teacher. While she isn't prepping quite like I am, she can walk into class and start talking about the day's reading without a moment's hesitation. Today she gave the class excellent definitions of passing, the tragic mulatto/a, and republican motherhood without really thinking about it. I am in awe. Part of the reason I love teaching so much is that I often feel I learn more from my students than they do from me. I am definitely learning more than I'm teaching this semester.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Just Work!
So I've decided starting tomorrow morning, bright and early, I will be taking the advice of my good friend Ms. Reads, over at Arrogant Self-Reliance and just force myself to work. After all, if she can overcome difficulties writing about The Victorian Novel just by forcing herself to work, surely I can get through this proposal by doing the same.
Trying to Work
I've been working on revising my dissertation proposal for the last month or so, and it isn't going as well as I'd like. I've completely reworked my topic and rewritten the chapter descriptions, which I think, and my advisor agrees, are quite good. To complete it, I have to revise my introduction (which has nothing to do with my actual dissertation) and write a brief literature review. By starting backwards (the chapter descriptions will be at the end), I've lost all interest in completing the other 2 sections: I want to get the rest of my committee's feedback on the chapter descriptions and start writing. I'm feeling very frustrated by the requirements of the proposal, which neither I nor my committee has any control over. I believe I have a great topic, and I want to spend the next 8 weeks researching and writing my first chapter, not revising the proposal.
As the list of things that I need to get done before the baby arrives gets longer and longer, I'm not very motivated to finish this proposal. My goal this week is to bite the bullet and just get it finished, especially since I have to write a conference paper next week. On top of my desire to actually get into the dissertation rather than work on the proposal, I'm getting increasingly uncomfortable sitting at my desk for more than an hour or so at a time. And since I can't write/type standing up, I'm having to take lots and lots of breaks just to maintain some sense of comfort. I'm beginning to wish I had magical powers and could wiggle my nose and have the proposal written precisely as I want it. . .
As the list of things that I need to get done before the baby arrives gets longer and longer, I'm not very motivated to finish this proposal. My goal this week is to bite the bullet and just get it finished, especially since I have to write a conference paper next week. On top of my desire to actually get into the dissertation rather than work on the proposal, I'm getting increasingly uncomfortable sitting at my desk for more than an hour or so at a time. And since I can't write/type standing up, I'm having to take lots and lots of breaks just to maintain some sense of comfort. I'm beginning to wish I had magical powers and could wiggle my nose and have the proposal written precisely as I want it. . .
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
The Value of Message Boards
Several of my good friends and I frequent a few message boards, mostly dealing ones dealing with pregnancy and motherhood. While I was a bit skeptical of message boards when I began visiting them, I have since found them to be a great resource for information about all kinds of issues of pregnancy, childbirth, and motherhood. That said, I've been contemplating message boards from an academic standpoint as of late. What I find most fascinating about message boards is the relationship that women who've never met and most likely will never meet cultivate with other women. I, for example, have frequently chatted with a much younger soon-to-be single mother who lives in another part of the world. We literally nothing in common except that our children are due the same week. Our conversations center primarily on pregnancy, but we've also discussed more personal things. I've found it really helpful to be able to talk to other women who are experiencing or have experienced what I am experiencing. I'm fascinated by two other things: the gendered nature of these message boards (almost entirely women) and the way women can be almost immediately ostracize for expressing a slightly unconventional opinion.
I think the gendered nature is easy enough to explain: these particular message boards are sponsored by a site that is designed by and for women, dealing with topics ranging from pregnancy, weight loss, motherhood, and make-overs. The ostracization of certain women is more intriguing to me. First I want to say that in most cases I've found these boards to be incredibly supportive. I also want to say that as someone who teaches writing, I am always acutely aware of my audience, so I consciously take care to ask questions or post responses in the least offensive way possible. I see the boards as a resource, not as a place for me to express my political or religious views. Not all women, however, feel that way. I'm amazed at the way some women are treated when searching for information about circumcision, adoption, genetic testing, unplanned pregnancies, and unmedicated births, for example. In these threads the boards almost always become hostile, with women, who couldn't identify one another in a police line-up but have developed "virtual" relationships none-the-less, saying the most hurtful and negative things to one another.
Does the virtual community allow our sense of what is and what isn't appropriate to say to one another to break down somewhat? Do we think that it is ok to say exactly what we think to people we have no risk of running into? I'm a big advocate of speaking one's mind, but not at the risk of hurting someone's feelings. Is the message board message (like email) so easy to post that we are less likely to consider tone and audience? What is it about the message board that enables (or perhaps empowers) us to share our opinions with no holds barred, in ways that we might not even share with our closest friends? I'm beginning to wonder if the anonymity of the message board is the answer to all of my questions. Why is it ok to express my dislike of someone who is ostensibly a perfect stranger when I must make polite small talk with perfect strangers I see every day? Even as I continue to visit my favorite board, I wonder if the advent of the message board is one more thing eroding the always tenuous barriers between what is and what isn't appropriate to say to one another.
I think the gendered nature is easy enough to explain: these particular message boards are sponsored by a site that is designed by and for women, dealing with topics ranging from pregnancy, weight loss, motherhood, and make-overs. The ostracization of certain women is more intriguing to me. First I want to say that in most cases I've found these boards to be incredibly supportive. I also want to say that as someone who teaches writing, I am always acutely aware of my audience, so I consciously take care to ask questions or post responses in the least offensive way possible. I see the boards as a resource, not as a place for me to express my political or religious views. Not all women, however, feel that way. I'm amazed at the way some women are treated when searching for information about circumcision, adoption, genetic testing, unplanned pregnancies, and unmedicated births, for example. In these threads the boards almost always become hostile, with women, who couldn't identify one another in a police line-up but have developed "virtual" relationships none-the-less, saying the most hurtful and negative things to one another.
Does the virtual community allow our sense of what is and what isn't appropriate to say to one another to break down somewhat? Do we think that it is ok to say exactly what we think to people we have no risk of running into? I'm a big advocate of speaking one's mind, but not at the risk of hurting someone's feelings. Is the message board message (like email) so easy to post that we are less likely to consider tone and audience? What is it about the message board that enables (or perhaps empowers) us to share our opinions with no holds barred, in ways that we might not even share with our closest friends? I'm beginning to wonder if the anonymity of the message board is the answer to all of my questions. Why is it ok to express my dislike of someone who is ostensibly a perfect stranger when I must make polite small talk with perfect strangers I see every day? Even as I continue to visit my favorite board, I wonder if the advent of the message board is one more thing eroding the always tenuous barriers between what is and what isn't appropriate to say to one another.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Getting Back into the Groove
I've determined that this week will be about getting back into the groove of things. I've been out of the groove of working, reading, and writing for about 3 weeks now, give or take. I made lots of progress at the beginning of the month, and then we visited family for a week and a half. I spent last week trying to get organized to teach, filing articles, and rearranging our office/nursery in anticipation of the baby's impending arrival. I now need to get some serious work done. I'm trying to figure out how to rework the introduction to my proposal, and that isn't going so well. My biggest problem with revising is introductions; I know this about myself, but I don't necessarily know how to correct it. Despite what I tell my own students about not getting too invested in their work in its early stages, I do that very thing. I become attached to things, and revising becomes more about completely starting over than making any sort of changes to the original text. I'm hoping I can make enough sense of my committee's comments to actually revise rather than rewrite, but I have serious misgivings about that.
I am also establishing a new groove for myself. I've been thinking about my most recent entries, and I feel like I wrote about myself, motherhood, and my work as someone who was experiencing an "identity crisis." While I don't think I am experiencing an identity crisis, I am curious and even a bit nervous about how motherhood will change me. I believe most of the changes will be for the good. But I don't want to fall into the trap of viewing myself as someone who loses herself because she's become a mother--I'm familiar with that mentality, having witnessed several friends and family members go through it. I've never understood how one loses one's self, nor do I comprehend the need to "find one's self." How precisely does one lose one's self? I mean, I would have to know absolutely nothing about myself to lose myself. And if I lost myself, where would I begin looking for myself? I already have a firm grasp on who I am, and I believe that motherhood will help me become a better version of my current self.
I am also establishing a new groove for myself. I've been thinking about my most recent entries, and I feel like I wrote about myself, motherhood, and my work as someone who was experiencing an "identity crisis." While I don't think I am experiencing an identity crisis, I am curious and even a bit nervous about how motherhood will change me. I believe most of the changes will be for the good. But I don't want to fall into the trap of viewing myself as someone who loses herself because she's become a mother--I'm familiar with that mentality, having witnessed several friends and family members go through it. I've never understood how one loses one's self, nor do I comprehend the need to "find one's self." How precisely does one lose one's self? I mean, I would have to know absolutely nothing about myself to lose myself. And if I lost myself, where would I begin looking for myself? I already have a firm grasp on who I am, and I believe that motherhood will help me become a better version of my current self.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Teaching, Writing, Memory Loss, and Motherhood
After nearly 6 weeks of freedom, I get back to teaching next week. While I'm really happy about the course I'm teaching, I'm feeling a bit nervous about trying to finish my proposal (I still need to rework the intro) and teaching full-time while 7 months pregnant. Luckily I'm team-teaching a course with my advisor, which I'm very excited about. It's a senior-level course, which we designed together. I will be teaching some of my favorite works with one of my favorite people. In terms of timing this couldn't have worked out better! She has lots of other responsibilities during the first part of the semester, so I'll be able to cover for her. And she'll be able to cover for me during the second part of the semester. But pregnancy seems to be affecting my brain. The other night I literally could not remember which way to turn the hot water knob to adjust the temperature in the shower. How ridiculous is that! And of course, I started crying because I had to call C in to help me. I wailed something to the effect of "I'm a doctoral student and I can't remember how to work the water!" I know I'm blessed with a great partner because he fixed it without laughing or saying anything. Days later, I find the episode somewhat amusing, but I'm still a bit disconcerted.
So now on top of everything else, I find myself worrying about how I'm going to manage to keep it together intellectually for the next 2 months. I have a lot I want to get done before our little one makes an appearance. When I sit down with a book or at my computer, I know find myself staring off into space wondering "Where should we hang the mobile?" Or "What should the baby wear home from the hospital?" Suddenly I realize that I'm going to be a mother. Obviously I've known that, but now as all things baby slowly seem to absorb my thoughts, I realize I AM GOING TO BE A MOM. I'm equally thrilled and wary. I wanted this for so long--we planned for over two years before we started trying. We are at the best point in our lives to date to have a child. We have a great relationship, we have supportive friends, and we are emotionally ready. I know all that. I'm not worried about what kind of mother I'll be or what kind of father C will be. I'm not worried about our life changing drastically. I am so excited to meet this brand new little person and to help him/her grow and learn. I am, however, a bit worried about what kind of person I'll be after the birth. How will I change? Will I still know me? My advisor recently said that at some point when she was pregnant (coincidentally, she was at the same point in her graduate work that I am) something in her brain clicked and she felt like she started thinking like a mom. That surprised her. She gave voice to a lot of the anxiety I am feeling now. I feel as though I've been accepted into some highly exclusive sisterhood that I don't necessarily merit belonging to and that I didn't know I was asked to join. Other moms now talk to me as though I know what they are saying. And I have to say, despite all the research I've done, I don't really know the difference between attachment parenting and regular parenting. I can't recite the differences between this or that brand of bottles. I find myself wondering when will that "something" click in my brain.
I have to confess that in true academic fashion I've never believed that motherhood was instinctual--at least not for most people. I also don't believe motherhood is the most fulfilling experience I will have in my life. I believe that I will have many fulfilling experiences and that being a mother will likely be among the most fulfilling. I also don't believe that being a mother makes me anymore of a "woman" or a better person or more understanding, empathic, sensitive, etc. I believe that I will have to work at being a good mother. But after talking to many moms, both academic and non-academic, I find myself wondering if I've over-intellectualized motherhood. Will it, in fact, come naturally? And if it does, what will that say about me? Will I still be me after it is all said and done? Or will I only be someone's mom?
So now on top of everything else, I find myself worrying about how I'm going to manage to keep it together intellectually for the next 2 months. I have a lot I want to get done before our little one makes an appearance. When I sit down with a book or at my computer, I know find myself staring off into space wondering "Where should we hang the mobile?" Or "What should the baby wear home from the hospital?" Suddenly I realize that I'm going to be a mother. Obviously I've known that, but now as all things baby slowly seem to absorb my thoughts, I realize I AM GOING TO BE A MOM. I'm equally thrilled and wary. I wanted this for so long--we planned for over two years before we started trying. We are at the best point in our lives to date to have a child. We have a great relationship, we have supportive friends, and we are emotionally ready. I know all that. I'm not worried about what kind of mother I'll be or what kind of father C will be. I'm not worried about our life changing drastically. I am so excited to meet this brand new little person and to help him/her grow and learn. I am, however, a bit worried about what kind of person I'll be after the birth. How will I change? Will I still know me? My advisor recently said that at some point when she was pregnant (coincidentally, she was at the same point in her graduate work that I am) something in her brain clicked and she felt like she started thinking like a mom. That surprised her. She gave voice to a lot of the anxiety I am feeling now. I feel as though I've been accepted into some highly exclusive sisterhood that I don't necessarily merit belonging to and that I didn't know I was asked to join. Other moms now talk to me as though I know what they are saying. And I have to say, despite all the research I've done, I don't really know the difference between attachment parenting and regular parenting. I can't recite the differences between this or that brand of bottles. I find myself wondering when will that "something" click in my brain.
I have to confess that in true academic fashion I've never believed that motherhood was instinctual--at least not for most people. I also don't believe motherhood is the most fulfilling experience I will have in my life. I believe that I will have many fulfilling experiences and that being a mother will likely be among the most fulfilling. I also don't believe that being a mother makes me anymore of a "woman" or a better person or more understanding, empathic, sensitive, etc. I believe that I will have to work at being a good mother. But after talking to many moms, both academic and non-academic, I find myself wondering if I've over-intellectualized motherhood. Will it, in fact, come naturally? And if it does, what will that say about me? Will I still be me after it is all said and done? Or will I only be someone's mom?
Monday, August 21, 2006
Family, Space, and Privacy--or the Lack Thereof
As usual issues of space and privacy are never very far from my mind, especially after returning from a 9 day visit to our families. C and I are in an unusual position regarding our families; our parents, my brother, his brother and his family, and his sister all live in the same town, while we live about 1200 miles away. Needless to say this makes trips "home" difficult. (On a side note, I put "home" in quotations because while ostensibly that wonderful east coast city is where we both grew up and ideally where we'd like to return some day, after living away for 8 plus years, it feels less and less like "home." If I were, however, to express that feeling to our families I would have a lot of explaining to do.)
Last summer, after 5 years of marriage, we thought we solved the problem of going back and forth between families almost every day by planning a trip that was long enough for us to spend 5 consecutive days with each family. It worked surprisingly well, although it did have a few hitches. This trip we tried the same approach, but since C's dad is battling lung cancer, there were added complications. C was expected to be with his family everyday, even days we had arranged to stay with my family. In the end, I felt we didn't spend enough time with my family together--and we spent a lot of time traveling back and forth between families. So while I could vent about this, I would rather write about the lack of space and privacy that comes with a family visit.
In the typical 19th-century home, several generations lived under one roof, and each generation/family was afforded their own space, to some degree. Generations shared communal spaces such as the kitchen, dining room, and parlor--incidentally, it only now occurs to me that communal spaces are also typically seen as feminine spaces. Married daughters living with their parents had their own private spaces within their parents home, and the same was true for married sons living with their parents. Of course, my generalizations apply primarily to middle and upper-class families. I can rattle off a list of novels where this model applies--Iola Leroy, Contending Forces, and Little Women all come to mind. In The American Woman's Home (c. 1869), Catharine Beecher and Harriet Beecher Stowe even discuss the importance of the guest quarters in the typical American home, going so far as to diagram them and to discuss precisely how far they should be from the family rooms to ensure everyone's privacy and health.
This respect or relative respect of privacy fascinates me, especially in light of my own familial circumstances. When C and I go to visit family, we are afforded no such privacy. With his family, we have to displace someone else in order to have a place to sleep, and with my family, we sleep in the office, which grants us a bit more privacy at night but not during the day. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, especially in light of sociological and architectural differences between the 19th and 21st centuries. I could just chalk it all up to the advent of the nuclear family and the suburban home, but I think there is more to it than that. I've been pondering the changes in how people view privacy for a long time, and I believe key things have happened in the last 100 years or so that have dramatically changed our perceptions of privacy. Privacy, at least in my experience, is highly valued, but not often given or respected. I have often theorized that the tabloid nature of our culture makes privacy difficult to come by, but then, that doesn't explain why privacy is no longer valued among family members. Perhaps the architectural divisions that typically exist between families does have something do to with it. Since we rarely live with our parents beyond our college years, do they feel they have a right to know things about us that previous generations would never have known? Is therapy and the need to discuss everything ad nauseum to blame? Or are our families just particularly nosy? And here's the question that has been bothering me the most: will I be like our mothers and demand to know everything about my child?
Last summer, after 5 years of marriage, we thought we solved the problem of going back and forth between families almost every day by planning a trip that was long enough for us to spend 5 consecutive days with each family. It worked surprisingly well, although it did have a few hitches. This trip we tried the same approach, but since C's dad is battling lung cancer, there were added complications. C was expected to be with his family everyday, even days we had arranged to stay with my family. In the end, I felt we didn't spend enough time with my family together--and we spent a lot of time traveling back and forth between families. So while I could vent about this, I would rather write about the lack of space and privacy that comes with a family visit.
In the typical 19th-century home, several generations lived under one roof, and each generation/family was afforded their own space, to some degree. Generations shared communal spaces such as the kitchen, dining room, and parlor--incidentally, it only now occurs to me that communal spaces are also typically seen as feminine spaces. Married daughters living with their parents had their own private spaces within their parents home, and the same was true for married sons living with their parents. Of course, my generalizations apply primarily to middle and upper-class families. I can rattle off a list of novels where this model applies--Iola Leroy, Contending Forces, and Little Women all come to mind. In The American Woman's Home (c. 1869), Catharine Beecher and Harriet Beecher Stowe even discuss the importance of the guest quarters in the typical American home, going so far as to diagram them and to discuss precisely how far they should be from the family rooms to ensure everyone's privacy and health.
This respect or relative respect of privacy fascinates me, especially in light of my own familial circumstances. When C and I go to visit family, we are afforded no such privacy. With his family, we have to displace someone else in order to have a place to sleep, and with my family, we sleep in the office, which grants us a bit more privacy at night but not during the day. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, especially in light of sociological and architectural differences between the 19th and 21st centuries. I could just chalk it all up to the advent of the nuclear family and the suburban home, but I think there is more to it than that. I've been pondering the changes in how people view privacy for a long time, and I believe key things have happened in the last 100 years or so that have dramatically changed our perceptions of privacy. Privacy, at least in my experience, is highly valued, but not often given or respected. I have often theorized that the tabloid nature of our culture makes privacy difficult to come by, but then, that doesn't explain why privacy is no longer valued among family members. Perhaps the architectural divisions that typically exist between families does have something do to with it. Since we rarely live with our parents beyond our college years, do they feel they have a right to know things about us that previous generations would never have known? Is therapy and the need to discuss everything ad nauseum to blame? Or are our families just particularly nosy? And here's the question that has been bothering me the most: will I be like our mothers and demand to know everything about my child?
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Almost home
Just a quick post to remind myself that I haven't fallen off the face of the earth--visiting family for a week and a half often makes me feel as though I have. Thankfully I will be in my own space tomorrow. Space is very important to me; I don't function well when I'm out of my own environment too long or when I can't dictate daily goings-on. That seems odd considering how much I like to travel, but then, when C and I travel, we're in charge of things. Even as an adult, I'm not in charge of things when we visit our parents. That said, I'm ready to be home so I can get back to work or at least get back to contemplating work.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Progress
My meeting went with my advisor went really, really well. She offered some constructive comments on my chapter descriptions, but overall, she was pleased with my ideas. She told me I have a very workable and original dissertation. Now I just need to finish the proposal so I can get some work done before the baby arrives. Her theory (as a once dissertating new mother) is that if I have something done before I am forced to take a baby hiatus from work that I will be able to return to work fairly quickly (as in 2 to 3 months!) since I will be able to remember what I was thinking. I agree with her, and I have to say that right now I am very past the proposal. I've already written one complete draft which no one on my committee was happy with--heck I wasn't even happy with it. I viewed as part of the process though, and it got me to my current idea.
And now my productive mood will be interrupted by a 9 day visit to see family. I am, of course, taking work with me, but I am not fooling myself. I'll be lucky to get the three books I'm taking read let alone any actual writing done. C will be much more successful when it comes to working. He can work anywhere because he has this uncanny ability to completely shut out the outside world. He forgets to eat, to drink, even to sleep when he's working; he even forgets about me occasionally, which is a topic for another post. But I am easily distracted. I may just lock myself in a room to read and tell our families that I have to get my proposal finished!
And now my productive mood will be interrupted by a 9 day visit to see family. I am, of course, taking work with me, but I am not fooling myself. I'll be lucky to get the three books I'm taking read let alone any actual writing done. C will be much more successful when it comes to working. He can work anywhere because he has this uncanny ability to completely shut out the outside world. He forgets to eat, to drink, even to sleep when he's working; he even forgets about me occasionally, which is a topic for another post. But I am easily distracted. I may just lock myself in a room to read and tell our families that I have to get my proposal finished!
Friday, August 04, 2006
Tired, but still writing
So I've entered the phase of writing when I am so interested in what I'm doing that I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about my work. It happens rarely, I admit, and when it does happen, it is equally exciting and annoying. To be honest, I'd rather sleep and have brilliant epiphanies when I'm meant to be working. I haven't been sleeping all that well recently, so I've actually been able to work out quite a few problems with my proposal in the middle of the night. In fact, I worked out so many that I am finally able to present a complete (although rough) chapter outline, with descriptions, to my advisor later today. I'm feeling particularly proud of how much work I've gotten done this week. I'd feel prouder if my productive mood wasn't going to be interrupted by a week and a half long visit to see family. . .
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Shout out
I also want to give a shout out to a few of my good friends who are collaborating on a blog--expect odd, compelling things from these strange, beautiful men. Check out their blog, The Rhetorical Situation, http://therhetoricalsituation.blogspot.com/.
Essentialized Womanhood
I woke up this morning and miraculously had the fifth chapter of my diss figured out, so this will be a short post. The wonderful Megs (check out her blog at http://phyphend.blogspot.com/) observed that it is most often women who openly offer their opinions on other women's bodies and pregnancy. I have to say that I agree with that. I do thing pregnancy is clearly gendered (although C is as involved as a man could be, down to experiencing pyschosomatic morning sickness and cravings) and most of the troubling comments I've received have been made by women who have children. So are we (and yep, I'm including myself in this since I have no idea how I will behave post-pregnancy) essentializing womanhood, not just as a sex but as a culture? Do women with children believe the way they experienced pregnancy, childbirth, etc. is the only way to experience it? If that is true, I find that really troubling, not only from a theoretical standpoint (hey, I am an academic!), but also from an individual standpoint.
I also feel compelled to differentiate between my ideas of public and private and the concepts as they relate to my research, but that's for another post.
I also feel compelled to differentiate between my ideas of public and private and the concepts as they relate to my research, but that's for another post.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Public and Private
After reading several of the comments to this post, I want to add a preface. I don't mean the following post to suggest that I resent being asked questions about my pregnancy. I typically enjoy questions and I am generally welcoming of advice--after all, I haven't done this before. That said, what I do find troublesome is the judgment that often comes after I answer a question or respond to advice.
No surprise, I've been thinking a lot about the public and the private and the intersections of the two. As a pregnant woman, I am beginning to feel like I exist in the interstitial spaces I write about. In the past 6 months, I've never been asked so many personal questions by friends, family, acquaintances, and complete strangers in my life.
Aside from my stint in the blogging world, most people know me as a fairly private person. I prefer to keep things to myself. When C & I discovered I was pregnant, we agreed only to tell our closest friends and family for at least the first trimester. By the time I was well into the 2nd trimester, I had discovered there is no casual way to tell people I ostensibly work with but rarely see that I was pregnant; in fact, quite a few people in my department still don't know I'm pregnant. I finally just decided to let it filter through the grapevine, which moves surprisingly fast in an academic setting. I was on campus for a meeting last week, and as it is summer and I'm working primarily from home, I had not been on campus in several weeks. Since I had last made regular appearances on campus, I have, well, blossomed, you could say. Several people--and not just anyone mind you, but the heads of the department--stopped and outright stared. One person, whom I respect immensely, essentially cornered me in the bathroom and asked me if I knew I looked so pregnant. Had it been anyone else, I would have been offended, but as I know this person to have an irreverent sense of humor, I laughed and answered that tends to happen at 6 months along. I digress. . .
The public nature of pregnancy has interested me since long before I got pregnant, but I'm really intrigued by it now that I am pregnant. Everyone from close friends and family to perfect strangers in the grocery store seem to think it is acceptable to offer me unsolicited advice on every topic. Now, I have to confess that I have been known to offer a fair amount of unsolicited advice myself, but I try to limit it to those I know well and to topics I know they aren't especially sensitive about. So the question I've been pondering of late and the one leaving me feeling as though all pregnant women exist in interstitality is why do people feel compelled to comment on every aspect of pregnancy? I am all for helpful advice and kind words, but I feel like the moment I became pregnant people began to believe that my brain stopped working. My mother constantly tells me not to do certain things: "Don't lift anything too heavy; make sure C does that for you!" Because I am unable to determine on my own what is too heavy for me to lift. C's mother says "Why are you planning to do it that way? This way worked for us, and all my children turned out fine." Because we are incapable of making our own decisions regarding childcare. Once a lovely woman in the grocery story adamantly reminded me not to eat unpasturized cheeses. Because I am unable to read a package of feta cheese to determine if it was made with pasturized milk. Most recently people have begun offering their advice on our decision to have an unmedicated birth. It seems like everyone I know has an opinion on this, and most of them aren't particularly supportive. In fact, some of the responses have been so unsupportive that I have decided not to talk about it with anyone--and here I go and blog about it. See, I'm constantly breaking my own division between public and private.
So what is it about being pregnant that makes a woman fair game for a certain amount of criticism and scorn, as well as a healthy dose of good wishes and happy thoughts, both from those she love and those she has never seen before in her life? Is it because, for the first ever, I'm physically displaying my personal life? I mean there's no denying I'm pregnant unless I want to try to convince people I've been eating too much ice cream, which I'm tempted to do. Now let me say I am enjoying pregnancy; I actually like the changes my body is going through, and I am reveling in the personality of this little one (heck I already know that s/he rocks out to Sarah Maclachlan and Sheryl Crow and relaxes when read Goodnight Moon.) But I'm less fond of everyone sharing their thoughts on my body and C's and my decisions about everything from childbirth to childrearing. I find myself negotiating the public realm that pregnancy seems to be with a great deal of trepidation, hesitation, and wariness. I'm no longer excited when people ask me questions about my health or my decisions because I've come to learn that most people are more than just politely interested; they see my pregnancy as a time to share their views about pregnancy in general. As someone who is usually all about exchanging ideas and learning from others, I'm beginning to wish everyone would keep their views about my body to themselves.
No surprise, I've been thinking a lot about the public and the private and the intersections of the two. As a pregnant woman, I am beginning to feel like I exist in the interstitial spaces I write about. In the past 6 months, I've never been asked so many personal questions by friends, family, acquaintances, and complete strangers in my life.
Aside from my stint in the blogging world, most people know me as a fairly private person. I prefer to keep things to myself. When C & I discovered I was pregnant, we agreed only to tell our closest friends and family for at least the first trimester. By the time I was well into the 2nd trimester, I had discovered there is no casual way to tell people I ostensibly work with but rarely see that I was pregnant; in fact, quite a few people in my department still don't know I'm pregnant. I finally just decided to let it filter through the grapevine, which moves surprisingly fast in an academic setting. I was on campus for a meeting last week, and as it is summer and I'm working primarily from home, I had not been on campus in several weeks. Since I had last made regular appearances on campus, I have, well, blossomed, you could say. Several people--and not just anyone mind you, but the heads of the department--stopped and outright stared. One person, whom I respect immensely, essentially cornered me in the bathroom and asked me if I knew I looked so pregnant. Had it been anyone else, I would have been offended, but as I know this person to have an irreverent sense of humor, I laughed and answered that tends to happen at 6 months along. I digress. . .
The public nature of pregnancy has interested me since long before I got pregnant, but I'm really intrigued by it now that I am pregnant. Everyone from close friends and family to perfect strangers in the grocery store seem to think it is acceptable to offer me unsolicited advice on every topic. Now, I have to confess that I have been known to offer a fair amount of unsolicited advice myself, but I try to limit it to those I know well and to topics I know they aren't especially sensitive about. So the question I've been pondering of late and the one leaving me feeling as though all pregnant women exist in interstitality is why do people feel compelled to comment on every aspect of pregnancy? I am all for helpful advice and kind words, but I feel like the moment I became pregnant people began to believe that my brain stopped working. My mother constantly tells me not to do certain things: "Don't lift anything too heavy; make sure C does that for you!" Because I am unable to determine on my own what is too heavy for me to lift. C's mother says "Why are you planning to do it that way? This way worked for us, and all my children turned out fine." Because we are incapable of making our own decisions regarding childcare. Once a lovely woman in the grocery story adamantly reminded me not to eat unpasturized cheeses. Because I am unable to read a package of feta cheese to determine if it was made with pasturized milk. Most recently people have begun offering their advice on our decision to have an unmedicated birth. It seems like everyone I know has an opinion on this, and most of them aren't particularly supportive. In fact, some of the responses have been so unsupportive that I have decided not to talk about it with anyone--and here I go and blog about it. See, I'm constantly breaking my own division between public and private.
So what is it about being pregnant that makes a woman fair game for a certain amount of criticism and scorn, as well as a healthy dose of good wishes and happy thoughts, both from those she love and those she has never seen before in her life? Is it because, for the first ever, I'm physically displaying my personal life? I mean there's no denying I'm pregnant unless I want to try to convince people I've been eating too much ice cream, which I'm tempted to do. Now let me say I am enjoying pregnancy; I actually like the changes my body is going through, and I am reveling in the personality of this little one (heck I already know that s/he rocks out to Sarah Maclachlan and Sheryl Crow and relaxes when read Goodnight Moon.) But I'm less fond of everyone sharing their thoughts on my body and C's and my decisions about everything from childbirth to childrearing. I find myself negotiating the public realm that pregnancy seems to be with a great deal of trepidation, hesitation, and wariness. I'm no longer excited when people ask me questions about my health or my decisions because I've come to learn that most people are more than just politely interested; they see my pregnancy as a time to share their views about pregnancy in general. As someone who is usually all about exchanging ideas and learning from others, I'm beginning to wish everyone would keep their views about my body to themselves.
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