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.

Early

Are you an early person? I am most decidedly not — but I'm starting to recognize that for the next decade or so (until my kid(s) are old enough to get up and make themselves breakfast on Saturday morning*), I'll have to be one, like it or not. 

I've actually started appreciating that early morning time (rather than just dreading it), because it feels so kick-ass to have already accomplished a million (yes, a million; I am not exaggerating in the slightest) things by 9am, when my old** self would have just been getting up.

The best early mornings are still the ones when we all get up, together as a fam, and do something fun like make pancakes or throw Leo pieces of trash that he can deliver to the recycle bin and then bring back to us proudly in an endless loop. But it's a work-in-progress, that's for sure. When I see families all dressed and raring to go at the coffee shop at 7:30am, and I'm awake but I look like I crawled out of a sewer, I'm always impressed. Will we get there? That remains to be seen.

Are you an early person? Or does getting up before 8am make you cringe and cling to your pillow like a life raft?

*Friends with kids older than ours have informed us that the greatest day of your lives is not your children's graduation or the birth of a grandchild — it's the one when your oldest kid learns how to make breakfast for the younger one(s).

**springier, sprightlier, less groggy and able to work a toaster

PHOTO CAPTION: Swim!

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

Blogging is Hard

Blogging is hard. Not the actual blogging, or even the writing — that part is highly enjoyable (otherwise, why do it, right?). I don't even mind the over-sharing, or the fact that I never know if someone's read a certain post or not, so when I see that person in person, I feel like I may be repeating myself, but then again, I never want to assume they're like, spending all of their free time reading Mommyproof, which they're clearly not unless they're my mom (kidding, Mom! Kidding).

What's hard about blogging is that you're the girl (or guy) waiting by the phone... all the time. You put yourself out there, and put yourself out there, and you often get absolutely nothing back. Obviously, that's just part of the deal, and every time I do hear from someone that they're reading, it literally makes my week. So sometimes, the proverbial phone does ring, and that's an awesome feeling. But there are also days when you can really doubt yourself (like yesterday, when I wrote a whole post about why I thought it was annoying that my doctor(s) told me to get a tummy tuck instead of trying to help me work with my post-pregnancy abs. I spent half the afternoon feeling like the sucker who doesn't realize that maybe tummy tucks really ARE the only way to get some semblance of your abs back, and like, every one of you is secretly planning to get one but nobody really talks about it because of all the reasons people usually don't talk about that stuff. And maybe I had also offended a gazillion people when I really just wanted to say that I think it's important to try to tone up, if you can (and want to), rather than leaping to such extremes as plastic surgery, and I was disappointed because the advice of my doctors might have caused me to feel really fatalistic about the whole thing and totally throw the towel in when, in fact, a regimen like Pilates could be very good for me and make me feel (if marginally) better about myself. So maybe they could have just said, "Why don't you try X, Y, Z, and in ten years if you still feel the same way, and you're done having kids, you can always think about a tummy tuck." Semantics? Perhaps).

Needless to say, this conversation with my own head left me feeling a little down, and I had to remind myself of why I started this blog in the first place: to write a blog about parenting that I would want to read. To write about real stuff, and maybe make a couple of people laugh. To talk about the topics that sometimes don't get talked about, but should.

Sometimes, a little controversy is good. Sometimes, you have to push buttons and envelopes and limits if you want to say things. To tummy tuck or not tummy tuck: maybe it isn't the most pressing issue out there, but it's real. And it's a choice a mom might face. And that makes it worth writing about.

That's all. Thanks for reading. 

xox,

Rebecca

Why Tummy Tucks are Unfeminist

This is a going to be a very honest post. With an intentionally provocative title. It will be almost as honest as this post that I wrote back in July about how post-pregnancy stomachs are not flat and it's completely absurd that anyone would expect them to be, but whatever, life-is-brutally-unfair-so-get-over-it.

I had a panic attack about two weeks ago when I realized that my attempts to blast that abdominal pooch were not working (at least, not very well). Here's the thing that I feel the need to outline that I didn't in my previous posts about this topic – and no, Janice Min didn't outline this "thing," either — post-pregnancy bellies look really weird. Like, it's not the same as just having a spare tire or muffin top or sofa boob (yes, I made that last one up), because post-preg bellies are uniquely and alien-ly squishy and wrinkly and odd-shaped and just flat-out bizarre. (Some have called them "more wrinkly than an old lady's neck" or "like an English bulldog's folds, only not cute." For those whom this is completely scaring, don't worry — the wrinkly skin mostly shows up when you lean over. Just never do that and you'll be fine).

But back to my story: it can get real easy real quick to start thinking that you are forever going to be stuck with this alien midsection that no amount of diet or exercise will ever fix (you know that thing they say about how you can't really target one part of your body, you have to shape up all over? Well.... what happens once you have shaped up all over, and you've still got a sizable pooch? Jillian Michaels, feel free to weigh in here. Pun intended). After a year passes and you hear all those celebs talking about how-the-breastfeeding-helped-them-lose-the-baby-weight and then you see Pink on the AMA's looking like a phenom and you realize you have really been committed to cutting back on cheese and dessert (insert your own personal vices here; those are mine) and yet you still aren't ready for this jelly, you can get kinda depressed about it.*

I have asked two doctors in the past year for tips on getting my abs back into some semblance of shape. Both answered, "When you're done having kids, you can have a tummy tuck." Um... so I was actually thinking that you'd suggest something slightly less invasive and extreme, like a workout DVD or maybe an abdominal rehabilitation session like they have in France, but sure! I'll go under the knife. No biggie.

Seriously?! No wonder I walked away thinking my case was hopeless. I mean they literally had no advice except this? AND they're both women? I wasn't shocked, but I was sad. Being a woman and being a mom is hard work, yo. And maybe busted abs are the price we pay for having beautiful and amazing children. But is there really no natural way to work with what we've got?, I wondered. Surely there are tools out there, exercise programs targeted for post-preg pouches? I doubt Pink had plastic surgery after having her first child, and her abs look positively rock-hard. Maybe she's got killer genetics, who knows. But she probably also knows something or does something that I don't.

Which is what led me to sign up for a private Pilates session a week ago. I made it a little gift to myself and felt really good about dedicating some time and money to talk to a professional who might be able to offer some advice besides the knife. Turns out, between my weak abs and my scoliosis, I could really benefit from some good old-fashioned core work, which I knew already but believed much more when a professional told me (and charged me a lot to listen).

She also explained a lot of stuff about what exactly went on down there during my pregnancy, and you know what? It was freaking enlightening. The muscles that are underneath my "six pack" muscles (not that I ever had a six pack, that's just what they call them) have been egregiously ignored the past two years. And apparently, the skin and fat and whatever else is closest to the surface of my tummy has actually been numb for a good amount of time. That's crazy, people! That means my brain and body aren't even communicating like they used to. No wonder things are all f-ed up! I left that first session just feeling happy that someone finally took the time to talk to me about my body, explain some of the anatomy to me and boost my spirits by a) saying it was all normal and b) not looking like I was crazy when I said I hoped we could "shape things up." She's going to help me come up with a game plan and recommends Pilates reformer classes and some at-home exercises that I can do on my own (because, let's face it, Pink may be able to afford a live-in trainer, but the rest of us can't).

Who knows if any of this will change how I feel about my abs... and, here's a thought: maybe what needs to change is my attitude, my perspective, my world (okay, body) view. I know my stomach will never be the same, and a part of me is glad — should be glad — because it's my war wound and reminder of Leo, who is definitely the best thing to ever come out of there. We've had children; why should we pretend otherwise? Would you get plastic surgery to eliminate a lightning bolt scar on your forehead? I think not! I don't want to remove all traces of what I've accomplished and who I am. I just want to minimize the squish. That is all.

As for the Pilates? I don't know how much I love my abs right now, even if intellectually I know I should, but I will say this: I feel better about myself already. I feel more empowered. I feel less anxious about it. I wore a bikini on our little mini-vacation and realized that I didn't give a sh*** what other people thought about my midsection; I just wanted to feel happy in my own skin.

But you know what else I feel? Kind of pissed that our options as women for feeling good in our skin seem to only come in the form of surgery, at least as far as a lot of doctors and experts are concerned. Abdominal rehab is actually a thing in Europe — which means it must work. Why don't we have that here? Why are we steered towards the operating table? And why aren't our tummies celebrated as slightly worn (but kickass) body parts that just need a little fine tuning post-baby? No judgements against tummy tucks or those who choose to have them, but if they become a general rule, well, that's kind of a crappy, and maybe-even-a-little-bit-unfeminist rule, if you ask me. I could go on a long diatribe about our culture and the media and women's bodies and aging and our on-going quest to turn back the clock, and how it's totally unfair because men age gracefully and women start hiding behind big floppy hats, but instead, I'll just say that we could, as a society, use a little more abdominal rehab, of the non-invasive variety. There are muscles under there, people. Let's learn how to use them.

*This is all said with the complete understanding and acknowledgement that actually getting depressed about your abs is completely shameful when there are wars going on.

PHOTO CAPTION: I'm not brave enough to post a photo of my actual tummy, so it's hidden under that sweater. Don't you love sweaters?

A Weekend Away

Ethan and I took our first trip away from Leo this past weekend. It was actually my first night away from him since he was born 14 months ago. Less on purpose than just circumstance, but either way, it felt like time to rip off the bandaid. Guess what? We survived. And we actually relaxed. And I worried waaaay less about my baby than I thought I would (thanks to our babysitter who stayed with him, and who loves him, and who took him to so many fun activities that he probably wishes he could move in with her).

It was far harder to actually make the plan to go than to take the trip itself — though I'll admit, the night before we left, I woke up at 4:30am and COULD NOT GO BACK TO SLEEP. For those who know me well, or even a little, that is such an anomaly that it's almost unbelievable. I can sleep anywhere. Any time. Any place. Of course, I had woken up in the middle of the night worrying (what else?) about the smoke detectors in our temporary apartment. It suddenly occurred to me that I had never personally changed the batteries in them, and that I had no idea when said batteries had last been changed. The morning we were supposed to leave, I was already meticulously plotting how I would go to Walgreens and pick up the weird-sized batteries, get out the ladder, install them... until Ethan wisely (and characteristically) reminded me that if the batteries really were low, the smoke detectors would start beeping or flashing. I accepted that and dropped the issue. Still, this might be a new project for me this week. Let's face it, I'm nothing if not safety-conscious.

Smoke detectors aside, we were able to have a relaxing time, eat breakfast-lunch-dinner without a formidable one-year-old grabbing for our coffee, and I even slept in until 9:30am for the first time in about twelve hundred days. I missed my baby, though. I missed getting a "beso" from him, something he just learned a few days ago. When we got back last night, he had (sort of) learned to run, which basically means that our lives as we know them are officially over.

Overall? The trip was absolutely worth it. It was a small thing, really, in the scheme of life — but for a few days, we got to feel like our old selves again.*

*Minus the fit abs, the tolerance for wasted time, and the ability to stay up past 11.