By mamacita, on March 5th, 2012
 Trees resonate with humans on a primal level. For reasons both evolutionary and mythic, our lives are interwoven with theirs. The trees may have informed our first alphabets. The energy of a tree feels calming and vibrant, and lends beauty to any vista. As a tree lover myself, I appreciated Rachael on the Natural Parents Network using a tree as a metaphor for parenting. She first talks about how trees are “rooted in the earth, reaching toward the sky, full of the wisdom of the seasons.”
The language she uses evokes the World Tree, which connects and mediates the upper and lower worlds into the middle world in which we live. Human beings also have this power to bring the energy of all the worlds together and express it into this one. This is something I will be teaching my daughter how to do (though I recognize that she’s currently much closer to most spiritual realms than I!) using various tools and practices.
At first, he spent his time nestled in my branches. Then, a fledgling, he began to venture outward, away from me. And even as he learns to fly farther and farther away, I will always be here to take him up, hold him, give him shelter.
I love this image. It appeals to my sense of myself as my daughter’s protector, who will keep her dry in the rain, give her a safe haven to flee to when running from predators, provide beauty, sustenance, and peace. It also reminds me that my job as a parent is to prepare my child for her own life, to allow and even encourage the separation required for evolution. I hope that I do as well for her as the trees have done for humans.
Rachael says that trees are steady, with an emphasis on being steadfast in her commitment to her son. I would add: trees are grounded, as I must be to parent effectively. I need a sense of where I am and what I’m doing. I need somewhere to place my feet sturdily so that I can be attentive to others. I need a deep enough root system that I can nourish myself and then all of those that come to me for nourishment.
It’s not just because I’m an Earth sign that the image of being grounded resonates — though I admit my bias toward the still, the silent, and the rooted. Becoming grounded is another way of looking at becoming aware, or in the moment; grounding means being present right where you are, connected to one’s environment, able to act as the right action arises. (See Starhawk’s work for a popular perspective on grounding as a magical tool.)
Rachael wants flexibility, as do I: I am prone to stubbornness, and the image of the branches swaying in the wind helps me let go. It’s nice to remember that trees “go with the flow” too; I am not limited to water images as a reminder of that lesson.
Trees can also symbolize connection and interdependence, something that I want as a parent. Perhaps our roots will intermingle, or our branches intertwine. Perhaps my daughter will be a far-flung seed that becomes a full-grown tree in another forest. Regardless, bringing the qualities of tree into our lives can’t help but serve us.
By mamacita, on February 23rd, 2012
Mothers are invisible: they are not who you invite to late, drunken parties. People think that mothers don’t want to stay out late, can’t go and party, have relinquished their drive to dance crazy and make out in nightclubs. Often mothers aren’t even invited to some events because the hosts assume they are either a) so consumed by parenthood they’re not interested or b) they can’t get a sitter.
Mothers are too visible: it’s an invitation for feedback. Well-meaning — or perhaps just ego-stroking — passerby want to give advice. They feel compelled to share their stories and opinions about conception, childbirth, the terrible twos, teeth, diaper rash, et cetera. Older parents tend to lecture, and even criticize.
Mothers are invisible: they are not who you think has great sex. People think that mothers don’t want to wear racy lingerie and have juicy intense lovin’ . Often people won’t talk about their sex lives either, not even in girly talk conversations, because the childfree people assume that the mothers would be depressed to hear about what they’re missing.
Mothers are too visible: they are targets for judgement. Every stain on a mother’s shirt or her child becomes a comment on her parenting. Every time a child has feelings that lead to behavior that’s unacceptable, it’s the mother who gets blamed. Moreover, she’s not supposed to lose her temper or get overwhelmed when the child has a meltdown.
Mothers are invisible: they don’t get flirted with. Even moms not rocking the three-day dirty mom-hair get ignored, never to be seen as sexual objects. Carrying a baby can deny even the most attractive and well-dressed mother the pleasure of a mild flirtation with a stranger in the grocery check-out line.
Mothers are too visible: they get flirted with in creepy ways. A mother with an adorable child on her hip gets a lot of attention. Everyone wants to flirt with a baby. Some men find mothers attractive in a way that might feel uncomfortable because it’s based so obviously on reproductive capabilities.
Mothers are invisible: they are believed to be incapable of interesting conversation. While yes, mothers are often fascinated with the subject of parenting, that’s not all they have to discuss. Mothers want to talk about philosophy, books, geekery, and art, just like other people.
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And then, suddenly, the young man at the ice cream shop flirts with me both respectfully and enthusiastically. Maybe it was just a good customer service, but it seems as though he ignores both the age gap between us and the baby in my arms. I feel noticed.
And then, suddenly, I’m at the playground where other parents smile at me while I watch my child play. They mind their own business and don’t come over to have one-upping conversations disguised as parenting stories. The looks they send my way seem friendly. I feel accepted.
And then, suddenly, a friend comes over who seems unsurprised that I want to buy a sporty car to be the family vehicle. She listens to my ideas about parenting and appreciates that my theories are rooted in Buddhism, biology, playfulness, and international studies. She sees me as a serious researcher on the topic. We also discuss Doctor Who, photography, and food. I feel appreciated.
By mamacita, on February 19th, 2012
By mamacita, on February 12th, 2012
By mamacita, on February 6th, 2012
By mamacita, on February 1st, 2012
The sequence of events goes like this: my toddler eats a while, and then a texture inexplicably upsets her. Instead of spitting it out or swallowing it, she opens her mouth, extends her tongue, and cries. She has held her mouth open for up to ten minutes, just crying, with the saliva pooling up inside.
I’ve tried scraping the offending matter out, offering water, forcing water, using a towel on her tongue, ignoring the crying, picking her up, and offering breast milk. The latter sometimes works because she always swallows before trying to nurse.
This is a confusing and frustrating series of events. She won’t help herself and I can’t fix it. “Just swallow it,” I say. Has anyone else experienced this?
By mamacita, on January 22nd, 2012
By mamacita, on January 13th, 2012
Today I opened the new container of Charlie’s Soap. That means I’ve washed approximately 80 loads of diapers. That’s 80 times I’ve wrestled a trash can of diapers into the washer, breathing quickly through the ammonia sting smell of the pail. I suppose I could call it 160 loads of laundry, since I do a full cold wash without soap and then a hot wash with the laundry powder — but the whole process feels like one load even with the double washing.
After emptying the pail I spray it with diluted vinegar. Any pee diapers that occur while the cold wash is going get tossed into the hot wash when I start it. After drying, the baby and I sort diapers in a big pile on the kitchen floor: super thick, thin and portable, or acceptable only when doubled. She likes to lie on her tummy on the stacks to flatten them out.
I sure liked the diaper service, but doing diapers myself has been fine. Sure, pre-rinsing a poo diaper in the toilet is a thankless and often gross task, but I’m a pro at handwashing so I manage. And pre-rinsing makes a huge difference. Our diapers come out clean, mostly unstained, and smelling fresh. She’s still never had a diaper rash. (She’s old enough now that she can take her dirty diaper to the pail, or lead me over to the changing table when she wants a fresh nappy — super cute!). And I have kept the landfill that much emptier. I think it’s worth the hassle.
By mamacita, on October 23rd, 2011
By mamacita, on October 17th, 2011
This is part of a series of posts about a set of guidelines for Attachment Parenting called “the baby b’s,” coined by Dr. Sears.
Dr. Sears summarizes bedding close to baby:
Wherever all family members get the best night’s sleep is the right arrangement for your individual family. Co-sleeping adds a nighttime touch that helps busy daytime parents reconnect with their infant at night. Since nighttime is scary time for little people, sleeping within close touching and nursing distance minimizes nighttime separation anxiety and helps baby learn that sleep is a pleasant state to enter and a fearless state to remain in.
I am a huge advocate of co-sleeping. Having my newborn within arm’s reach made my life much easier. We noticed the difference right away: when co-sleeping, we could get to her quickly at night; everyone could get back to sleep easily; and she slept deeper when close to me. I wholeheartedly recommend co-sleeping to anyone, especially if the adult doing the burden of nighttime parenting doesn’t have to get up and go to work in the morning.
I often get sideways looks from other parents if I mention this, so I don’t usually volunteer the specifics of how we co-sleep. You see, since I’m an Earth Mama, we not only co-sleep but we bed-share. My darling girl slept in a co-sleeper in our bed until she was two months old and she has slept next to me ever since. I do recommend bed-sharing, but since it has more difficulties than using a bedside co-sleeper I think it requires more consideration. Especially since every child is different.
(A note on safety: I would not sleep with her if I were a heavy sleeper, if I were drunk or on sedatives. I keep her above the covers, have the bed set up safely, and never leave her in bed alone. We do not co-sleep anywhere but in a bed. Also, I spent years sleeping with a small dog and never rolled on him once; if I’d ever hurt him, I wouldn’t have taken the chance.)
First, the negatives:
- I’ve had nights like these.
- When she isn’t ready to settle down for the night but is too tired to play, she rolls around in bed. Not restful.
- My arms are used to it by now, but I’ve experience more discomfort due to arm-contortion than I ever wanted. She often pushes me to the edge of the bed. Some nights it’s a vicious cycle: I wrestle her into a better position, which wakes her enough that she wants to nurse, which moves her into an uncomfortable position, which means I move her, which wakes her, repeat until exhausted.
- My daughter is a light sleeper. She has the nighttime difficulty of a high-needs infant
- She nurses all night. I wake every time she latches on.
- When she’s down for the night, one of us has to be with her. (Thank goodness for my iTouch.)
- Even daytime naps require me to be present, at least until she falls asleep.
- Our mattress topper will never be the same.
The positives:
- Though it is annoying when my daughter tosses and turns at night, it’s a reliable indicator of illness. If she wakes me crying out every hour then I know she needs to go to the doctor.
- Her high-needs nature means that our lives are improved by the extra contact at night. If she didn’t get unrestricted access to me at night she would probably insist on every scrap of my attention all day. Instead she shows signs of secure attachment: she plays at a healthy distance, explores fearlessly, engages deeply, and laughs often.
- I can usually soothe her before she wakes my husband. Even if she wakes him I can get her back to sleep fast enough that it disrupts us less than when the dogs bark (they wake us more frequently than the baby).
- She never stays wet at night. She rises into lighter sleep after a pee, rolls around enough to wake me, and I change her. No diaper rash.
- She nurses all night. So if she has a picky-eater day she still gets adequate nutrition. Mama perk: Aunt Flo shows no signs of arriving any time soon.
- She builds a secure attachment to her dad. Even though I’m the one she’s pressed up against, he’s there. She’s aware of his presence. She looks for him when we wake up. On a primal level, his sounds and scents surround her; I think this contributes to their close bond.
- I revel in the sweetness of shared sleep.
Sometimes she’s annoying to share a bed with (as my husband can be, not to mention our dogs), but I cherish our nighttime connection. Over the last year she’s gone from pillowing her head on my breast to lying next to me to rolling fully away into her own space. Our nighttime positioning mirrors our slow, steady separation. I know I’ll miss these nights when they are gone.
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Trees resonate with humans on a primal level. For reasons both evolutionary and mythic, our lives are interwoven with theirs. The trees may have informed our first alphabets. The energy of a tree feels calming and vibrant, and lends beauty to any vista. As a tree lover myself, I appreciated Rachael on the Natural Parents Network using a tree as a metaphor for parenting. She first talks about how trees are “rooted in the earth, reaching toward the sky, full of the wisdom of the seasons.”
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