Radical Parenting

This is an original Orange County Moms Blog Post.

I practice unconventional parenting. I co-sleep, wear my baby, breastfeed until we (not I) decide to stop, and discipline with love (not my hand). Apparently, I need a support group, because my style of parenting is among Discovery Health’s Top Ten List of Radical Parenting Methods (did you hear me sigh?!?).

I attended a wellness event over the weekend, targeted towards expectant and new parents. One of the exhibitors was a support group for attachment parents, which partially confused me, and mostly frustrated me. Is my way of parenting (advocated by one of the nation’s most renowned pediatricians) so extreme…so far out there that I need a support group?

I firmly believe in the power of support groups. When people with the same views, characteristics, or interests get together to share experiences, education and understanding can take place. But according to Wikipedia, a support group is typically initiated for a group of people with a characteristic that is often “burdensome.” And the overall view of support groups is in line with this definition. Which has me wondering, what is so burdensome about being an attachment parent?

I don’t generally like to label myself, however, I practice many of the principles of attachment parenting. And that is very often met with disapproval from people I don’t know well enough to advise, criticize or otherwise judge me. When my daughter was a teeny tiny baby, I had to nurse her in a restaurant mostly frequented by women (who, might I add, have the same anatomy if I can be blunt!). As I put my cover over her and myself, more than one woman in the restaurant turned around to silently tell me they disapproved of what I was doing…which was simply feeding my baby. When I tell people that we co-sleep, I’m advised that I’m spoiling and putting my daughter in danger. I find their responses (or lack of) terribly amusing when I proceed to tell them I’m a nurse…a neonatal nurse at that. I simply show them my happy, healthy 2 1/2 year old son as proof that co-sleeping children can survive and thrive. I don’t even talk to most people about discipline. Have you heard the phrase “spare the rod, spoil the child?” Perhaps the person who originated that quip didn’t read this article.

In general, I brush off most of what’s spoken and unspoken. The challenge arises when the criticism comes from well-meaning family members. I want to raise little people…not robots. I want my children to feel loved and respected. I want them to express (not repress) their emotions. I want them to be empathetic and respectful. I want to talk to them about the choices they make (both good and bad)…not beat them (literally) into submission. Even if that means that I have a baby attached at the hip…or the breast. Or that my bed is not my own…for the time being. Or that my life is largely unscheduled. Or that I need to be extremely patient and offer a lot of grace.

These first few years are critical to a child’s social and emotional development. While I acknowledge that my way of parenting is simply that…one style…my aim is that my children won’t need to attend a support group because of their upbringing.

{photo credit: stock.xchng}

[I love the above photo...it beautifully captures the kind of relationship I want with my children]

I’m Thankful For…

My loving, hardworking, gracious husband

My bright-eyed, inquisitive, talkative 3 year old son

My sweet, smiling 5 month old daughter

My generous, supportive, caring parents

My friends that encourage and inspire me

Freedom  (I wholeheartedly agree with my friend Elizabeth)

The community of support that I’ve received online

Health (and health care)

Technology and innovation

My job, where I have the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of families

What are you thankful for?

I Love the Way…

Your curly hair frames your face

Your brown eyes light up when you’re happy

You wake up singing each morning

You want to “do it all by yourself” one minute and “be a baby” the next

You want to help out with your baby sister by giving her the paci or her bunny

You play pretend with your trains

You giggle

You want to help mommy and daddy out with everything (especially when we bake together)

You remember what mommy and daddy tell you (especially when we tell you we’re going to Disneyland)

You creatively use things in ways I could never imagine

You ask mommy and daddy to draw things like trains and Dora

You repeat things that mommy and daddy say (it’s funny and it keeps us on our toes to be mindful of what comes out of our mouths)

You climb into and out of your highchair (how did you learn how to do that?)

You cuddle with us at night while we’re reading

Josh at 2 1/2

I Love The Way…

You scoot to snuggle with me at night…despite the fact that I put you on your back to sleep between daddy and I.

You turn over on to your belly to sleep (just like your brother…and your mommy like to sleep).

You can be asleep peacefully next to me one minute and bright-eyed the next, the moment I wake up.

You squeal every morning for about 15 minutes in sheer happiness before drifting off to your morning nap.

You follow your brother around the room with your eyes…smiling and cooing to get his attention.

You move your arms and legs when you’re excited.

You pause while you’re nursing to smile at me.

You mysteriously manage to take off your mittens to chew on your hand.

You suck on your middle two fingers (so cute!).

You coo to get daddy’s attention.

You giggle when I kiss your cheek and neck.

Your hair sticks up in the back.

You smell.

Your bright eyes and infectious smile make even the most difficult days joyful.

Cate at 3 1/2 months

Where On the Web is Rockin’ Mama

Twice a month, I contribute to two local websites…OC Family Magazine and Orange County Moms Blog.  This week I found a suitable cupcake solution for my son (who was recently diagnosed with food allergies) and took the mask off to show you how imperfect I really am.

My {Not So} Shining Mommy Moments

It was supposed to be a great day.  How could it not be, when we started out the morning with Cinnamon Pancakes.  I know he’s been feeling the effects of my divided attention.  He’s been the center of my world for the past 2 1/2 years.  Now there is this other person…taking his place in mommy and daddy’s bed…strapped to mommy where he once was…nursing in mommy’s lap where he always sits…  We’ve both try to make sure he is getting plenty of hugs, kisses, and love…plenty of books and play time with each of us.  But he is craving our attention…our undivided attention.

I sit him down with crayons and proceed to nurse the baby.  She’s fussing and I’m distracted.  My son is at an age where he prefers that mommy and daddy draw pictures (rather than drawing them himself).  I explain to him that I’m nursing the baby and will draw with him once I’m finished.  I’m still distracted with my daughter.  He knows I’m distracted.  He’s quiet (always a bad sign) and I don’t notice it until it’s too late.  He apparently manages to break the tip off the crayon (something I didn’t readily observe in that moment). By the time I look over at him, the crayon is already on it’s way up (his nose, that is).  I begin to panic…and it is apparent in my tone as I beg my son not to continue with this venture. “Do I put the crayon up my nose?”  he asks.  He’s calm…he’s smiling.  I’m panicking.  “No, I say loudly…”We don’t put crayons in our nose.” In seconds I’m pulling the baby off, trying to put her in the swing so I can avoid this potential crisis.  It’s too late.  My overreacting has led to a lodged crayon.  The baby is now hysterical and I’m about to join her.

The rational side of me knows that I should not attempt to dislodge it.  But I’m already marching him up the stairs with a plan that involves a tweezer.  Failed.  I’m too much of a coward to attempt such a feat.  With tears in my eyes, I call my Pediatrician, shamefully explaining how I have failed as a mother.  The nurse asks me several questions, including the one where I tell her that I observed the whole, ridiculous event…unable to change the outcome.

We get in the car, my daughter and I both unsettled.  As I drive to my Pediatrician’s office, my mind is flooded with questions, my eyes flooded with tears.  Where did he learn how to put an object in his nose?  Why didn’t he listen when I told him to stop?  Where did I fail as a mom? My son, by the way, is smiling and oblivious to what is about to happen once we reach the Pediatrician’s office.  He’s just happy he’s going to see “Dr. Bob.”

After spending what feels like an eternity, waiting to be squeezed in, we meet with the doctor. Right before he walks in, I have a heart-to-heart with my 2 year old.  “Dr. Bob is going to help you find your crayon, but you need to listen to him and stay very, very still.”  “Ok mommy,” he says…and I think to some extent, he understands the seriousness of what’s about to ensue.  The doctor walks in and there is discussion of my failure what happened and his plan for “finding my son’s lost crayon.”  I ask the question I already know the answer to…”What happens if you can’t dislodge it?”  I shudder as he confirms…a trip to the hospital for sedation and a scope.

I sit my son in my lap, holding him, knowing that success depends on his ability to stay still.  The first attempt is unsuccessful.  It’s packed in there tighter than we thought.  The Dr. goes to get a different instrument and I give my son another pep talk.  I’m scared for him.  But after a few minutes, he grasps the crayon and I breathe a deep sigh of relief.

On that day, I felt like a complete failure as a mom.  I still run over the scenario in my mind about what I could have done differently.   Thankfully, my pediatrician was gracious…my husband forgiving.  And I am comforted by those moms who have gone before me with similar stories (special thanks to the mom who sat with me while I waited and told me about the time her son put a tic tac up his nose).

When Passion and Skills Collide

Ten years ago (I’m totally aging myself), I boldly walked into my first interview as a new nurse, ready to start my career.  I was passionate about changing the world and what better way to do that than at the bedside. As time went by, I gained the confidence and experience necessary to advance my career.  I went back to school to obtain a Master’s Degree in Nursing and met my husband in the process.  I went on to pursue higher career goals.  As I moved away from bedside nursing into teaching and management, I realized that nursing, for me, was about people.  I wasn’t content to sit at a desk.  So after landing a prestigious, high-paying management job, I went back to the bedside.

My husband and I traveled the world, and again, I used my experience and skills at the bedside overseas.  We loved the cultural experience of living abroad.  I was challenged in so many new ways.  I met the most amazing people, who I still keep in contact with today.  They became my family…my home away from home.  We talked it over and made preparations to stay.  And then we found out I was expecting our son.

Nothing that I have ever done, has molded me as much as becoming a parent.  I thought I was selfless…I realized I’m selfish.  I thought I was patient…I realized I am impatient.  The self-realization that comes with having a child is life-changing.  Never have I wanted to work on myself more than when my son was born.

I’ve been a nurse for almost ten years.  I have the knowledge, skills, and experience to do great things in my career.  And oh, did I mention how comfortable our life could be?  But my passion…where I want to be at the end of the day…is home with my two babies.  I want to be at home reading and coloring and playing with my son.  I want to take him to the park and the zoo and our local museums.  I want to be there when my daughter gives us her first “real” smile and rolls over for the first time and starts to crawl.  I don’t want to read about them on a progress note from a day care center.  I don’t want to miss a single moment because I can’t go back.  There are no do overs.  These moments…these precious moments when my babies are little are here and then gone. But nobody’s employing women to do the task…the very difficult but so rewarding task of mothering.

So, I’m at an impasse.

I’m highly skilled to do so many things…but my passion…requires none of them.

Finite

I looked at the clock this morning and almost an hour had gone by.  I watched you look around the room and into my eyes…mostly you just slept.  I prayed for you and dreamed about all of the things we’ll do together. This overwhelming need to protect you overcame me.  Only another mother would understand that instinct which is so strong.

I started thinking about what it means to be a mother.  It only begins with 9 months of using your body to grow another. It’s so much more than that.  I find it interesting that the dictionary reduces such an important role to simply “one who has given birth to a child.”

My precious babies are only on loan to me for a time.  I once heard someone say that parenting, in essence, is the process of counting down…the process of equipping and preparing your children to leave and function on their own.  The time only gets shorter…

I look at my toddler and then at my 3 week old and think to myself…how is it that I was just holding him…nursing him in my arms?  How is it that he was the one I was just gazing at with dreams in my heart? He’s a walking running, talking 2 1/2 year old with his own thoughts, feelings, and wants.  Most days he only wants to cuddle at nap or bedtime.  I want him to grow up and stay a baby both at the same time.

Our baby girl is likely our last child.  Some days, when I haven’t managed to get a much needed shower in, or anything measurable done around the house…and I’m surrounded by spit up and diapers…I breathe a quiet sigh of relief that there is an end in site. But then my toddler will look at me and say, “Mommy…are you a princess?”  Or my baby girl will snuggle up against me at 3 am and I know that I will miss all of this terribly in a few short years.

I sit here, reminded of how finite life is. This week, a friend of mine suffered the type of loss no mother should ever have to experience.  Please consider stopping by to leave her a note of support or encouragement.

One Week Ago…

I went into labor all on my own for the very first time…

And out of the greatest pain came the greatest joy…

I delivered a healthy baby girl…

I met the daughter I’ve been waiting, praying, and hoping for my whole life…

I became a mother of two incredibly beautiful children…

And my heart grew bigger than I could ever imagine to love, protect, and care for these precious babies that are on loan to me…

Siblings

We told him much sooner than I had anticipated.  Mums the word until week 12, right?  But I was sick…very, very sick.  And he needed to know why mommy was lying on the couch all day…or stuck in the bathroom for too long.  In a small way, I felt like he understood (as much as a toddler can) that mommy wasn’t herself.  

Thankfully, week 12 came and things were still “ok,” apart from the fact that I was still sick.  The pregnancy went smoother (although not without trials) than my first.  I was nervous to get his hopes up too soon about a baby brother or sister.  He had some knowledge of babies with my neighbor, cousin, and good friend having babies within weeks of each other.  

And then around 20 weeks, we told him her name.  We told him he would have a sister and that she was growing in mommy’s tummy.  He was always so delighted to talk about her.  

I was warned by many experienced moms about the types of expectations I should have once she arrived.  Jealousy…acting out…at best he would just ignore her.  We did all we could to prepare him for her arrival.  As the days got closer, I worried more and more about how he would react.  My baby…my sweet handsome boy…I didn’t want to hurt him.  I didn’t want him to feel like he had been replaced. 

Almost everything about my birth experience was positive.  I only wish I had been able to bring him to the hospital to meet her. But it’s flu season…and toddlers carry germs that hospitals aren’t willing to take a chance with.  So he was restricted from seeing me until I came home.  One of the most joyous days of my life and I couldn’t share it with my son.  

I came home one day early from the hospital (that’s all they’d allow).  On Christmas Eve, my parents brought my son down and he met his baby sister for the first time.  He knew exactly who she was.  He touched her gently and talked to her.  He asked if she was ok…if I was ok.  He tried to suck on her pacifier.  And give her juice.  Do you know what he didn’t do?  He didn’t ignore her…or act out…or resent her.  

Curiosity is the best word to describe how my son feels about his baby sister.  We’re teaching him to be gentle…we’re teaching him that she’s not ready to play yet…or drink juice…or eat crackers.  But my son is as sweet as can be with our baby girl.  

It’s been a wonderful week…filled with the joy of new life and change and a tiny bit of chaos.  It’s going to be an adjustment…recovering from major surgery and childbirth…juggling an active 2 year old…functioning on a serious reduction in sleep.  But we’re surviving….we’re more than surviving.  This Christmas will always be remembered as the year that three became four…the year that my son became a big brother…the year that our hearts, which we thought were as big as could be, grew to welcome a second child into our home.  

Praise God for the miracle of life.  

 ¹³Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, 
 ¹⁴“Glory to God in the highest, 
      and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.” – Luke 2:13-14

Merry Christmas!  

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