Is This 40?

What are your Saturday evening plans? Ethan and I tried pretty hard (okay, not that hard but a teeny bit hard-ish) to find a babysitter for tonight so we could go see Les Miserables at the movies since I'm a musical geek and Ethan loves singing villagers, but alas, Urban Sitter failed us. Instead of going out, we're going to attempt to make some chicken and kale dish we found that actually doesn't sound all that tasty but perhaps will surprise us and then we'll love it and have to eat kale all the time. We're also going to watch one of the WGA screeners I got in the mail — I'm voting for This is 40, but there's a good chance we'll decide to go with Lincoln so we can tell people we saw something edifying.

Have a great night!

xo,
Rebecca

PHOTO CAPTION: Some of my favorite images from 2012. (Fine, the cupcake one is my favorite because it makes me drool. The others are just okay).

Studies Show: Binge Sugar Habits Good for Kids

Okay, I have no idea what studies show. But I'd love to see a study that said children at Harvard or Stanford or Japan or wherever ate freakloads of candy and did better on standardized tests.

On a totally unrelated note, I feel a little bit like I gave my baby a bad rap when I recently said he bit me. He just has super sharp teeth and sometimes gives besos (kisses) a little too aggressively. He really is the sweetest little guy with the bestest of intentions. Don't hate on him, okay?

And, finally, something to make you smile as you head into the weekend: the other night, I was so exhausted after returning home from LA (and surviving two 7.5-hour car rides) that I literally leapt into bed... only to completely miscalculate the position of, well, the bed, and fall off the edge onto the cold, hard floor. I'm lucky I didn't hit my head, but I guess I totally deserve the bruise on my leg and the sore shoulder, since I obviously never passed going-to-bed-101, where you learn how not to fall off.

Happy weekends!

xox,
Rebecca

Having It All: Part One of 147

Last night's dinner conversation with friends and family took a turn for the worse-slash-better (depends on who you ask!) when Anne Marie Slaughter's infamous Atlantic article came up — and we debated or attempted to debate every possible facet of the "having it all" dilemma. As you know, it's so complicated I could literally write a thesis about it if I did that kind of thing but I don't because I'm way too lazy.

Pumping at work. Breastfeeding. Splitting childcare 50/50 with your spouse. Maternity and paternity leave. Flexible hours. Spouses as equal earners (or not). Women changing their names when they get married (or not). What it means to be a mother or a father, and whether parents-to-be spend nearly enough time coming up with a parenting "game plan" before they have kids (hint: they don't).* The list of hot topics went on and on, leaving me with far more questions than answers (naturally), and a burning desire to continue to dissect this topic a little — or even a lot — more.

No, there won't be 147 posts on this topic, but there might be ten. And my first question — the one that seemed to be "core" to our entire discussion — is this: What does "having it all" even mean? What does it mean to women in general, and what does it mean to women in specific (i.e., you)? And, perhaps even more important, because I don't know that anyone ever asks this, what does it mean to fathers? Because if they don't think about it when they first have kids, they should.

*This is not a judgement, but rather a "whoa, parenting is incredibly hard I wish I had more of a game plan and maybe it would help other people if they did too" kind of a statement.

xo,
Rebecca

Why We Need to Talk about All of It — And Never Stop

I'm honestly having a hard time concentrating on much today besides what's been on all of our minds (and in our hearts) since the Newtown shooting. I find myself in moments of total despair about the state of our country, about the 2nd Amendment, about mental illness and the mothers and fathers and families struggling with raising a child with severe special needs while barely making ends meet. As one of my favorite mom bloggers asked, "how are we supposed to process things like this?" 

Well, I've been thinking about your question, Aidan, and my answer is this: I don't think we can. I think we have to use this utter desperation we feel to make a change. I actually hope that our complete inability to process what's happened will make us take a stand, and refuse to forget.

I'm literally sitting here in my office (read: Starbucks) in a sweaty mess of tears — and I keep trying to hide them from the ~10-year-old sitting across from me, as though a) I could protect her from knowing about something like this or b) she even knows what I'm crying about. All I can say is this — things that are incredibly ugly have to be talked about. This is one of those things. It may be extremely uncomfortable. It may be down-right awful. It may mean getting political and pointing fingers and debating how our tax dollars should be spent and who should have which "freedoms" and how we can figure out a way for some freedoms not to infringe upon others. Guns, mental illness, our constitution, our basic freedoms, our children's basic freedoms — these are not the makings of pleasant small talk. Too bad. Sometimes life isn't pleasant (as the mothers and fathers of those twenty children know). We have to talk — what's at stake is just too big. I hope this is the beginning of a national conversation that never ends.

xo,
Rebecca

It's So Hard Being A Baby

Everyone's all obsessed with The Honest Toddler because it's freaking amazing. Here is a little "Honest Baby" Leo jotted in his journal for you to enjoy with a glass of pinot while your baby smiles cherubically, then rips up your high school yearbook.

Dear Mama,

It's really freakingass hard being a baby. I know that everybody thinks that all you do when you're under two is eat, sleep, play and act all cute and shite, and that life is very, very easy for someone my age. But let me fill you in on a few not-so-fun aspects of being a so-called "wee" or "little" one.* Here are my top 5:

1) You don't let me grab anything, and it's so cruel and unusual. I LOVE lotion-toilet-paper-pens-the-oatmeal-box-poisonous-substances-hazardous-substances-substances-in-general-your-make-up-your-contact-solution-lotion-your-keys-your-hair-your-earrings-your-fine-china-lotion and I don't understand why you won't let me eat-drink-piss on said object.

2) You never understand anything I say. It is PERFECTLY REASONABLE to EVERYONE I KNOW (read: all the babies in my swim class and Music Together and baby sign language class) that "Abugabutt" means "give me a cracker." You really need to get with the program and possibly even take an adult education communication class so you can learn to UNDERSTAND YOUR BABY.

3) You make me drink out of a bottle when all I really want is a boob. When I was first born, you worked day and night and day and night to get me to latch on correctly and drink in (literally) all the wonderful benefits of breastmilk and all the antibodies and natural botox and now after all that work you suddenly expect me to guzzle cow's milk out of a plastic contraption. Someone explain.

4) You drop me in PRISON (read: my crib) on a daily basis and expect me to play in there? COME ON. I'm not made of stone.

5) I want to eat pizza. You give me pureed spinach crap that smells bad, and even you admitted that when you tried it, it sucked. Where is the justice?

I love you, Mommy. But I am not going to utter those words and make you the happiest mommy on earth until you start letting me eat crayons.

Love,
Your Baby

*Your overuse of "LO" (little one), "D&M" (deep and meaningful), "2G2BT" (too good to be true) and other such chat acronyms does not make you sound like Taylor Swift; it makes you sound old. Sorry.

Parenting: How Old Is Too Old?

Add another war to the list (mommy, nanny, body) — I think we're on the brink of an Age War. This slightly alarmist article, Is Waiting to Have Kids A Big Mistake? just caused a small uproar on my Facebook wall, freaking out several moms (myself included) and hopeful moms-to-be. (Are we having kids too old? Am I having kids too old? Will they suffer because of it? Will I suffer because of it? Will we be broke? Will we all die alone??!) You get the idea. 

The author of the essay talks about how she and her husband are not nearly as financially stable as they'd like to be. About how her parents (her children's grandparents) will be unlikely to see her kids graduate from college or attend their weddings (great-grandchildren seem out of the question). About how she, herself, will probably die when her kids are not *that* old (I know, I know. It gets so depressing you want to punch yourself in the eye. Bear with me). A similar and better-researched essay in The New Republic gets into more nitty-gritty about the genetic implications of older parenting (higher incidences of autism, etc) and the social implications (like underpopulation — who knew?! Apparently all of us "older" parents are ending up having fewer kids than we would have if we started in our early twenties, so the world is shrinking). Then there are the annoying (yet, in my opinion, deal-able) issues like other kids thinking you're your kid's grandma/grandpa because you're sporting a salt-and-pepper 'do, or the fact that your parents have been waiting decades to spoil a grandkid and by the time they get one, some of their other friends have grandkids in high school (sorry, Mom).

But here's the thing: the world is going to adjust. Right? Doesn't it always? Sure, these genetic and health issues are something we should absolutely consider, and monitor, as a society, as we think about reproductive trends going forward. (Are doctors sufficiently warning us of the risks of older parenting — ie., older sperm and eggs — and fertility treatments? We focus so much on "getting pregnant" — what about after? And if they aren't adequately discussing the risks with us, is it because they don't know the risks?) The truth is, much of this is so new, Shulevitz, the author of the New Republic article, hits the nail on the head when she says that we just don't know what we're getting into. And the consequences could end up being more dramatic than we think... or not.

But what does this mean for you, or for me, personally? There are always going to be extremes (like 50-year-old moms and dads of newborns) that give us pause. For the average individual, though — is it really worth beating ourselves up about our choices? For many of us, it's hammered into our heads since middle school (or earlier!) that education trumps everything. Graduate high school. Go to college. Maybe even get a graduate degree. Spend your twenties building a career, and then find a partner to settle down with. (Don't do it too late, mind you — try to find said partner by the time you're at least in your late twenties/early thirties so that you can squeeze into that non- "advanced maternal age" bucket right at 34 and half years. Congrats, you might even just avoid an amnio!) And it's not just something our elders "recommend" — we're smart enough to understand that it can be nearly impossible to get ahead in a career at age 26 if you've got an infant at home.* Most of us would at least like to try to get to a place of some stability in our careers before we upend the whole thing by having a kid. And let's face it — that IS what happens. You don't have to read Anne Marie Slaughter's infamous Atlantic article to know that as a woman, in our current culture, it is hella hard to keep your foot on the accelerator (thanks, Sheryl Sandberg for the analogy) while taking care of some wee ones. And it's the same for dads who assume primary caregiving roles. Unless you're independently wealthy, uber successful by the time you're 30 (read: Mark Zuckerberg) or you've carved out the perfect jobs that will let you take a breather to change a diaper, it's a complex, tricky little equation. Of course people are waiting to have kids until they feel a little more secure. And, frankly, their workplaces expect it. Why? Because look around. Celebrities, politicians, other public figures: they are the bastions of advanced parental age. At age 35, you've probably gained the respect to say: Not going on the work ski trip. Kid at home. At age 25? Please. You'd be told to suck it up. 

In Jessica Valenti's Why Have Kids?, she talks a lot about how we had kids 100 years ago to get another set of hands on the farm or to work in the family store. Back then, you probably didn't wait until you were 30 to find "the one" — you married the first guy who asked. But that's not the world we live in anymore. We try to optimize for everything (have you noticed that?) and expect we might be able to "have it all" if things are timed just right. That may be part of the problem – earlier generations didn't even think they could have it all, so they didn't try. Personally, I'm still after "having it all," so I think we should keep striving for it. But if we're going to fundamentally change this trend toward older parenting (or figure out the best ways to accommodate it), we're going to have to make some social changes. As Shulevitz says: 

"It won’t be easy to make the world more baby-friendly, but if we were to try, we’d have to restructure the professions so that the most intensely competitive stage of a career doesn’t occur right at the moment when couples should be lavishing attention on infants. We’d have to stop thinking of work-life balance as a women’s problem, and reframe it as a basic human right." 

I couldn't agree more. 

*Not to say that it can't be done! It most certainly can. It's just hard. That is all.

Why Have Kids: Really... Why?

I noticed that a lot of people seemed interested in yesterday's post, and I'm guessing the title had a little something to do with that. Why Have Kids? That just might be the question of the century. Those of us with kids who find ourselves deliriously in love with these little beings also find ourselves deliriously exhausted — and even after only 14 months, I am starting to understand why there have been so many articles debating whether or not people who have kids are happier than people who don't (FYI: the jury is still waaaay out on that one).* But I don't think the question should really be "are we happier; are they happier?" — after all, it's not a competition. And why should we assume that any one camp is happier than any other?  A lot of us either know we want kids or know that we don't. So if I know that I want kids and Person B knows he/she doesn't, why on earth would I try to compare who is happier? We are probably both happy in our own, different paths (just like I am happy I'm a writer and Person Smurf is happy he/she is a venture capitalist. Different, but both happy — hopefully).

For me, it's more a question of "in what ways am I happier now, or less happy?" I'm happier because I love my baby endlessly and love how much Ethan adores him. I'm happier because I see the world now through the eyes of my child, who thinks socks are hilarious. I'm happier because Leo is so darn cute (as is your kid) and buying little shoes is fun. I'm less happy because I don't ever get to sleep in anymore unless the moon is in the second house. I'm less happy because traveling with a baby or toddler is a pain in the ass. I'm less happy because I have less free time to surf the web which is admittedly a blessing in disguise. I'm happier because I imagine stuff like Leo's first day of kindergarten and it makes me all fuzzy inside.

Or, as Bonnie Rochman says in her article, "In Defense of Motherhood: Why We Keep Having Kids When They're So Clearly Bad For Us":

Why do we do it? Maybe because despite all the rigors and annoyances, the love between parent and child is unprecedented in its passion. It’s blinding and fierce and feels completely different than romance. I don’t know if scientists have looked into whether parents smile and laugh more than non-parents, but I’ll bet they do. Kids are funny. They are you before you became hardened and wizened, before you experienced sorrow, before you went all cynical on the world.

I think a lot of people are looking for some magic answer to the question "Why Have Kids?", and the truth is, there isn't one. Yes, kids zap all of your energy. Yes, kids can make you feel like you've lost yourself and that you'll never finish that novel or win that Nobel Peace Prize or get your hair dyed or hit the gym. I think most people choose to have kids because they offer some kind of longterm hope, some kind of joy, a promise of unconditional love and a close-knit family and people who will call to make sure you're okay and also people who have to go to the movies with you because you said so. Maybe this is all fabricated, a fake thing in our brains that was put there to make sure the human race continued to procreate — who knows. But it's there. And those little moments of pure joy tend to erase (most) of the harrowing ones from our minds. Kind of like the way you forget how bad labor was (though frankly, I don't buy that one because I still remember that it hurt like a b***).

I am no expert on this subject, certainly. I do know that parents have more gray hairs and probably more wrinkles, but, much like my busted abs, we can look at all of these war wounds fondly (well, sort of fondly) because we know the battle we fought — raising healthy, intelligent, kind individuals who didn't end up in jail or with a face tattoo — was a marathon of a journey, and we made it. On the other side? Grown-up kids who call you and like you and (maybe) produce a couple of adorable grandkids for you to coo over.

*We love these studies, don't we? Every time someone new from Stanford busts out with one, we click on the purposefully provocative title with glee. Will this new article contain the key to my happiness or my cousin's or my own work-life balance? Um, probably not. But I, too, fall for it every time.

What do you think? WHY did you have (or not have) kids?!

HAPPY WEEKEND! And thanks for all the amazing responses with blog post ideas and encouragement and motivation and muffins and rainbows.

xox

Why Have Kids?

Leo and I took a quick jog around Bernal Hill yesterday, sloshing through a few puddles along the way, and while I slogged, I thought about this book that I just started reading, and how even after only 10 pages, it had me bursting with ideas for blog posts about *important* stuff that I would really like to talk about here on Mommyproof — everything from breastfeeding to pumping to the notion of "50/50" and elimination communication (look that one up if you haven't heard about it. It will blow your mind. And not necessarily in a good way).

The aforementioned book is "Why Have Kids? A New Mom Explores The Truth About Parenting and Happiness," and its author, Jessica Valenti, is pretty sassy and also kinda balls-out gutsy (or should I say boobs out? Would probably be more fitting). I won't review the book until I've read more than one chapter (that tends to be what you do before you claim to know anything about what a book is about) but I think she's hit the nail on the head already when she talks about guilt, and how that plays such a huge (and unfortunate) role in American motherhood. This is nothing new — we all know that a lot of us are guilty of being guilty (I know I am), but I'm hoping she'll offer up some good solutions, and strategies for not letting yourself become so wrapped up in being "mom enough" that you lose yourself, your identity, and even your connection to your baby and your spouse in the process.

A small example from my own experience, but still a noteworthy one: natural childbirth. I didn't make it as high a priority as I could have (which probably means it wasn't as important to me as it might be for other women), but I did *try*, and after 12 hours of painful contractions sans meds, I welcomed that giant needle fearlessly despite a long track record of fainting at the mere sight of a flu shot. Afterwards? I told people that it was a good thing epidurals existed, because it was another 12 hours before the baby came, and there was no way in hell I would have made it that long without help. Did I love having the epidural? No. It's really weird when your legs are all numb, and nobody warns you about that. Also, all those meds can make you feel like you were on a mediocre acid trip later on. But once my baby was born and one sleepless night turned into another, and another, whether or not I "got" the epidural was LITERALLY the last thing on my mind. Sure, I would have loved to have done it naturally. Sure, I still look on with awe at the women who have. Sure, I feel a tad bit disappointed in myself, but the fact of the matter is, I am a wuss. I don't run marathons or get tattoos or even fast on certain holidays because I just can't willingly cause myself pain. Clearly, I should add contractions to that list.

My point with this drawn-out story that you probably don't care about? I could EASILY feel guilty that I failed. I could EASILY beat myself up about this or think of all the ways Leo might be more zen or athletic or good at algebra if I hadn't had that epidural. But why? Because other mothers didn't get them, and I did? Maybe other mothers can't sing to their babies like I can. I didn't make a lot of homemade purees for Leo — maybe you did. Good for me, good for you. Let's all just be proud of each other, shall we?!

More on "Why Have Kids" later on. In the meantime, remind yourself that if you were good at everything, none of your friends would like you anymore.

xox,
Rebecca

How Many Do You Want?

This is a completely personal question that I don't expect you to answer out loud (unless you want to, in which case I'm all ears): how many kids do you want? Zero? Two? Seven? I want seven... not. Um, yeah, Maria von Trapp is the bomb, but those kids were already potty-trained by the time she got them!

First off, this goes without saying, but life doesn't always work out the way we all want it to. We're lucky to have healthy, happy kids (if we want them) and lucky to have the choice to not have them if we don't. But taking all of those "real life" factors like fertility and timing out of the equation (not to mention overpopulation and expense of raising kids in 2012), and speaking completely hypothetically – do you envision yourself a calm family of three? A raucous, lively family of five? I've *heard* that four is the new three. And it does seem like three is the new two. BUT DON'T PEOPLE REALIZE THAT THREE KIDS WILL TAKE UP THE ENTIRE BACK SEAT? And, as a lovely friend and supermom of three recently pointed out to me... A FAMILY OF FIVE CAN'T RIDE TOGETHER IN A NYC TAXI (unless it's of the van variety). I don't even know what you'd do on an airplane and I kind of never want to find out. Another wise friend informed me that if you think subsequent kids are going to entertain the first ones (or vice versa), you might want to consider that that's a big lie.

After yesterday's post about the eternal struggle to juggle, a few readers commented that managing one child is a piece of cake compared to two or more. Apparently, the "free time" I have now is way more than I'll ever get if/when I have a second munchkin. I guess I'd better go appreciate it.

xo,
Rebecca

PHOTO CAPTION: Leo inspecting the underside of the wagon at the zoo.