Oh, Erica

Let me preface this post by stating that I am an Erica Jong fan. When I discovered Fear of Flying in college, it felt like a light bulb went off in my head. It was possible for a woman to be sexual and intellectual in a way that I had never encountered. Instead of just putting the book back on the shelf, I passed it around to all my friends so we could discuss the Zipless you-know-what. I referenced the book in my often-referred to college paper on Jewish mothers in literature. I even tried to get MacDad to read it, but that didn't go too well. I not only read Fear of Flying, but the two lesser-read sequels. So, I'm a bit familiar with her.

It seems my literary idol has created a brouhaha on the internet by slamming Attachment Parenting (AP) in a Wall Street Journal essay. She claims that AP imprisons motherhood and is creating a backlash to the feminist movement for which her generation of women passionately though.

My first thought when reading her article -- the things Jong complains about modern mothers doing are not that hard. Take for example, her issue with making your own baby food. MacDad and I made our own baby food. My reasoning was that I wouldn't want to eat my meals out of a jar, so why should he. Also, we make ourselves dinner almost every night, so steaming some peas and blending them is not so much more work compared to the rest of the meal.

Is making your own baby food such a big deal and something to feel angry about? That's just silly. Same goes for her issues with breastfeeding and reusable diapers. If you use formula and disposable diapers (which I do), fine. If you choose to take the AP approach, that's great too. These activities should be encouraged. It's hard to argue that they're not better for the baby and the environment. However you raise your child, ultimately, it's your choice. That, from my impression, is the point that Jong and her feminist compatriots were fighting for. And, therein lies the difference between her generation and mine.

I get the feeling that Jong didn't necessarily choose motherhood. Having children was the way of life when she was an adult. It was assumed that being a mother was the course your life would take. Now, though, I think that women consider their options more thoroughly. Even though I'm a parent, MacDad and I thought through our decision and intentionally created a family. I don't view AP, or parenting in general as a chore (for the most part), but as a privilege. I'm happy to spend time with my son and to provide for him to the best of my ability, whether it be emotionally, physically or financially.

So, Erica Jong, you have let me down. I do not feel as though I have given up my life for my child, I feel as though he has enriched it.

Everything on My DVR is Depressing

As referenced in my previous post, I watch tv for an hour per night. Because of an operator error on Sunday night, Dexter did not record at its regular time. It's been looming on my dvr since Sunday night at 10 p.m., along with an episode of Giuliana and Bill and Where the Wild Things Are. Each night since, I've scrolled through these options and passed, instead watching dreck like Top Chef: Just Desserts and the soon-to-be departed Life Unexpected (sad).

Why haven't I opted for more serious fare? Dexter creeps me out. I enjoy it, but not when MacDad is out of town. Ever since (SPOILER) Rita bit it in the bathtub, I can't sleep after watching Dexter wrestle with his dark passenger. And, after the Trinity build up last year, this season has been a bit of a let down. But, that's what I thought at the beginning of last season, so I'll stick with it. When MacDad comes home.

I don't generally watch Giuliana and Bill, but after learning about her miscarriage, I thought I would check in on them. The circumstances around her miscarriage were very similar to what I experienced this summer. I was curious as to how they would present the events and am glad the couple chose to address the miscarriage publicly. On last week's episode they announced their loss, and this week they're dealing with the emotional aftermath. In the preview, many of her emotions echoed my own. I'm fairly certain there will be tears when I watch. I'm too tired to cry at 9 p.m.!

Where the Wild Things Are has been on two dvrs for about two months. I fondly remember the children's book and am interested to see how Spike Jonze adapted the material. I watched the first five minutes of the movie after I initially recorded it and cried hysterically. An alarmed MacDad and MacBaby came inside after playing in the back yard to find a very weepy woman. Something about watching a lonely little boy made me sad. I projected Max into MacBaby, hoping he never feels that alone in his life.

Tonight I'm set wtih 30 Rock and Community. Right after that I'll get around to my stockpiles shows. . . as long as MacDad is in town to deal with the fears and tears.

A Day in the Life

Something I often wonder about is how other people get themselves and their children together, get to wherever they need to be, do a great job once they're there, then take care of all the evening duties, get a restful night sleep and get up the next day to do it all over again.

I'm going to share how I do it, or attempt to anyway. I'm hoping this will be a series of posts, with other moms (or dad's) letting readers know where they succeed and how their routines can improve. So, here goes.

Weekday

Usually, either my or MacBaby's internal clock goes off promptly at 7 a.m. Since I'm still nursing and MacBaby is still sleeping in the bed with us, he attaches himself to me. Around ten minutes later I detach. If MacDad is home, I leave the two to cuddle and gently remind the elder male to get the boy dressed. If MacDad is travelling, I take the boy into the bathroom and put him in the Pack 'n Play while I shower. Lately, I do so without any screaming involved.

When shower is over I take the boy out of the Pack 'n Play and plop him on the bed so he can watch Curious George/Cat in the Hat Knows a Lot About That, depending on how late we're running. If MacDad is at home, I yell at him to get the boy dressed. Otherwise, I get myself ready, then go into the boy's room, get his clothes and come back into our room to get him dressed. This whole routine seems to take an enormous amount of time and I'm always running behind. Every day. Even when I skip washing my hair.

Once we're dressed, we go downstairs, where I surreptitiously sneak a banana into my bag. If MacBaby sees it, he'll want one too. We put on the necessary accouterments for the weather (shoes, jacket and hat) and walk to the car. Most of the time, he does not try to run away.

Drop MacBaby off at my parents house. Take him inside so he can see his eggs cooking. This is a very exciting development in his day. Whether or not he eats the eggs, he's very excited to see them and talk about them. Go to work. A few hours later go to my parents house to have lunch with MacBaby. Usually, he's very excited to see me. It's wonderful. Then, back to work.

Nighttime choose your own adventure style: When MacDad is in town, I pick up MacBaby after work and we head home for a well balanced meal (usually) and ice cream (sometimes). We used to eat out all the time before MacBaby, but now we never eat out during the week. When MacDad is home all week, we try to do all of our grocery shopping on the weekend and plan our meals, ideally with us rotating nights cooking. While one is cooking, the other is playing with MacBaby. Or, we watch him cook on his play kitchen, stirring spices and water in his pots. This can get gross.

After dinner, MacDad and MacBaby play for a while and then I give him a bath while MacDad cleans up the kitchen. No exceptions to this part of the night. I am always in charge of the bath. I think it's because I somehow always leave the big pots in the sink, which annoys MacDad, so he figures he may as well get the washing out of the way. After the bath, I put MacBaby in his pjs and MacDad comes up for book reading. Depending on how tired MacBaby is, there are one to many books read. Then, I nurse him till he falls asleep.

When MacDad is out of town, MacBaby and I have dinner at my parents house. Mostly because I'm lazy about cooking, plus he's already there. After dinner a family member will usually come over to help me with the above routine, plus the weekly taking out the trash and the nightly feeding of the dogs. Sometimes my sister will sleep over to assist with the morning duties as well.

Regardless of who's in town or sleeping where, my routine after MacBaby falls asleep never fails. I watch tv for an hour. If MacDad is out of town, we chat on the phone. Sometimes by the end of the week I fall asleep somewhere around 9:30, but usually I make it to 10, then call it a night. Usually MacBaby will wake me up a few times in the night requesting a drink of water, then he'll go back to sleep a few minutes later.

There you have a full 24 hours in the life of the MacFamily unit during the week. I'll save our weekend activities for another post. Any suggested ways we can cut down on the chaos and find more down time to enjoy?

More on Baby Names

Here's what denizen's of NYC are naming their kids. Guess it's a slow news day for the Journal?

On Choosing a Child's Name to Avoid Grammar Controversy

Picking a name for your kid is a daunting task. Conventionally speaking, he or she will be stuck with it for this rest of his or her life. I was pretty sure that MacBaby's name would be a variation on one specific names. One name ended with an "s" the other did not.

While MacDad and I were a both big fans of the name that ended with "s," let's say it was Aloysius, I could envision confusion looming in his future. Let's say he's in first grade and is writing a paper about his favorite cartoon character. Would he say "Aloysius' favorite cartoon character is Mickey Mouse?" Or, would he opt for the newly fashionable, "Aloysius's favorite cartoon character is Mickey Mouse," which I hate.

Not wanting to seem old-fashioned in in my use of apostrophe's following an "s," I opted to avoid the controversy by choosing the version of the name that ended with a less contentious constant. Perhaps that is a silly reason for picking a name, but I tried to have my bases covered with simple possessive usage.

Did any (seemingly) strange thoughts led to your child's name?

Prolonged Blog Absence Explained

In contemplating this blog, I've wondered how to strike a good balance with topics. In everyday conversations, parents often brag or complain about their children, neither of which interested me for the purpose of this blog. I've struggled with how much personal information to disclose, what constitutes TMI.

This summer, MacDad and I experienced a few situations that left me thinking: why have I never heard of anyone else going through this? In an effort to help others realize that these events are more common than suspected, I'm going to share.

In mid-July, I found out I was pregnant. The first few weeks developed similarly to my pregnancy with MacBaby. I was hungry and proceeded to eat constantly. Two weeks after confirming the good news, I felt nauseous all the time. Because I had two early miscarriages before MacBaby, my lady doctor monitored my HCG levels, which progressed as expected. Also because of the previous miscarriages, we went in for an early ultrasound.

Miraculously, I went into the doctor's office right on time, but MacDad was running late. I had an preview of my uterus, which appeared empty except for a placenta. He explained a phenomenon I had never heard before, the missed miscarriage. At this early stage, it would have meant that the pregnancy did not take, but my body proceeded as though I were pregnant. He suggested we continue monitoring my pregnancy hormones, then scheduled a follow up ultrasound for the next week. He gave us a 10 percent chance that perhaps I was pregnant, and that, for some reason, the fetus was not yet visible by ultrasound.

MacDad went home immediately to Google, alerting us of another trend, the misdiagnosed missed miscarriage, a topic recently covered in Babble. Trigger-happy doctors impatient to wait until the next week (or weeks) to determine if the pregnancy is indeed viable abort fetuses based on the immediate diagnosis. We learned of one woman who didn't see her baby on the ultrasound until her 12th week!

Needless to say, I was not in the mood to write about any of this. We had told a few people about the pregnancy, but didn't continue sharing. Meanwhile, my stomach grew and I continued to feel like crap.

Determined to wait a reasonable length of time before deciding our next steps, we went to our appointment a week later (MacDad was on time for this one). Hopeful to end our anxiety, we were relieved to see a tiny bean with a heartbeat on the screen.

That weekend, I swapped my maternity gear for my regular clothes, continued trying not to vomit, spread the good news and proceeded as expectant parents. MacDad traveled for work almost every week, I let the laundry pile in heaps.

With MacDad on the road and my mom watching MacBaby, I ventured to the doctor solo for my 10 week visit. In the car, I remembered feeling excited for my appointments during the previous pregnancy, but now I felt, anxious, almost dreading going to the office. Later, my doctor shared that maybe my body was trying to tell me something.

My feelings, it turned out, were justified. On this ultrasound a heartbeat was absent. The baby measured only at 7 weeks. It had died only days after our last visit.

My parents met me at the doctor's office and we looked for a more hopeful result on a secondary ultrasound. Unfortunately, the diagnosis remained. I arranged for a D&C, not wanting to spend more time looking and feeling pregnant with no positive outcome. MacDad drove home at 3 a.m. from out of town to be there for the procedure.

The doctor assured me that I suffered only from bad luck and nothing I did caused the miscarriage. But you still have to wonder. Did my anxiety make the baby feel unwanted? Was it the glass of wine I had before I knew I was expecting? If 20 percent of pregnancies turn out this way, why didn't I ever hear anyone talk about it happening to them? No celebrities who announce their pregnancy have to say never mind. It didn't make sense. Why did it seem like the only person who suffered miscarriages?

It's not that I wanted everyone I know to have the same experience, but if it happens to two out of ten pregnant women, then they must be out there. Within a week, I learned of two other women who had miscarriages the same week that I did with a D&D to follow. And then, there were celebrities talking about similar issues.

With these events six weeks behind us, I'm left with an extra ten pounds and the annoyance of having to answer questions about my due date. One particularly sensitive fellow asked if I was sure when I told him there was no baby. I'm pretty sure, dude.

MacDad and I have done a pretty good job of keeping the miscarriage in perspective. Yes, it was sad, but it could have been worse. Not to mention, we have our good egg at home who's eager to hang out with us. Even at 5:45 a.m. I welcome his first "mama" of the day.

With a little distance, I've realized that it might help me to write about it. And, it may help others who have also had miscarriages to realize they're not the only one. We'll probably try to conceive again, but this time I'll probably keep the news to myself for awhile, even if a baby bump is obvious. When the time's right to share, I will.

Why I Love Amy Bloom

Because she articulates my beliefs on this topic, I'm posting below an excerpt from Slate.com's conversation on who gets to be a feminist by Amy Bloom:

On one hand, I feel about this the way my father felt about Jews. If you want to call yourself a Jew (God help you), who are we to object? Mazel tov. You're a Jew; here's an eggroll. Unfortunately, feminism requires a better standard.

Being a feminist does not mean "I'm a woman who has accomplished things in the non-domestic world." Being African-American and on the Supreme Court does not make Clarence Thomas a Civil Rights activist; it makes him a product of the Civil Rights Movement. Feminism, I'm pretty sure, means a commitment to equal opportunity, equal ability, and equal potential for all women. It doesn't mean (and I realize that reasonable women differ on the definition of feminism—that's why it's feminism and not algebra) that a possession of a womb brings with it a special spiritual gift, or that women are avatars of goodness, entitled to yell, "Misogynist!" whenever it is to their advantage.

I like my feminists witty, dignified, left-leaning and short on self-aggrandizement—but they don't always come that way. If Sarah Palin explicitly supports equal pay for equal work, subsidized day care, Title IX, and the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, she's a feminist. If she understands that she is a product of feminism and is prepared to pursue its goals, I can give her a pass on abortion because there are, apparently, honest-to-God feminists who believe that abortion is murder and even though I think that that's not true, I have to respect that (I guess.) But there is no such thing as free market/anti-legislation/I've-got-mine feminism.

I admire Sandra Day O'Connor and Eleanor Roosevelt and their dedication to the cause of feminism. And I admire Sarah Palin's way with a soundbite. But I know and she knows that she's not a feminist; she's a Palinist.—Amy Bloom