Yearly Archives: 2009

December 13th: our 12th anniversary

(No, it’s not a wedding anniversary, but it’s no less “real” therefore: it’s the one we celebrate, the one we’ve been celebrating for 144 months, the date from which we mark Us as Together, the date we get Happy Anniversary cards from family — thank you, by the way.)

So, I was going to write this really amazing, revealing, painfully honest post to be published today (um, yesterday, but I haven’t slept yet, so it’s still “today”). I’d been planning it for, oh, eight months.

And, my partner and I had been going to take the Boychick out to the coast today, showing him the ocean for the first time. We’d been planning it for a couple months.

Plans change.

Instead, thanks to this lovely below-freezing weather, we went to the Portland Saturday Market, did 90% of our holiday shopping, and had a beautiful day, even if the kid did never nap and we never had more than 30 seconds alone together. And you get this quickie post as I head off to bed, because I chose to spend time with my lifemate today rather than write about what he means to me.

Beloved, thank you for these years together. Thank you for falling in love with me. Thank you for staying in love with me, when you so easily could have chosen otherwise. Thank you for being you, so that even if we have a dozen dozen more anniversaries, I shall not think it enough.

I love you. Happy anniversary.

The solutions are… here

In replying to some comments on my last post, There are no solutions in the status quo, I was thinking that while heady and intellectual is good sometimes, so too are concrete examples. So here is what I would want changed to be supported by society, and what things did go/are going well:

  • When the Boychick was born, I wanted more time with The Man at home. It was my most fervent wish, often bawled into the sweet-smelling head of my sleeping child. He had three paid weeks — scrimped and scraped together by working whenever possible, skipping sick days, never taking vacation, since even before conception — which in the USA is so much more than most non-birthing (and too many birthing) parents get, but was nevertheless so, so inadequate. He went back to work when I was still bleeding. I wanted him to have the first six months off, paid. Three, minimum. (I honestly think we’d have gotten bored if he’d had the first two years off, but I’d've happily had him take one, and work part time for another, if we could have afforded it.)
  • We had a meal train for the first three weeks also, with a new hot or oven-ready meal brought every couple days, with plenty of leftovers in between. (I am blessed to be part of a loose group of women who Feed Each Other, especially after a birth. It’s a beautiful thing.) About 18 hours after his birth, a friend brought us the groceries we hadn’t had a chance to buy, drinks from Starbucks, lunch from our favorite burrito place, and flowers. I will never forget that. I would wish that for every new family.
  • After The Man went back to work, I was isolated. We lived where there was pretty limited public transit, and no public transport between where we lived and where The Man worked (and the Boychick hated the car anyway, so it didn’t matter that we never had access to one). I had no neighbourhood friends. What could have helped: living closer to where The Man worked (there was nowhere we could afford to rent closer in that would take our pets), having friends come over, having community centers (and friends) within walking distance, having better public transit — and knowing that that public transit was safe for me, that I wouldn’t be hassled for wearing him, or for him fussing, or if I needed to potty him (in our sealable bowl) or change him, or for nursing him, or simply for daring to exist as a fat woman with a baby in public.
  • I struggled with what was probably postpartum depression — unrecognized, because it was not as bad as the instability I had gotten out of shortly before conceiving. What helps my mood is mostly not covered by medical insurance, which I didn’t have anyway. We weren’t able to pay for thyroid checks for me nearly as often as recommended in pregnancy and postpartum, when thyroid needs fluctuate so much (insufficient thyroid can contribute to depression as well). I needed health insurance (we weren’t married so I couldn’t get it through The Man’s job, but he had a job, so the state wouldn’t cover me), I needed the midwife to be paid for so we weren’t scrapping together funds to pay her already-reduced fee, I needed my fish oil to be subsidized or covered by insurance (or to have more money to pay for it), so I didn’t feel compelled to cut my dose, and teeter even closer to the line. That almost did me in.
  • I was blessed to have a community, and a volunteer job, online during pregnancy and the Boychick’s first couple years (from which I have since retired, to focus on the blog and massage school — I still miss it, but it was time). That gave me intellectual outlet, social contact, and the knowledge that even when I was stuck at home, spit up everywhere (in my hair! I’ll never forget that either, try though I do), I was making a difference, and people relied on me. That saved me.
  • When the Boychick was a year and a half old, I was also lucky to be able to start school in the evenings. I was privileged to be able to procure a loan to pay for it (though at a rate that will mean my $10,000 education will eventually cost us $20,000), one which we didn’t have to start paying back right away. (A  loan which is no longer offered, by the way. Under the current financing options, I wouldn’t have been able to start school at all, or at least not right then, and I had gotten to where I needed something more to do, more even than the online gig.)
  • Now, I want childcare swaps, and daycare options that I can trust to not indoctrinate my child in sexism and racism and classism and other aspects of kyriarchy. I want outdoor, mixed age open ed that is affordable enough it isn’t entirely populated by privileged white crunchy Portlanders. I want my friends to live closer, and I want to be friends with my neighbours. I want there to be enough people who believe in attached, gentle parenting (even if we’re not always so hot at it, even if they make superficially different choices) that I can find friends closer.
  • And I still want to know that if I venture out in public with my perfectly normal (aka rambunctious, sometimes loud, sometimes tantrumy, usually gregarious) almost-three year old, I will be welcome, not shunned, supported, not glared at.

These are the things I mean when I say we need to change society. Maternity leave (I didn’t and likely won’t ever have a full time employed-type job) and funding for institutional daycare aren’t even on my list. “SAHM” or “WOHM” don’t even figure — I am neither. Some of these things would cost money — like paternity leave, like affordable alternative schooling options, like more community centers — and some of them would cost nothing, or a little time, or just a smile from a stranger. Some of them negate the need for some of the others. Some of them I could make happen in my own life, if I were lucky enough, and able to put in the effort. Some of them I have been able to access, due to the various aspects of privilege I exist with. Some of them would require radical shifts in social memes, some radical shifts in federal or local government policy. But they’re all possible. They should all be available to everyone. And they’re just a small fraction of the changes needed, from someone who already stands toward the top of the privilege pyramid.

I know not everyone finds these sorts of mental exercises helpful, or even bearable, and if you’re one, I don’t ask you to do anything you don’t want.

But for those of us who care to, I want you to take moment to think big (and little, and radical, and mundane): what would have helped you in the first months and first years of parenting? What would you have liked to have had? What was right about your situation, and what would have to change for everyone to have what you did? If parenting, or the addition of another child, is potentially in your future, what would your ideal situation be? How would you like society to support you? And, perhaps, what can you do to help the family next door, or down the street?

Think big. Think little. Think sideways. Think outside of the box; stand on it and rant, or kick the box apart and make peace signs out of the scraps, or burn it for firewood. Do you want one of the traditional options? Great! Share that. Do you love exactly what you have? Fabulous! Share that, and spend a moment thinking about whether others who want it could have it too, and if not what barriers are in their way. Are you too busy trying to take care of food and shelter to think of cushy perks like time at home and babies in work? Please, share what would make your life easier and safer (but feel welcome to idealize, too).

What could help you? Name one thing: name as many as you can think of.

Before we can make the revolution, we need to know what we’re working for. So share your dreams. Learn from others’. Change the conversation. Change the world.

There are no solutions in the status quo

A friend of mine, Lyla Wolfenstein, posted a link to this article on her Facebook page tonight: Mother and Child Communion: A Collective Challenge for Our Future

While I’m a fan of biologically appropriate parenting, and have been known to say that I believe in attachment theory the same way I believe in the theory of gravity, I was, shall we say, a bit inspired by much of the piece. (We could, a bit more precisely, say “pissed the **** off at”. But “inspired” sounds so much more refined, don’t you think?)

Some highlights:

The past fifty years of social and human-rights evolution has flung open doors and choices to women; and yet, the past fifteen years of advances in brain and developmental science have given us information that should—if we’re paying attention—make those choices harder: Relationship with a consistent, stable, attuned, loving adult, within a predictable, stable environment, is what builds a healthy brain and develops a successful human, period. [emphasis in original]

Those who are equipped to really enjoy being with their children, who find full-time mothering an enriching experience, are still a cultural anomaly! It is no wonder then, in a society where social programs are driven by consumer demand of the economic majority, that we don’t have family leave, career flexibility, and other policies that would support mothers and children being together for the critical first three years. We wish we wanted them, but do we really?

Apart from the extrapolation from “in those early weeks and months, it is mother whom the child knows from their nine months of prenatal communion, it is mother whose very body, voice, smell, heartbeat and essence is perceived as an extension of his very being” to “mothers and children being together for the critical first three years“, I had a few, ah, issues with the article. This is what I wrote in response:

The article presents a false dichotomy: women at home, or mother-infant separation. It’s only in our current (kyriarchal) culture that those are the only two choices. As unnatural and harmful that separation of the maternal-infant dyad is, so is the isolation of that dyad from a greater society. Women in this culture, and in many others, are thus faced with the choice of damaging their infant, or damaging themselves, and through them, their infant (because it is a dyad, and harm to one is harm to both) — when they even have the privilege of having that choice at all.

Some of us do OK parenting in isolation (some of us thrive on it, and some of us can stay at home without isolation, and some very very few of us have the option to work in society with others and take care of our babies in those early months) — just like some babies do OK with separation (some babies thrive in a child-care setting, and some very few babies get carried along with their mother while she engages in other work as well). But it’s not the norm. It’s not the biological default. And it’s really not OK to present “maternal-infant separation and infant damage” and “maternal-infant (isolation)” as the only two options, and say one is inherently superior, when what we need to do is fix society, so everyone has options that can work for all parties — and the freedom to actually pick that which works for that particular family, at that particular time, because not only each woman but each dyad is different.

The article gives a nominal nod to the idea of societal changes, but mentions mostly those which continue to leave the dyad isolated: family leave (at least not maternity-only leave!), and “career flexibility” — only those that allow for “full-time mothering”. How about options to bring the baby in to work? Connecting primary caregivers together (work shared is work lessened)? Bringing the dyad into community, and not just by offering “Mummy and Me” music hours, but with support, and responsibilities, and real relationships? And yes, non-institutional child care options, and all-parent leave, and support for grandparents and other allomothers to build those stable, loving bonds through daily care?

Until we address the societal institutions and policies and oppressions and beliefs that force us into false dichotomies, into harming one OR another (if we are lucky enough to have any choice at all), and as long as it is seen as a “woman’s choice”, not society’s responsibility, I maintain that calls for “mother-child communion” will be functionally, if not intentionally, misogynistic, and little more than another volley in the “mommy wars” this piece purports to reject.

Lyla further replied with this, which I think is an eloquent call for talking about both “brain and developmental science” and the constricting, restrictive realities currently faced by the vast majority of women:

i think it’s so important to really understand our babies’ and children’s biological imperatives, the biological norms they are programmed to expect, and the impacts of ignoring those, or circumventing them. and i appreciated that this article called out those truths, violating the “cultural code of silence” – but i also totally agree that the “solutions” presented, and the false dichotomy, are not helpful in truly transforming the experience of mothers and children in our culture.

it would have been beautiful to build on those biological truths to reach for deep, meaningful, and far reaching solutions, rather than rely on the same dichotomy by which the “cultural code of silence” is inspired in the first place.

Can we do that? Can we have a conversation in which biological sciences are not used to browbeat women into submission to patriarchal, heterocentric norms? in which women’s struggle for autonomy is not at the cost of belittling or dismissing the needs of another marginalized group? in which we acknowledge the vast variety of configurations families come in? in which we acknowledge that there is not one universal solution, because we are all different? in which we do not place societal influence and personal autonomy in opposition to each other, because both are equally real? in which we do not allow any dichotomies, because they are all inherently false? in which we have a sincere, nuanced, respectful exchange of ideas instead of a mud-slinging and name-flinging shouting match?

And then, perhaps, could we go out and actually do something to help women and parents (of any gender) and children?

Because that would be nice.

“I am a feedback… investment banker?” On language, kyriarchy, and problematic metaphors

I was replying to a question from the inimitable Kelly Diels on “Why do you blog?“, and wrote the following (feel free to read the whole thing — it amuses me — but the part relevant to the rest of this post is at the end, highlighted in bold):

I started blogging because I kept thinking “I want to see feminist writing about parenting a boy-child”, and made the mistake of saying that one day to my novelist friend who triple dog dared me to be the one to do it. So I registered a domain at blogspot.

Six months later, having published not-a-single-word, same writer friend started her own blog, and I thought damnit, if she can, I damn well can too. And I did.

After I started writing my own, I discovered other blogs, and realized mine was hardly a new idea. But by then I had a dozen readers, two dozen posts, and an addiction as bad as nicotine, and slightly less socially acceptable.

Now I blog because I’m a blogger: because I’ve always been a writer, and finally found a style that works for me. I blog for the same reason I did peer tutoring: I learn from teaching, and there’s so much I want to learn, and people keep telling me I’m good at passing it on. And I blog because I want a revolution, I’m adverse to guns, and toddlers aren’t great at protest marches (unless they’re protesting the lack of third bowls of ice cream or fourth green bananas).

And I blog because I am a feedback whore, and live for the new/pending comment emails. They are my crack, as I run this maze, and their erratic, unpredictable nature only serves to solidify my rat-brain’s addiction to trying, trying, trying again.

Plus, I get to meet unbefuckingleavably cool people like you. That’s a definite plus.

Setting aside the mixing of metaphors, I was uncomfortable after I wrote that. Something niggled at me; my crap-I-just-said-something-kyriarchal alarm bells were clanging like anything.

So I asked for opinions and feedback on Twitter (Twitter: 97% inanity, 3% damn good stuff), and a few wonderful people responded right away. Jenny (who guest posted here last week) replied:

I’ve never liked the jokey use of whore. Would need more characters to explain, but it rubs me wrong way. I don’t think prostitutes equal bad, not at all. But whore is a violent, woman-hating word in my book.

Which got me thinking about epithets, and whether or not, and when, to reclaim them, at which point it occurred to me “whore” is not my word to reclaim. I am not a sex worker; while “whore” is hurled as an insult at any woman who steps outside the (contradictory, confusing, and needless to say kyriarchal) lines drawn around “appropriate sexual behavior”, its power to wound is based entirely on it belonging to an even more marginalized group. As a woman, as a person with bipolar and anxiety, as a bisexual person, as a woman of size, there are a lot of epithets that I get to reclaim — bitch, cunt, crazy, fatty, Hot Bi Babe –, and sometimes do, but I am not a sex worker: “whore” is not mine.

I know some people have a problem with the concept of a word being “owned”, and especially with a word being off-limits to them. While this is primarily a position sprouting from the fertilizer of privilege — in that privilege carries, like shit carries tapeworm eggs, the assumption that everything one sees is one’s own for the gorging on — I know there are also legitimate concerns of thought policing, of freedom of speech and of artistic license. How can words be “owned” when words are thoughts, and thoughts are supposed to have freedom? The thing is some words, undesired, never on any must-buy list, have nevertheless been paid for, all too often in blood: a drop here, five liters there, a million times over and a million times again. Some words have been hurled at a people so many times, in anger and hate and casual, careless ease — along with physical violence or as its stand in, its threat — that we who come from those who have given them away have long since given up all right to their use, and those who have received them, like bullets, like knife points, like razor-tipped whips, have the only right to pull them from their bodies and use them — or not — as they choose for once.

This might not seem fair, and to be sure, it is not: it is not fair that at the cost of life, liberty, dignity, respect, and autonomy all one gets in return is the exclusive use — or not — of a word.

And the thing is, I don’t even know that “whore” is one of those words. I strongly suspect it is, but I am not up to date on sex worker activism; I do not read any sex worker blogs regularly; I have no idea what the community consensus — if there be any — is on that word. In the absence of knowing (which itself calls for rectification, and means I have some homework to do), in the presence of concerns, with knowing that the word is an epithet, is used against those who sell sex, and trades on their kyriarchically-low standing to shame and abuse others: why would I use it anyway? It costs me nothing but some minimal intellectual exercise to avoid, which at worst is unnecessary and at best is the bare minimum needed to avoid being an oppressive asshat: why should I not avoid it?

I think I reached for it there — think that it came so readily to mind as I was firing off a quick reply because I have seen it, heard it, used it so often — because it is “shocking”, because it implies going “so far” as to sell something that “shouldn’t be sold”. This use would be impossible in a society in which sex workers had basic respect, in which sex work were seen as just another service job. Its use here and now both requires and reifies the placement of sex workers as “low”, as “debased” and “immoral”. Since I endeavor whenever possible to avoid doing the kyriarchy’s work for it, but have the writerly desire for such a handy metaphor, I further asked for substitution suggestions. Can there be any metaphor for the concept of “this is how far I’d go!” in a non-hierarchical system? I mused. “Selling the soul” is out, since it is decidedly Christian-centric. What else is there?

Karin offered:

Yeah, not real hot on the use of “whore”. Hm… Thinking something about needy bird babies gaping for parents to feed them or flowers needed to be pollinated by visiting bees to bear fruit. Or service personnel needing visitors to tip them? Like: I do this for free but “tip” me by leaving comments or I’ll starve mentally (or emotionally?) Other idea: didn’t ancient Rome have forums where people gave lectures on town squares? They must have gotten some kind of tribute to eat? Pedagogues, prophets & philosophers?

I’m thinking of putting up some pillars around here, and draping myself in a toga; I quite fancy the idea of myself as an old-time orator in a modern arena. But it doesn’t quite have the connotations I was going for — which, since my word choice relied on debasement and this relies on bartering, may not be a bad thing. The bird image is fun, too. Will cheep for comments? It would certainly go with the Boychick theme. I’m not sure I want to imply my readers’/feeders’ offerings are regurgitation, however.

gudbuytjane suggested “sycophant”, saying “‘sycophant’ is a wonderful word that doesn’t get used nearly enough“, a point which I readily grant her. It brings to mind schoolyard expressions of brown noser, ass-kisser and the like (which may have their own problems), and certainly has the advantage of rolling of the tongue: sic-o-fant. “I am a feedback sycophant. Will yes-sir for pingbacks.” It could work.

And Kate of Rebel Raising (“never understood why selling my body to clean toilets is okay, but selling it for sex is not”) came up with another angle, when I tried out “I could waitress myself for comments”:

“waitress” is low-status and feminised. Can’t use that. “investment banker”?

Which got me thinking about oil corp CEOs, sweatshop owners, cigarette lobbyists: those professions who do, in fact, sell something that shouldn’t be sold, like people and health and the environment. A part of me is thrilled with this idea (I believe I called Kate a genius), for it has a definite appeal: use the highest tip of the hierarchy, which does, objectively, damage those below it (ie everyone) as the metaphor for that-which-no-one-wants-to-do-but-will-for-the-right-price. It flips the hierarchy over, is offensive only to those who can most afford to be offended (for they have all the protections and power and good will of the system already), rather than those who are already most oppressed.

And yet I hesitate. Perhaps because there are those who do those things, who trade in pollution and child labor and human lives, and it is not at all amusing or pleasing to cast myself as one of them. Perhaps because I can see someone saying it and actually meaning it, and the thought is horrific. But isn’t that the point? To name something a little horrifying, to evoke a titter at the thought of someone decent saying they would do that, and for something so little as a few comments on a free blog? So perhaps these are the perfect metaphors.

I’m still not sure, except that I am surely sorry I so casually, unthinkingly used “whore” in the original comment. I shall ruminate on what, if indeed anything, I shall replace it with. In the meantime, I beg you to leave a comment with your thoughts — because I would orate for hours, cheep adorably, call you brilliant, and lobby cigarettes for feedback.

In his own time

There’s a post I’d been meaning to write for most of this last year, which was to be titled “Of babies and big boys”, on why my baby was still my baby, on how mystified I was on some toddlers’ and preschoolers’ insistence that they were not babies but were, in fact, a “big kid” (usually “big boy” or “big girl”, actually).

Two weeks ago, my Boychick, my always-will-be-my-baby, my sweet child whose birth I still remember, can still feel in my body and my womb and between my legs, declared “I’m not a baby, I’m a kid!”

I have no idea where this came from. But I think I missed the window of opportunity to write that post.

My child is, for better or worse (for better and worse), growing up. He’s relying on my milk and my breast less and less, sometimes going all day without nursing at all; he’s now insisting that we need to stay where we are while he goes pee by himself (and “I’ll be right back! I’ll be very quick! I’ll be right back!” with the emphatic earnestness that only young children are capable of); he falls asleep reading comic strip books with his dad while I’m up in another room, and only naps half the days (although, frankly, his need for naps has yet to diminish as much as his willingness to take them).

And yet, all of this has come in his own time. He has taken the title of “a kid” on himself; it was not pushed on him by us cajoling him into abandoning things that “babies” do. He was never told “you’re a big kid now, only babies have milk!” (so, he was told “I can’t do it anymore!” on more than one occasion, but that’s rather a different message); he was never told “it’s time to wear underwear because you’re a big boy!”; he was never told “you’re a big kid, you have to fall asleep by yourself now.” But here he is, almost 33 months old, The Big Three looming in the not too distant future, so close to weaning, toilet independent, and sleeping well through the night. We have only ever sought to fulfill his needs, to be here for him as much as he needs, to allow him to be exactly who and where he is without trying to force or hinder his growth.

Here he is, “not a baby, a kid!” In his own time.