Raising My Boychick » Fathering http://www.raisingmyboychick.com Feminist thoughts inspired by parenting a presumably-straight white male Wed, 28 Jul 2010 22:24:16 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.9.1 en hourly 1 No, less-than-threes do not need their moms 24/7/365 http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/07/no-less-than-threes-do-not-need-their-moms-247365/ http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/07/no-less-than-threes-do-not-need-their-moms-247365/#comments Sun, 18 Jul 2010 09:31:15 +0000 Arwyn http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/?p=2649 “A mother shouldn’t leave her child until about the age of three”, declares a father.

Oh, I do not think so.

What infants and toddlers and preschoolers need is attachment — loving, responsive care from people they know and trust, preferably have known for most or all of their lives but at least with whom they have [...]]]> “A mother shouldn’t leave her child until about the age of three”, declares a father.

Oh, I do not think so.

What infants and toddlers and preschoolers need is attachment — loving, responsive care from people they know and trust, preferably have known for most or all of their lives but at least with whom they have built a relationship. They need to have older people — adults, yes, but also teens, older children — who know them and love them and who they know and love, accessible to them when needed. The placement of that responsibility exclusively on the mother makes it not a joy, a task of life easily fulfilled, but a burden, under which so many of us are breaking.

Something is wrong with a culture that expects a six week old to sleep through the night, that tells a four month old her hunger is inconvenient and needs to be scheduled, that is surprised when a one year old doesn’t want to be left with a stranger. Some of us recognize this, and some have decided the problem must be because women are employed outside the home, have chosen to have lives that do not revolve around our children.

Not that we have moved away from our families of origin.

Not that we have built fences real and psychological between us and our neighbours.

Not that we have tiny families and a dearth of siblings and cousins.

Not that we have segregated adults and children, and alternately marginalize people with fewer years as second class citizens and exalt them as angels on earth (but never simply honor them as perfectly imperfect persons).

Not that we hold ideal a single family home, and define family as up to two parents and 2.5 children.

Not that we have taught half the population to deny and repress any nurturing potential, for fear of being “unmanly”.

No, it is, as always, entirely the fault of women. Of mothers, for daring to stand up for our humanity and our autonomy, for daring to do the work that earns power and prestige and some amount of protection, for daring to say we have needs and wants and goals too, for daring to take even an hour away to nurture ourselves so we have something to give to our children.

How dare we?

What some misguided whistleblowers (on the problem that is our parenting culture) have deemed is the solution — a mother, subsuming her own desires entirely to her offspring for a full three years each, minimum, accessible at all times of day, all days of the week, all weeks of the year — is just as unnatural and damaging as the model it rebels against.

We are not supposed to do this gig — which risks becoming labor and work and mind-breaking, body-destroying toil the less it is shared with loved ones — all by ourselves. We are not. That some can do it and survive, even enjoy it and would pick it first over any other idealized options, speaks far more to the diversity and flexibility of humanity than it does to the failure or unnaturalness of any woman who doesn’t choose or wouldn’t enjoy (possibly wouldn’t survive) 24/7/365 sole caregiving.

Kids don’t need one person, if that person is going to break if she has to clean up one more fecal-smeared surface.

Kids don’t need one person, if that person is snapping and yelling and cannot catch her breath alone.

Kids don’t need one person, if that person’s back is breaking from twelve hour shifts of bending and lifting and carrying and holding.

Kids don’t need one person, if that person has lost herself and her center and has no core around which her child can revolve, no life from which her child can learn.

Kids need people, people they know and love and trust, people who are with them and responsive to them day after day, who know their rhythms and their personalities and their needs and their wants, who have done the work of endless toiletings and feedings, who have assisted nap times and play times, who have tickled and carried, who have been there through laugh fests and crying jags. Kids need as many of those people as possible. Blood relation entirely optional.

One? Is a bare minimum. The kid might survive, even thrive (because humans are fantastically adaptable); and the parent might as well (ditto): but it comes at a high risk of burning out the carer, torching the relationship, scorching the child. And if that happens, there is no one for the child to turn to.

Two is better.

Three or four are better still.

Half a dozen is getting closer to ideal.

Half a dozen? Sure: a parent or two, a grandparent or two, a parent’s sibling or two, a couple teens or older kids: it’s not a big family, as primate evolution (or human tribal history) goes. But good luck growing it in this society.

(My infant only wants me. She’ll have nothing to do with her dad!

Has her dad been there? Does he know her? Does she know him? Did she hear his voice in the womb? Did she breathe in his smell within hours of birth? Did he carry or wear her her first day out of the womb? And the second? And the third? Does she sleep with his breath on her face, his heat keeping her warm, his body keeping her safe? Does he respond to her attempts at communication about her hunger and elimination? Does he help keep her clean? Does she know him?)

Kids — the younger they are the truer this is — need to be with people they know, and trust, and love (who among us doesn’t, really?). They need attachment; this is immutable biological fact. They’ll make do with almost whatever we give them, but the more the better. It is only our messed up society — or the very rare, very exacting child — that says that this means all-mom all-the-time.

(Oh, the breasts. The sweet, sweet breasts. Yes, infants need near-immediate access to milk at basically all times; known and trusted lactating breasts are biologically expected to be on call 24/7. Only humans — and only some humans — would translate this as mother’s-breasts-only, and even fewer as mother-as-primary-minder-at-every-moment. But a ten, a twenty, a thirty month old gets ever less in need of such omnipresent access, even as their need for it sometimes, and their need for constant nearby presence of trusted caregiver(s), might remain unabated.)

Do you, caring mother, have to leave your less-than-three? Of course not. (If there’s no one around we trust our children to trust, why would we want to? If we have enough people to share the load with that it is still a joy and not a toil — however many that is for us, zero or a dozen — why would we want to?) But you could. If you wanted. If your child wanted. If there are other people your child knows will care for them.

And I promise — it wouldn’t destroy them.

]]> http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/07/no-less-than-threes-do-not-need-their-moms-247365/feed/ 55 Moments in time: a love letter http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/02/moments-in-time-a-love-letter/ http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/02/moments-in-time-a-love-letter/#comments Tue, 09 Feb 2010 09:03:15 +0000 Arwyn http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/?p=1659

Welcome to the February Carnival of Natural Parenting: Love and partners!

This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama. This month we’re writing about how a co-parent has or has not supported us in our dedication to natural parenting. Please read to the [...]]]>

Welcome to the February Carnival of Natural Parenting: Love and partners!

This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama. This month we’re writing about how a co-parent has or has not supported us in our dedication to natural parenting. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.

******

Moments in time: a love letter

I am not blessed with a partner who supports my parenting, but blessed by watching him parent you. These are some of the moments I have been witness to:

~~~~~~

We are in separate states, murmuring those words of endearment and infatuation so long familiar but with new depth now, new breadth as my belly expands, as the baby inside me grows. I hold the phone low on the lump that my torso has become, as he speaks from hundreds of miles away, over air waves and through the layers of my flesh and the precious sphere of fluid it contains. He speaks words I never hear, words that are not for me, words that the listener’s ear recognize only as that voice — known — love but are so essential to say, to have said; words that pass through me, beloved and welcomed by me, but are not for me. I will always remember these words I never heard, from him to you.

~~~~~~

We have danced together, you and I and he, for hours ephemeral and eternal, and you are almost here, your body in mine and out of mine, in this space between contractions, between bearing down, between born and not. He is behind me, behind us, (but before you as well), and he cradles your head, waiting, all of us waiting. Later he writes:

The first time I touched you only your head was out. I was cupping the back of your head and I felt an ear. It was so amazing.

It was.

~~~~~~

This image I could never forget, if only because I have studied it now so often. You are eighteen hours old, and already asleep on his chest. You will spend so much of the first weeks of your life this way, and it will be a familiar comfort to you for years.

~~~~~~

It is he who suggests the hold that allows us to nurse in comfort at last. This time is ours, this aspect of parenting you for me alone (except a time or two when your need to suckle is greater than my ability to stand it, and he latches you on, you confused, the two of us giggling — but I have the respite I need, you have the comfort you sought, and he and I have a new shared vocabulary for this experience, that we draw on for so many months to come), and he respects that, protects that, and steps up everywhere else to support that: but here, too, he is essential, not extraneous, and his suggestion saves my back, soothes your hunger, and we are content, thanks to him.

~~~~~~

So many more moments I could tell you of, my little love, my child. The times he knew why you fussed when I despaired; the times he walked the halls with you when neither of us knew; the moment when you laughed, laughed for the first time ever and it was for him, because of him; the moment you pushed a book to him to read to you, and all the moments of all the books he read with you in his lap, in his arms, in his heart. Of a million such moments, mundane and miraculous, does a relationship grow. Yours flourishes before my eyes.

~~~~~~

I hear you now, in the bedroom, reading, laughing, talking. I am sitting up to write, as I do almost every night now, because you do not nap and it is my only chance. I can just hear his voice, calm and low and slow, lulling and loving, and sometimes louder to speak over you, to answer your persistent questions. Yours dances over his, bubbly and bright, not willing to yet relinquish consciousness. Bedtimes are your time now, yours and his: my job is to fetch you more books if needed, to hug and to kiss and to slip away quietly, to stay away until I am sure you slumber. He has always been there for you at night, reading to me, walking with you, a warm body to turn toward when you were done with mine.

You are done with mine now, and I cherish the memories from when it was my body, my presence and my breast and my milk, that you needed — but no more than I will cherish the memories I etch in my mind on nights like these, when I steal into bed hours after you both crossed into sleep, and I see you, my family, my hearts, lying together: him with an arm curled above your head, you pressed to his side, stretched out so impossibly long, one leg claiming the space I’ll push you aside to slip into, momentarily. But first I give myself this, this time when I am the intruder on something intimate. I am a part of it, yes, but apart from it as well. You two are two, complete, whole on your own: add me, three, and we are something different, not better, just bigger.

Dear child, know this: I love you with all that I am; I am your mother, from my body were you born — but I am not the only one who loves you completely, unreservedly. You will grow up knowing this, of course, grow up having so many moments in which I am on the outside, and you two are two, together. This will be old news to you, because love is built daily, and he is there for you, loves you in actions and words and presence, every day. But indulge me, and allow me these moments when I see your love and it explodes me, when I write it down so I do not forget.

There is quiet now: my two hearts slumber in another room, while I toil, alone. I would have it no other way; and neither, I think, would you.

******

Carnival of Natural Parenting -- Hobo Mama and Code Name: MamaVisit Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Natural Parenting!

Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants:

(This list will be updated Feb. 9 with all the carnival links, and all links should be active by noon EST. Go to Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama for the most recently updated list.)


]]> http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/02/moments-in-time-a-love-letter/feed/ 15 WFPP Guest Post: Can Mama Bear Let Go? http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/01/wfpp-can-mama-bear-let-go/ http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/01/wfpp-can-mama-bear-let-go/#comments Wed, 13 Jan 2010 14:00:22 +0000 Arwyn http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/?p=1430 Welcome to the Womanist/Feminist Parenting Primer, PhD in Parenting-style. Annie brings to the WFPP her usual informative flair on the subject of leaving her children in the care of her partner while she leaves the house to work.

Annie wishes to include this disclaimer: This post gives the perspective of a male-partnered cis woman who carried [...]]]> Welcome to the Womanist/Feminist Parenting Primer, PhD in Parenting-style. Annie brings to the WFPP her usual informative flair on the subject of leaving her children in the care of her partner while she leaves the house to work.

Annie wishes to include this disclaimer: This post gives the perspective of a male-partnered cis woman who carried and birthed her two children (“mama bear”). The biological facts and societal assumptions discussed in this article may not apply in adoptive or surrogate situations or in non-heterosexual relationships.

Can Mama Bear Let Go?

A baby develops a connection to its mother as it grows in the womb. That connection is reinforced as the mother holds the baby to her breast for the first time and then over and over again. Biology and society place the mom as the primary caregiver for new life. In her book, The Female Brain, Louann Brizendine, M.D. describes what happens after a woman gives birth to a baby:

For the human mother, the lovely smells of her newborn’s head, skin, poop, spit up breast milk, and other bodily fluids that have washed over her during the first few days will become chemically imprinted on her brain – and she will be able to pick ut her own baby’s smell above all others with about 90 percent accuracy. This goes for her baby’s cry and body movements, too. The touch of her baby’s skin, the look of its little fingers and toes, its short cries and grasps – all are now tattooed on her brain. Within hours to days, overwhelming protectiveness may seize her. Maternal aggression sets in. Her strength and resolve to care for and protect this little being completely grab the brain circuits. She feels she could stop a moving truck with her own body to protect her baby. Her brain has changed, and along with it her reality.

Brizendine goes on to explain that for a woman who does birth a baby, this is perhaps the biggest change she will experience in her life. But increasingly, people are realizing that despite this strong biological connection and despite society’s assumptions about a mother’s role, the birth mother does not have to take on the lion’s share of the nurturing and caregiving. Whether the parents choose equally shared parenting, whether the birth mother is the primary breadwinner, or whether the non-birth mother chooses to induce lactation to share in the primary care duties, there are many scenarios where mama bear…the one who carried and birthed that baby…may need to let go. If we want to achieve the goals of feminism, we need to not only ask for more options for mothers, but also ask their partners to step up and be more than a babysitter. But we need to give them the space to do that. We mama bears need to be willing to let go a bit.

Letting go, for me, had two parts. First, I had to be able to separate myself both physically and emotionally. Second, I had to be able to trust my partner to take over a significant portion of the nurturing. In this post, I’ll share some of my thoughts and experiences about letting go as a working mom whose partner is a stay at home dad.

Separating myself

Physically turning and walking out the door as your child tugs at your pant legs and screams “MAMAAAAAAA” is excruciating. Listening from the other room as your partner fumbles through a difficult parenting moment when you feel you have the answer requires patience. Being a slave to a breast pump instead of holding your baby snugly at your breast is tough. In her post Where’s the numbness?, Naomi from Mama’s Apple Cores wrote:

So, why on earth do I want to turn our world upside down so that I can be the one home? It seems so selfish, but I just can’t move beyond this strong feeling that I need to be home. I try to embrace what we have and focus on the richness of our life, and I do okay for a few days. And then one day I go crazy wanting to be home. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I scream. Drive and cry. Drive and scream. Panic attacks. Feel like I’m losing my mind. Maybe this is just my personal instability and being home would not solve that? Would I be happier if I was home? Would I be more stable? Or is this just a combination of me and lack of sleep?

For me, focusing on and getting the most out of the time I had with my kids was critical. When I was home, I babywore, breastfed, co-slept. That meant that even on the days when I did have to go to work, I could still physically be attached to my children for around 14 hours of the day. I never understood so-called “experts” who suggested a 6pm bedtime for a baby in a crib in a separate room. That would have devastated me. That would have meant seeing my child for 15 minutes in the evening and maybe an hour in the morning before work while trying to get ready and get out the door. Not an option.

Giving something to my baby while at work helped to. I pumped breast milk at work for my son until he was 12 months old and for my daughter until she was 18 months old. I would think of them constantly during the day and even get caught humming Elmo’s song over and over again as my brain connected with them despite our physical separation. The drive home was long, very long.

Having a routine helps. It is hard at first. But after a while you and the kids kids realize that each morning Mommy gets up and goes to work. She stays there for a while and she comes home not long after their afternoon nap. Once you realize that there are five days (or whatever it may be for you) where you have to plow through it, but you can then spend two days focusing on your kids, it gets easier. At least it did for me. But a big part of it getting easier was knowing that my kids were in great hands, which brings me to the next part…

Trusting my partner

To have peace of mind when I go out the door or even while I focus on a task in one room while my partner parents in another room, I need to trust him. For me, trust means knowing we agree about the big things and understanding that the little things don’t matter that much.

My partner and I share the same basic attachment-based parenting philosophy. We both agree that leaving our kids to cry it out is not an option. We both agree that breast is best and that our children were going to be given breastmilk exclusively as infants. We both treat our children with the respect that human beings deserve. Knowing that we are on the same page about the big things is what allows this mama bear to let go. I know of other couples where one of them believes in crying it out and the other doesn’t. Where one thinks it is fun to sneak an infant a McDonald’s sundae and the other one wants the baby exclusively breastfed. Where one regularly humiliates and spanks the children and the other believes in gentle discipline. When parents have such vastly different parenting philosophies, trust is difficult and I know a lot of moms who take it all upon themselves so that they do not have to leave their child with the irresponsible or abusive person they chose to raise children with. I am so thankful that I am not in that position.

But letting go also requires not freaking out about the little things. For me, much of how I parent is about the way that I want to relate to my kids. It is about the relationship that I want to build with them. It is about the way that I want them to see me. It is about what I want to teach them and the values that I want to pass on. But the reality is that every human being will have to deal with a large variety of different teachers, bosses, friends, partners, colleagues, and so on over the course of their life. They will not all relate to them in the same way and I think it does children good to learn different ways of relating with different people. Being exposed to different parenting styles will help prepare them for that. The little things are just not worth sweating. They will not make that big of a difference (if at all) in how your child turns out, but stressing over them will have a big impact on your anxiety levels and on your relationship. Your partner needs to know that you trust him or her to make good parenting choices when you are not there (or even when you are) and that even if he or she does have a bad parenting day, that that is okay too.

Finally, your kids need to see that you trust your partner. I like to remind my kids as I am leaving that they will have a fun time with Daddy. I ask them when I get home what fun things they did together. I try to show them that I am happy to see them develop that bond and to have that special time with their other parent.

Hibernating?

In my experience, yes…mama bear can let go. But maybe not forever. I go on dates with my kids to reconnect. I need extended vacations with my kids to deepen and strengthen our relationship after long periods of hard work and repeated separation. This summer, I’m looking forward to hibernating for a few months with my kids while papa bear ventures back out of the cave for a bit.

Annie is the mom of two kids, Emma (age almost 3) and Julian (age 5). She tries to stir up issues and spark discussion on the art and science of parenting at the PhD in Parenting blog.

]]> http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/01/wfpp-can-mama-bear-let-go/feed/ 20 I need to read to write: a good ol’ fashioned link post http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/01/i-need-to-read-to-write-a-good-ol-fashioned-link-post/ http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/01/i-need-to-read-to-write-a-good-ol-fashioned-link-post/#comments Sun, 03 Jan 2010 10:16:02 +0000 Arwyn http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/?p=1373 After several months of completely ignoring its existence, I’m trying to clean up my Google Reader: trim it down, shift it over, and make it reflect the blogs that I actually want to read, but don’t catch in my Twitter stream due to missed timing (or the author — gasp! — not tweeting). I am [...]]]> After several months of completely ignoring its existence, I’m trying to clean up my Google Reader: trim it down, shift it over, and make it reflect the blogs that I actually want to read, but don’t catch in my Twitter stream due to missed timing (or the author — gasp! — not tweeting). I am doing this because I’m coming to realize what should be obvious: that I need to read to write. And while I get easily overwhelmed by an unread New Post list twelve miles long, I also get overwhelmed by the echoes in the solitude of my own head, the standards I construct for myself to live up to.

In the course of this, I am discovering new-to-me-blogs, and new-to-me-posts on blogs I already knew I liked. I’m all kinds of inspired, but since I’m also all kinds of tired (we’re hosting the first virus of the year here in casa de Boychick-Raising), I’ll just offer you some completely-not-comprehensive highlights of what I found (some of these are from weeks or months ago, but I’ve never known a blogger who minded a new link to an old post):

Negotiations And Love Songs ~ by Jay at Two Women Blogging

Courtney mentioned one other point from the book: women have to truly let go of the notion that they are inherently more fit to parent, that they can simply do it better, by virtue of being women. Yes. This. Parents don’t need to be interchangeable – you don’t need to play the same games or have the same approach to soothing the baby. You don’t even need to agree about how to dress the kids. You do have to be able to both take care of the baby’s (and child’s and teenager’s) basic needs, and you need to trust your partner to do so, or the whole 50/50 thing won’t work.

Scripts by my father at Dad Who Writes (I shared this one on Facebook a while back, but it’s worth revisiting)

Dudelet is wailing, terrified by the outburst. It comes from nowhere, is speaking me, is utterly possessing me. I pick him up and carrying him, howling, to his room. I place him on the floor sobbing incoherently and storm back to the kitchen. By now its over and I’m in tears myself.

Mother’s Disability Featured in Custody Dispute at The Curvature

And so, it seems to me that the allegation being made against O’Neill is not that she is failing to ensure proper care for Aidan. The allegation appears to be that she is failing to care for Aidan entirely by herself, without any outside assistance.

This is flat out ableism.

Dances with Discrimination: On “Avatar,” Racism, Misogyny, and Disabled Prejudice

There are some who would argue that “Avatar” is simply a film, and should not be viewed in a broader concept. However, that wasn’t Cameron’s intention, and who better to determine the lens through which we view a movie than the movie’s creative lead? Especially since the film’s anti-corporate, anti-environmental destruction message is being helmed by corporate underwriting of companies that aren’t likely to be eco-friendly, either (sponsorship has to come from somewhere). The chances are pretty high that most viewers, so bedazzled by the swirling lights of Cameron’s cinematic skill, will likely not consider all of the social implications supporting such a movie encourages.

My Picks for Best Breastfeeding Blogs at PhD in Parenting (I swear I’m not including this just because she linked to me; it really is a great list of blogs and posts)

This one I’m just excited about the creation of, and hope talking it up will increase the chances I remember to participate (and that others will too): Calling for submissions for the first Carnival of Natural Parenting! at Hobo Mama

Do you have any posts or blogs to recommend, yours or others’? What were your favorite posts from the last year? What blogs do you think deserve more readers?

]]> http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2010/01/i-need-to-read-to-write-a-good-ol-fashioned-link-post/feed/ 1 Rage, rage against the end of unemployment http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/08/rage-rage-against-the-end-of-unemployment/ http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/08/rage-rage-against-the-end-of-unemployment/#comments Mon, 31 Aug 2009 07:43:30 +0000 Arwyn http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/?p=640 Tomorrow — finally, 3.5 months after being laid off, 1.5 months after getting offered this new job — The Man goes back to work. And the Boychick and I go back to hanging out alone together during the day. To say I am not looking forward to this would be both a misstatement and a [...]]]> Tomorrow — finally, 3.5 months after being laid off, 1.5 months after getting offered this new job — The Man goes back to work. And the Boychick and I go back to hanging out alone together during the day. To say I am not looking forward to this would be both a misstatement and a massive understatement.

We got used to having the whole week together as a family, used to going shopping during weekdays, used to waking up with everyone still in bed, used to sharing and trading off parenting fluidly, effortlessly, and often. I got used to being able to sleep in (while The Man got up with the Boychick), blog and study during the day (while The Man distracted the Boychick), go out and run during the day (while The Man played with the Boychick — noticing a theme here?) — just generally have time to myself, knowing my child was in good hands (the best, really).

While I can’t say it was a utopia — especially the first half, when we were all adjusting, all dealing with the stress, not knowing when or whether The Man would get work again (and we would start getting money more than the pittance offered by unemployment insurance again) — in many ways it was ideal, and certainly closer than what we’d had before, and what we’re going back to. We were both engaged in (albeit unpaid) work that engaged our minds and our interests — both of us together and him alone on finding him a job, me on the blog and on school — both home (and out and about) with the Boychick, both parenting equally, both able to hand off primary responsibility when we needed a break, both able to step in when we could see the other flagging. And we got to play, all three of us, as a family, in ways that are in short supply when he’s working out of the house full time.

Perhaps more pertinently, The Man in many ways became primary parent, especially once his job was secured and it was a matter of meeting the dead-tree (aka paperwork) quota to get started, since he then went more out of his way to give me time to blog, to run, to do the things I won’t be able to as easily after he starts. The Boychick is going to be losing a primary parent 40-50 hours a week. He’ll cope, of course, and adapt, because children are amazingly resilient that way. But in my current melancholy, I cannot help focusing on what he’s losing — and what I’m losing.

This, of course, even more than the funk when he lost his job, is so much privileged whining. He has a job, when so many don’t (Oregon has the 2nd highest unemployment rate in the USA right now, and the highest homeless rate). And it’s even a better paying, higher status job. We weathered this unemployment without going hungry, losing our (rented) house, adding much to our debt, or letting go of our pets or our property. We are so very lucky, and I am so very grateful.

But I am, also, scared. I’m scared that the transition will be harder on the Boychick than I’m anticipating (as hard as I imagine in my nightmares). I’m scared that I won’t be able to deal with him, at 2.5, used to near-full-time parental attention, the way I could when he was just-two and used to 40 hours of benign neglect from me a week. And, mostly, I’m scared as I look back because I wasn’t handling it nearly as well as I thought back then; The Man coming home for lunches, sometimes far too long, was a necessity. His working to 5pm was rare; working past it almost unheard of. And yes, that possibly contributed to his lay off in May (though I will point out he survived the first two rounds of lay offs, never had problems with his performance reviews, and there were only 2 people left in his department after his departure). Between wanting to avoid that again, the desire to make a good impression at the new place, and more practically the transportation and parking situation from working downtown, it’s highly unlikely we’ll be able to take such liberties at this job.

My heart hurts just thinking about it.

I am, when it comes down to it, afraid of going insane again. I’m afraid of losing my emotional stability. I’m afraid that I’ll get sick (being bipolar is who I am, and I’d never wish it away; having active episodes of bipolar is an illness from hell, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone), that the new insurance won’t cover the things that will make me well, that all the “extra” money will go toward trying to survive the dark days with hot drinks and dinners out, rather than paying down debt. I’m afraid of slipping back in to a black pit I feel at times so far away from, and at times so frighteningly close to. I’m afraid I’ll spend all my time trying not to yell at, shove, be violent with my precious baby Boychick, and too much of the time failing.

Except for those rare few with specific aptitude for it, and the necessary support network surrounding them, solo stay-at-home parenting isn’t easy for anyone, in this misogynistic kyriarchal culture. But what I hear from my friends (not all of them, but too many) when I try to discuss my ambivalence, my fears, my dread even, is “Oh, you’ll do fine!” or “You’ll get back in your groove in no time,” or “I should be so lucky!” From women who stay at home full time with their children, there’s an attitude of “well what’s the problem? you had your playtime, now it’s back to work.” From the women who work out of home full time, there’s one of “sure that was nice, but you still have it so good,” often with a heaping side of “I wish I could be SAHMing, and you should enjoy it because I can’t.”

Which is a horrible exaggeration and mischaracterization, but I can’t help but hear that in so many of their pat, trying-to-be-nice answers. There there, dear, you’ll do fine, no cause for worry. Except there is. I hope — when optimistic I believe — that the risk for my insanity, my pathological, problematical instability is small, but it is, regardless, real. It cannot be dismissed with a wave of the hand, it should not be disregarded as a triviality.

And further, even without my particular situation as a person with bipolar disorder, I have every right to grieve this loss. I am lucky, yes, compared to so many, but I am still a woman, a person, under kyriarchy, and so I am damaged, I am constrained. This is not the life I would choose if I had full free will, denied to me by the corporate capitalist kyriarchical society I live in. I should have close community, allomothers galore, my partner should have work that does not drag him away from me, from his family, his child, for a majority of his waking day — and so should I. We shouldn’t need to work so hard, earn so much, to pay off debt (at crippling interest) we acquired from illness and unemployment, from trying to stay sane in an insane society, from trying to get education enough to get money enough to get out from under the burden of debt.

This grief I’m feeling? This fear? This rage? Don’t tell me it’s nothing. Don’t tell me I’ll get over it, get used to it. Because you’re telling me to accept my oppression, accept the cage kyriarchy has placed me in.

I will, of course. I’ll go back to slogging through, dealing with daily mundanities, accepting the new normal. I will because I have to — have to divorce myself from my pain, tamp down my rage, bury my grief — in order to survive. We all do; we all have to swallow shit at times.

But now, in these last hours before the new reality sets in, don’t hasten to shush my scream of rage and fear and grief because it discomfits you to hear. It may seems such a small thing, such a good thing, to you, having my partner go back to work. And it is, as well. It is. As much as good can be had in kyriarchy, it is good. Forgive me, though, if I wish to yell about how fucking huge that caveat is, before I sleep, and wake to a half-empty bed and an empty house and a child demanding his father, and smile because I must, because screaming then will only make things worse. Let me scream and cry now, because tomorrow, life goes on.

]]> http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/08/rage-rage-against-the-end-of-unemployment/feed/ 16 A feminist parenting primer: share your stories through guest blogging http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/a-feminist-parenting-primer-share-your-stories-through-guest-blogging/ http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/a-feminist-parenting-primer-share-your-stories-through-guest-blogging/#comments Sat, 11 Jul 2009 17:00:00 +0000 Arwyn http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/a-feminist-parenting-primer-share-your-stories-through-guest-blogging/ I’m considering running a series of posts on how we live womanist/feminist parenting; a sort of kaleidoscope primer on the day-to-day living of those of us who fight, oppose, undermine, and dismantle the kyriarchy (or at least try to!) that can help answer the questions “Sure, this all sounds good, but how do you DO [...]]]> I’m considering running a series of posts on how we live womanist/feminist parenting; a sort of kaleidoscope primer on the day-to-day living of those of us who fight, oppose, undermine, and dismantle the kyriarchy (or at least try to!) that can help answer the questions “Sure, this all sounds good, but how do you DO this?” or “How can the ideals of feminism and anti-kyriarchy really work in real life?”

This may have some overlap with bluemilk’s What does a feminist mother look like?/10 feminist mother questions meme, and the Carnival of Feminist Parenting, but I’m looking for something a little different: an image of your day, or a snapshot of a particular moment, or the tale of a decision you made, or your “feminist family mission statement” and how you try to follow it. Something practical that shows how we really put our ideals into practice. Here are a few of my posts that sort of show what I mean, but I’m really looking for your stories, and your ways of storytelling.

I’m not looking for perfection: sometimes the best opportunities for learning or teaching come when we mess up. And don’t worry about it being “good enough” in either feminist content or writing quality — I’m not going to judge the former, and I can help with the latter. I’m just looking for a picture, big or little, of some way you try to enact womanism/feminism in your life as a parent, and raise the next generation more aware of and less enslaved by kyriarchy/patriarchy.

I’d especially like to get the perspective of parents (“regular”, step, adoptive, birth, and to-be or hoping-to-be) who are not male-partnered, white, able-bodied, middle-class, American women — though even if you are all those things don’t let that stop you from submitting.

So what do you think? Sound like a good idea?

Anyone interested, whether you know what to write or not, contact me at raisingmyboychick at gmail dot com.

Please and thank you!

ETA A couple of questions have come up. One, I don’t require anyone to identify as a “feminist parent” to participate in this, nor even especially as a “womanist” or “feminist”. Identity is up to you. What I am interested in is stories about trying to parent in line with womanist/feminist values, whether identified that way or not: striving for equal coparenting; raising children without limiting gender roles; opposing instances of sexism or racism or other facets of the kyriarchy in your children’s lives. Whether you use the words “womanist” or “feminist” or kyriarchy/patriarchy is sort of irrelevant to me (although if you don’t, I must admit I’m a little mystified why you’d be reading here!).

The other is that I do want to hear from those who are not-yet-parents: many of us have been opposing the kyriarchy in the parenting realm since we first started whispering the possibility that children might be on the horizon; or even earlier, if we have particularly obnoxious relations. I’d love to hear those stories. And all of us have been children, and had parents or parent stand-ins: perhaps you have a story about being raised by womanists/feminists, or who would never have identified as such but who nevertheless managed to ignite some important proto-feminist spark in you; or, perhaps your parents were Exhibit A in how not to raise children free of kyriarchy — those could be instructive stories as well.

And if you really just don’t have anything to share right now, sit back and enjoy the reading; but I intend for this to be an ever-evolving primer, so don’t be surprised if one day you realize there’s a story tapping on your shoulder, waiting to be shared. I’ll be here.

]]> http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/a-feminist-parenting-primer-share-your-stories-through-guest-blogging/feed/ 12 Go read Daddy Dialectic http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/go-read-daddy-dialectic/ http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/go-read-daddy-dialectic/#comments Fri, 10 Jul 2009 20:37:00 +0000 Arwyn http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/go-read-daddy-dialectic/ How had I not discovered Daddy Dialectic before? You all must go read it. Now. Especially, especially Jeremy Adam Smith’s answers to his own modified version of bluemilk’s What does a feminist mother look like? questions. I think I’m in love. Platonically, of course. At the end of the day, your main task is to survive [...]]]> How had I not discovered Daddy Dialectic before? You all must go read it. Now. Especially, especially Jeremy Adam Smith’s answers to his own modified version of bluemilk’s What does a feminist mother look like? questions. I think I’m in love. Platonically, of course.
At the end of the day, your main task is to survive and support your family and raise happy children; how you respond to the things you can’t control reveals a great deal about your character, some of it good and some of it bad. You might discover (have you noticed my retreat to the safety of the second person?) a capacity for sacrifice and care that you never knew was there.

On the flip side, the dark one, you might also find yourself erupting with petty rage and misdirected resentment, eruptions that frighten you, your child, and your partner. In those scary moments, when our worst emotions take over and drive our ideals and aspirations over a cliff, it is easiest of all for both fathers and mothers to fall back on traditional patterns of dominance and submission.

What does that have to do with feminism? Everything, and nothing.

Pledging allegiance to feminist ideals doesn’t make you a good person or a good parent or a good partner, but it might remind you of the power you have—we always have power, if only over ourselves—and the need to restrain that power or share it with other people. It can also remind fathers of something that I think is crucial: There are alternatives; you do have choices, and your choices matter. You don’t have to be the man your father was; you don’t have to be the idiots we see on TV; you can be a new kind of man, and you can help your sons become that kind of man.

That’s ten kinds of inspiring, right there. Plus, he knows how to use both colons AND semicolons! What’s not to love?

]]> http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/go-read-daddy-dialectic/feed/ 1 The problem with “the problem with men” http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/the-problem-with-the-problem-with-men/ http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/the-problem-with-the-problem-with-men/#comments Sun, 05 Jul 2009 20:14:00 +0000 Arwyn http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/the-problem-with-the-problem-with-men/ This is how feminists get a reputation for being humorless: we fail to laugh at jokes or quips that serve the kyriarchy. Like the one I heard yesterday, from D, an otherwise dear friend, spouse of my sister-in-all-but-genetics-and-law.

He and The Man were outside with the Boychick and his cousin, watching them run through the [...]]]> This is how feminists get a reputation for being humorless: we fail to laugh at jokes or quips that serve the kyriarchy. Like the one I heard yesterday, from D, an otherwise dear friend, spouse of my sister-in-all-but-genetics-and-law.

He and The Man were outside with the Boychick and his cousin, watching them run through the sprinklers (well, encouraging them to, anyway: the Boychick was standing at the edges saying it was “too cold!”, while his cousin happily ran around getting soaked). D came in, and my sister asked if they had towels out there for them. D’s reply was “Of course not: we’re men, we don’t think that far ahead!”

He didn’t understand why I raised an eyebrow and rolled my eyes, and nor did anyone else in the room.

The Man would have gotten it.

The problem with “the problem with men” type “jokes” is that they serve to support the patriarchy-assigned sexist gender-roles. Although directed at men, and not women, and supposedly OK and “not sexist” by being at the expense of men, and not women, by supporting the limiting and dehumanizing gender roles of the patriarchy, they ultimately hurt women. Not to mention being incredibly insulting to men who have worked hard to get past said limiting stereotypes.

These jokes are especially problematical when about the incompetence of men in the domestic sphere, for by casting men as bumbling idiots in the home, it falls on women to pick up the slack there, keeping us tethered to the domestic sphere, leaving the public sphere, with its associated privilege and power, exclusively the domain of men.

So call me a humorless feminist all you like, but I fail to see why I should laugh at tired old sexist tropes that dehumanize and underestimate the capabilities of my best beloveds, many of whom are male, while ultimately reinforcing my own oppression.

It’s not that I don’t have a sense of humor, it’s that I’d much rather laugh at the patriarchy rather than with it, and that requires thinking for yourself instead of regurgitating the partriarchy’s old standbys.

You can do it. I believe in you.

]]> http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/07/the-problem-with-the-problem-with-men/feed/ 20 The Adventures of The Family Lactational, and a Fathers’ Day postscript http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/06/the-adventures-of-the-family-lactational-and-a-fathers-day-postscript/ http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/06/the-adventures-of-the-family-lactational-and-a-fathers-day-postscript/#comments Mon, 22 Jun 2009 05:55:00 +0000 Arwyn http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/06/the-adventures-of-the-family-lactational-and-a-fathers-day-postscript/ Okeedoke, I was trying to write an entire actual, y’know, post to go with these comics, but… nah. Later, maybe.

For now, a quick explanation: several years ago, long before the Boychick’s conception much less birth or extrauterine life (which is to say, way before I had any first-hand experience with any of this), I [...]]]> Okeedoke, I was trying to write an entire actual, y’know, post to go with these comics, but… nah. Later, maybe.

For now, a quick explanation: several years ago, long before the Boychick’s conception much less birth or extrauterine life (which is to say, way before I had any first-hand experience with any of this), I came up with the idea for a comic-based handbook for new fathers/non-lactating coparents. It would address the concerns non-lactating parents often express about how to be “involved” when their mamababy is a breastfeeding dyad. I liked the idea so much, I drew up half a dozen examples, starring the superheroes Nursing Mom, Supportive Partner (originally conceived as Super Dad, the rejection of which title and my ambivalence toward SP meriting a post to itself), and Amazing Babe.

They sucked.

But that’s OK, because I liked them.

I redrew them, from lined paper (bad for photocopying) to beautiful textured journal paper (er, also bad for photocopying, in hindsight)… and then forgot them.

Well, not exactly forgot: I’d pull them out and look at them and go “hey, this was a neat idea!” every once in a while, and then I’d carefully put the originals back in to the journal with the newer sketches, and put the journal back on the shelf, and not do anything with them.

Consider this a slightly more public, virtual rendition of that tradition.

For your titillation (sorry, I had to), may I present the partial adventures of

The Family Lactational


[Image: Mom in rocker nursing baby, partner bringing plate with drink and apple. Text: Supportive Partner helps keep Nursing Mom hydrated and healthy!]


[Image: Partner wearing baby in sling, on a walk holding hands with mom. Text: Supportive Partner spends lots of time with Nursing Mom and Amazing Babe!]


[Image: Mom nursing babe in sling, partner blocking talking head pointing and "blah blah blah"ing. Text: Supportive Partner guards Nursing Mom from Interfering Ignorami!]


[Image: Partner and Mom in family bed, superhero capes hung up for the night, babe asleep in between them, cat at foot of bed. Text: Supportive Partner spends the night with Nursing Mom and Amazing Babe!]

But what I wanted to say with this, what I really wanted to say and have been having trouble finding the words for, is:

Beloved, when I drew these, I had no idea how far you would blow them out of the water with your fathering, your parenting, your love for our Boychick, your thoughtfulness for me. I had no idea how insulting these caricatures would be to the reality of your deep, rounded, complete parenthood. You had no need for such a guide, and could write your own handbook on how to be a parent (full-stop, not a coparent, not a helping parent, not a mom’s-assistant father) as a feminist male in a patriarchal society — and you should, because the world could and should learn from you: you do nothing miraculous, you never expect accolades for what you do, you expect more from yourself than any one, you just simply, and beautifully, parent our child. It should be nothing out of the ordinary, but it is, and it irritates you that it is, and for that alone, even if I didn’t have the hundred thousand other reasons I have, I would love you.

Thank you. Happy Fathers’ Day.

]]> http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/06/the-adventures-of-the-family-lactational-and-a-fathers-day-postscript/feed/ 8 If I Twittered, this would be a Tweet http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/05/if-i-twittered-this-would-be-a-tweet/ http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/05/if-i-twittered-this-would-be-a-tweet/#comments Sun, 24 May 2009 00:23:00 +0000 Arwyn http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2009/05/if-i-twittered-this-would-be-a-tweet/ The Man with no ponytail is hardly The Man at all.

And also: It takes a lot longer than you’d think to cut through a braid. We were surprised, anyway.

(I could go on a feminist rant about how ridiculous it is that women can have almost any length hair — as long as it’s pornulated [...]]]> The Man with no ponytail is hardly The Man at all.

And also: It takes a lot longer than you’d think to cut through a braid. We were surprised, anyway.

(I could go on a feminist rant about how ridiculous it is that women can have almost any length hair — as long as it’s pornulated styled “right”, of course — whereas men, if they want to get employed, simply can’t, and that yes, this is sexist in a way that still manages to oppress women, but I’m still too shell-shocked. Thus the tweet-that’s-not-a-tweet.)

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