I’m not sure whether it’s more appropriate to laugh or cry…*this* is why my biggest goal with my daughter is to hand her as little baggage as possible.

They fuck you up, your mum and dad,
They may not meant to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern,
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man,
It deepens like a coastal shelf;
Get out as early as you can
And don’t have any kids yourself.

~ Phillip Larkin

From Trick-cycling For Beginners. (Thanks to Shrinkette for the link to this blog!)

On All Things Considered today:

Think Partnered Parenting Is Hard? Try Going Solo

by Lori Gottlieb

All Things Considered, March 29, 2006 · Commentator Lori Gottlieb is a single mother. Most of her friends who are moms are married. And that’s where the trouble begins. Gottlieb is tired of hearing them whine about how awful their husbands are.

I can completely relate. As much as I love my online group (all our kids were due the same month), I do remember that the Fall of 2004 was filled with complaints. I definitely got a bird’s-eye view of how difficult it must be to become new parents together…not only are you adjusting to a new role, you’re also completely redefining your relationship with your partner.

Where Gottlieb gripes about how these women should feel lucky — that’s where she gripes instead of complaining about her “dh” — I found that *I* felt lucky in those early days. Yes, I was tired. Exhausted, actually…and there were nights that I’d sit in bed crying after Maya had (yet again) spit up everything she’d just eaten all over the bed. But, I’d get up and re-make the bed, and move on.

Not having someone else to pin my woes on honestly made parenting simpler for me. If there was a problem, it came back to me…no blame game required. Just thinking…

Earlier today, Maya and I ventured out to Babies ‘R’ Us to pick up a couple items (a TV control protector among them). While there, I wandered to the crib bedding section; I’m considering keeping her new room (we move in 2-1/2 weeks) the color it is, so I wanted to see how expensive/difficult it would be to change her bedding. (Answer: paint is cheaper.)

Anyway…as I got closer to the back left corner of BRU, I heard a shrill voice. As I approached closer, I heard detail: a mother yelling at her two daughters (who were riding in the basket of the shopping cart), telling them how bad they were, threatening to throttle them, and generally losing it. I walked past, then hugged Maya and whispered to her that I would strive to never speak to her that way. We continued to browse, but we just couldn’t get away from angry-mommy. Her kids were doing normal kid things…reaching out to touch anything within reach. Dropping a toy out of the cart. Pretty much, just letting it be known that they were bored.

From the mom’s reaction, you’d have thought they were drawing blood and tearing the store down. She took their behavior incredibly personally and was extremely reactive and emotional. I thought about saying something, but I didn’t. I went to another side of the store in the hopes that she’d leave so we could shop in peace.

My reaction to her “style” of “parenting” (I use both terms very loosely) was palpable. I felt anxious. Dizzy. Worried. My heart absolutely broke for the two girls, who really weren’t doing anything abnormal for the 2-5yo range I’d guess they were in. I wonder how being treated like evil, bad, treacherous little girls will affect them as they mature? After I left the store, I realized that I pitied the mother. It’s likely that she grew up with a parent(s) who treated her the same way, and she simply doesn’t know any better.

Oh…right…I had a couple points:

I hate the idea of abortion, but I’m pro-choice. I (briefly) considered termination when I first discovered my pregnancy, but realized that it would be a very bad decision for me. That said, I’m very glad that it WAS an option. I can never feel that my daughter is a burden placed on me without my consent. I don’t feel forced to be a parent; it was my choice. I chose to bring her into my life.

Now that she’s here, it’s also my choice how to respond to her on a day-to-day basis. There are times that she’s frustrating, but even then, if I look past the immediate circumstances, I can see what’s happening: she’s learning her world. She’s learning cause (if I do this) and effect (mama does/doesn’t do that). She’s an experimental scientist. Knowing what she’s doing makes it a lot easier to sit back, tell her “no,” sympathize with her frustration, and ride out the tantrums when they inevitably hit.

There are days that I wonder if maybe I really just am blessed with this wonderful child. I wonder if she’s ridiculously easy, and if I’m just getting off light. But at the same time, I recognize that another parent might find her to be spoiled and difficult. It’s all about interpretation, and I made the decision that I will enjoy being a parent. I hope I never lose sight of that.

Here’s the background: a gal joined a playdate group I participate in from time to time, and we discovered that we live relatively close to each other. Granted, I’m in a teeny-tiny condo, and she’s up on the hill behind Garden of the Gods in a neighborhood that is VERY high end. The money was obvious from the time we met (big-as-a-house Lexus SUV, perfectly understated — yet fashionable — clothing in a size 2, beautiful and tasteful enormous rock set in platinum on her left hand, bugaboo frog stroller, etc), and I found it intimidating at first — but then learned that she’s going through a potentially nasty divorce from her (abusive) husband and realize that perhaps I needed to give her the benefit of the doubt and get over myself. (After all, the Buffies and Biffs of the world have problems too.)

This part is MY issue, and I know it — but as much as I like money, I find myself alternately jealous and disdainful of the “moneyed” types. (rolling eyes at myself)

Anyway, she and I have talked about getting together some weekday for a playdate at her house for our girls — hers is 18mo, then of course, mine is 11 months. Really, it would be more about letting the moms hang out, I suppose. All was good…but this comment in a last email SCORCHED me. I’d posted something about trying to figure out daycare and asking for recommendations — I had a job interview, then a second interview for a job that would have started very quickly. (The job is a no-go, by the way, and thoughts about work are another post that I may or may not write soon.)

I understand about the daycare. Since I have always been home with (daughter), it would kill me to have her with strangers during the day. But I do realize some parents need that break. And if you’ve been doing it alone all of this time then you are probably one of them!

WTF???

Chances are, the comment was innocent, but really…what the hell was she thinking? The more “base” part of me keeps thinking well, maybe in YOUR world, people only work for entertainment? Or perhaps she’s one of these snobs about SAHM versus WOHM? After a few days, I replied this morning:

FirstName,

You seem like a nice woman, so I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt. I seriously doubt you intended to say something offensive, rude, or presumptuous.

What in the world ever gave you the idea that I’m looking for work to “get a break” from my daughter?

Allison

So, am I was off-base here? Guess it’s too late if I am, but at this point, I don’t really give a sh*t about having a playdate.

Follow up:
She responded, and quickly — and as I suspected, her intentions were good (trying to find a silver lining on leaving Maya in daycare), but her choice of words wasn’t the best. If she’d mad the same comment, but phrased it that I’ll enjoy interaction with other adults (as opposed to needing time away from Maya), I know I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. I’m relieved, but also glad that I brought up the question, because I would have resented it otherwise. As it stands, I still have a new potential friend — one with whom I can be straight and know that she’ll do the same to me. This is a good thing. Of course, a playdate in Buffy-land sounds fun too, grin.

Before I had my daughter, I was pleased to learn that I could feed her wherever I deemed appropriate (or necessary) — that my ability to provide nourishment for my child was protected by state law. Effective April 23, 2004, Colorado protected a woman’s right to breastfeed anywhere she has the right to be. Here’s just a snippet of the legislation:

C.R.S.25-6-302. Breastfeeding.
A mother may breastfeed in any place she has a right to be.

from C.R.S.25-6-301:
(2) The general assembly further declares that the purpose of this [legislation] is for the state of Colorado to become involved in the national movement to recognize the medical importance of breastfeeding, within the scope of complete pediatric care, and to encourage removal of societal boundaries placed on breastfeeding in public. (emphasis added)

Read the full legislation text on La Leche League’s state-by-state summary of breastfeeding law.

I’m not a lactivist by any means. I have many friends who feed formula to their babies, and I don’t acuse them of poisoning their children. While I question the wisdom of Nestle’s big move into Africa telling mothers that formula was *superior* to breastfeeding (yeah, right), I also don’t think that the big formula companies are evil and out to destroy humanity.

I have frequently nursed my daughter in public — or at least I did, until she became adept enough at solid food that she didn’t NEED breastmilk while we were out. And (gasp!) I didn’t even use a blanket to cover her up. I quickly learned that covering my daughter’s head (and thus, being less vigilant about the placement of my shirt) was a recipe for flashing the public, as she *hated* to have her head covered. Perhaps some people saw me and scorned, but if so, no one ever approached me about it. In fact, many (older women especially) praised me for nursing my daughter.

All of this lead-in is to point out two recent news stories here in my great state.

1. A woman was breastfeeding her child at a park. I don’t know the specifics — was she exposing her breast openly (which, btw, is LEGAL), or was she covered. She was issued a ticket by a park ranger for public exposure of genitalia. Leaving aside the fact that she was protected by law, since when are breasts genitalia? The ticket was later reversed, but the parks never did issue an apology. Story here.
2. A young couple tours the state capital. The couple’s five-month-old son becomes hungry, so the mother finds a sofa, settles in, covers herself and the baby with a blanket and feeds her child. The receptionists (the only other people in the room) suggest that she might be “more comfortable” feeding her baby in the basement — the basement that lacks air conditioning, happens to be under construction, and is thus *filled with construction workers*. Story here.

In this second case, the reception area in question happened to be for the governor’s office. Now, this part makes me wonder if the family set this up as a test after the other recent hoo-hah about nursing in public (god, I love that the acronym for that is “NIP”). But, even if it were a set up…whaaaaa?

As I said, I’m not a “lactivist” (Hathor will have a field day with this one), but FTLOG…let the woman feed her baby!

Today kind of sneaked up on me. I feel as though I should have something deep and moving to post in honor of a birthday, but you know…I just don’t.

Maybe that, in and of itself, says a lot. This year, my birthday just didn’t really seem like a particularly important event to me — I’m just marking another year gone by. So what?

There’s a small part of me that finds that having a child is part of that — there’s no biological clock ticking. Before pregnancy, whenever I met someone new, consciously or not, there was always a calendar in my head. Let’s see…if this is the one…we’d date for at least this long before getting engaged…be engaged for a bit…get married…be married, no kids for a while. The youngest I’ll be when I have kids is (age). After the dust settled from discovering that I was pregnant (and making the decision to become a mother), I remember this occurring to me — I know how old I’ll be when I become a mother. I’ll be 33. Silly, isn’t that?

I’d love to have another child someday, not because I liked being pregnant (I *hated* it) and not to go through the miracle of birth again (although that was better than pregnancy), but just to actually give Maya that sibling relationship. When I watch others’ kids, the dynamics between siblings just fascinates me, and there’s a connection that I’d love Maya to experience. That said, that desire isn’t important enough to me for me to pick “just anyone” to be my partner and that child’s father — so it may happen, it may not.

Guess now I’m having more thoughts on age.

34. As a child, then a teenager, then a 20-something adult, I never conceived of my being in my 30s. Really, it’s almost as if I never thought I’d get here — like I’d die before reaching this age? I certainly would have never fathomed that I’d be a single mom in my 30s. How horrific! What’s amazing is that I like my life now probably more than I’ve liked my life…ever. That’s not to say that I expect things to stay just as they are; certainly not. Before pregnancy, I’d decided that graduate school made sense to me. That’s still true. Even better, Maya’s entrance into my life has provided a little more focus for the areas I’d like to research. Watching her personality develop…watching her become her own person…completely fascinates me. It’s awesome to watch, especially when I realize the role I hold in helping her find/become herself.

So again, 34. It’s such a non-age. It’s not one that people get all angsty about. I’m no longer in my “early” 30s, and I’m okay with that. Guess that’s about it.

Girl!

I found out on Tuesday that as I’ve just “known” all along, little bit is indeed a baby girl. I can’t wait to meet her.

Since she didn’t cooperate very well with the ultrasound, I don’t have much in the way of pictures — just one very fuzzy face shot and one of the “girl parts.” The “parts” picture isn’t as clear as I’d like, but a clearer shot was on the video, and I’m satisfied that it really IS a girl. Merrie tells me that apparently the folks at Specialists in Women’s Health have NEVER been wrong.

For names, I expect to keep a short list, and to give her the name that best fits after she’s born. Right now, the name that’s sticking with me is Abigail, called “Abbie.” I have reservations about one of the name’s meanings (Father’s Joy…more than a little awkward in this situation?), but the others — Source of Joy, Joy of the Lord are just perfect. Other names sorta-kinda in the running: Isabelle, Gabriela, Haley, Audrey. Abbie’s just the one that for now seems *right*.