You Can Thank Me For Vaccinating My Kids

That’s right.

When a fellow parent lets me know that they have not vaccinated their child, I want to let them know that they can feel free to thank ME (and all the other parents that HAVE vaccinated their children) for that freedom of choice. I (almost always) stop myself, but maybe I shouldn’t! Just like I should use the “A word” more often.

It is only because the majority of parents in this country have made the responsible decision to vaccinate their children that allows some parents the option of probably not contracting and transmitting Polio, influenza B, or pertussis. So while you go ahead and expound about mercury or aluminum or immune system overload (without actually taking the time to read and understand the actual studies in the medical journals), I’ll go ahead and vaccinate to protect my children AND yours.

It just seems a bit odd..that anti-vaxers have the option of avoiding vaccines only because other people have done exactly what they explicitly advise against. I’d love to hear, “Thanks so much for not taking our advice!” from the ubiquitous anti-vaxers here in Northern California.

Embracing the Chaos

For most of my adult life, I have been waiting. Waiting for my life to begin. I was never sure what that meant, how I would know when the real life had started. I thought I would just know. Wait to finish college, grad school, wait to find a job, start a family, blah blah.

Well, here I am. I can do adult things now, things that seem like I’m living the real life. I can buy and drink wine, I can give advice about natural childbirth, I can commiserate over a broken heart, I can dance the waltz, I can almost drive a stick shift, I can love people with my whole being, I can argue a point without getting emotional, I can write scientific papers, I can make white wine sauce and good homemade bread, I can have good sex and I know how good sex is supposed to feel.

Sometimes, though, I feel like I am still waiting for life to begin. When will everything fall into place? When will it all seem easy? When will the way seem clear?

And then time stops. I look at my baby girl, her chubby one-year-old arms, and I cannot BELIEVE that I have this child, so perfect, so full of awe. I look at my three-year-old’s hands, dirt under the nails and still exploring the earth, so perfect, so full of awe. In these moments I know that nothing ever falls into place for anyone. Nothing is ever all the way easy. In the same moment I know that I must embrace the chaos, the difficulty, the everything of my life and stop waiting for something to begin. I must hold onto those kairos moments, because as I’ve been waiting, I’ve also been living.

Jealous of Mill Valley, California (Coming Back to Reality)

**This post makes me seem like a horrible person. I’m not that bad.**

This past long weekend, we took a mini-vacation to San Fransisco, but stayed in Mill Valley. Upon our return, I find myself combating awful feelings of jealousy, entitlement, and hopelessness. We had a wonderful vacation, our first real get-away with two kids that included a hotel and all-day activities, but I am stuck with the heavy post-vacation blues. It is hard to come back to reality.

Mill Valley is located just north of San Fransisco, across the Golden Gate Bridge, at the foot of Mount Tamalpais, and near old-growth redwoods and sweeping beaches.  My husband and I have been there before, but when we were in our early 20s, single, and didn’t care about things like money. Marin County is absolutely beautiful, and also one of the most wealthy areas of the nation. It is the kind of wealth that is almost impossible to imagine. The multiple houses, multiple bank accounts, personal chef kind of wealth.

We went to a few restaurants while staying there, and experienced the local culture first hand. One restaurant ended up being a four-star that we stumbled into. We laughed at ourselves as I breastfed N at the table (amid many stares from the other patrons) and O wiped his hands on the table cloth and yelled that he had to pee. Another was a super kid-friendly pizza place that was full of kids in their mini-Uggs and North Face puffy coats (never mind that they’ll grow out of $100 boots in a few months!)

But Mill Valley people look relaxed, super healthy, slightly windblown in a romantic sort of way, like they are always ready to go on a hike in their Patagonia technical gear. In sum, they exude the life that I wish I could have. And I feel awful for wanting something that I can never have. I feel awful for wanting, when I already have so much. It’s not so much the wealth, but the perfect geographic location, which is unattainable unless you are uber-wealthy.

When we got back home to our reality, I disliked our town more than usual. And I am left wondering why I have such a sense of entitlement.  Why do I feel as though I deserve a certain way of life, a certain geographic location? Yes, I have tried to be thankful, to name all the wonderful things in my life (which are many), to think and read about people that are struggling in real tough situations.

I know that the super-wealthy have their own problems, and that husband and I experienced a very small bubble embedded within the reality of our world. And I know that I should be happy that we have the money to throw away on hotels and restaurants and souvenir t-shirts.

Coming back to reality is hard, especially when it includes mashed banana on the floor and in the hair.

Atheism and Motherhood

It has been my experience that parenthood solidifies people in their philosophical beliefs in one of two ways.  After experiencing childbirth or the emotional gravity of adopting or fostering a child, after realizing the weight of being responsible for a helpless human, after stripping oneself of any shred of selfishness, after loving someone so much you can’t think about it for too long because it’s a little scary, the parents I’ve known dive either deep into the mystical, the spiritual, the g(G)od-y  stuff, or they embrace the utter biological, natural, raw, and real-ness of parenthood. I am of the second camp, and I think this perspective is unfortunately much more rare.

I grew up in a very conservative Christian community, attended Christian schools through college, and attended “Sunday School” until I was 18. For some reason, though, I never truly bought into the whole belief system. When I went to college I started voicing my questions, and by the time I graduated I was a unabashed atheist. Having children has made my commitment to truth and evidence even more fierce, as I cannot imagine telling my kids that there is some magic that is real.

By atheism, I don’t mean the “I don’t go to church” or “I don’t really care” or “I don’t really think about it that often” variety of belief systems. I mean the “I have thought, read, talked, and maybe even tried religion, and it just does not make any sense.”

But I have found that atheism and motherhood rarely mix well. I mean, they mix wonderfully for me, but not so much for others. For example:

I was at the park with my two little ones last week and met a great group of moms. (This is always very exciting to me, since I am relatively new to town.) One of the moms started talking about the fact that she was Mormon and how she differed from party-line Mormonism in her acceptance of biological evolution. I thought that was great! She then asked if my religion changed how I viewed evolution. I simply said, “Oh, no, I’m an atheist.”

One the moms that was sitting with us said, “Oh my gosh”, scooped up her child from the sand pit, and quickly walked to her car. Of course, I am not sure that she left because of what I said (maybe she was utter bored), but it is true that atheists are one of the most untrusted groups in the U.S. What was I to think?

When I told my husband that night about the exchange (or lack thereof), he couldn’t believe that I had used the “A-word”.  “Why don’t you just say that you don’t go to church?!” Maybe that would have been a bit more, um, gentle, but why does “atheist” have to be a bad word?

More times than not I have witnessed friends or acquaintances who are relatively uninterested in religion join a church and/or start to “pray for you” after they become parents. Do parents think that they need to provide some moral backing that comes from an outside source? Do parents want to bring children up in households that mimic their own upbringings? If parenting such a life-changing experience that it leads people to search for “meaning”? Is this a strictly American phenomenon?

In any case, if you are a parent and an atheist, please use the “A-word” and show others that we are not a bunch of evangelizing evil-mongers, but just parents like them.

Seven Baby Products I Wish Someone Would Invent

We all have these ideas when we are deep into parenting. The idea usually starts with “Why don’t they make…”. Here are a few of mine, silly I know.

1. Home Silicone Body Molding System: I am currently not able to move my body away from my sweet sleeping daughter during the night.  She has some sort of spidey sense for mommy-proximity. This product would be a home kit that would involve taking a silicone cast of your naked, side-lying form, from neck to knee. (Silicone, of course, to mimic human skin and provide the option of using the form as a pacifier, since that is the role that my breasts currently play all night long.) When sweet baby is asleep, simply and discretely replace your body with the silicone replica, and sneak away to pee, blog, or stare at the wall without a baby attached to your body.

2. Adult-Sized Crib with Easy Exit: I love bed-sharing, but I hate having to worry about my little ones rolling off the bed when I am sleeping or when I’m in the other room.  I’ve thought about putting our mattress on the floor, but N could still crawl off the mattress and onwards to countless hazards in our bedroom. I’m envisioning a king-sized crib, complete with a little exit door for the parent(s). Not just bed rails…a complete enclosure so that I can nurse N to sleep and then leave the room without any worry.  Has no one else thought of this?! Seems obvious.

3. Baby-Proofed Exact Replicas of my Cell Phone, Kindle, Camera, and Water Glass: A universal baby truth: Baby wants any non-baby item that she or he sees the parent(s) using all the time. Yes, there are baby versions of cell-phones, complete with rainbow colors and funny noises.  But I wan exact replicas of my belongings, and so does my baby. Apple should offer a child-safe version of the iphone that meets all toy safety standards.

4. On-line Snuggie-Match Search Engine: Ever lose a stuffed animal that is the extra-special-will-cry-for-days-if-lost-will-only-let-go-if-in-close-proximity-to-ice cream variety? We have. I would like an on-line service that would search all available stores for a replica.  All you would have to do would be to upload a photo of the lost item (amid your 2-year-old’s heart-wrenching sobs) and the search engine would let you know when you could get a new one to your house and resume normality.

5. Point and Shoot Thermometer: It is possible for astronomers to estimate the temperature of stars and planets while sitting in their cozy observation offices, so why is there not a remote way to take my son’s temperature? No involvement of mouth, bottom, or armpit…just aim and estimate! (Like a tricorder for those of you who remember that device.)

6. Above-Carseat Pacifier Dispenser: My first baby, O, needed a pacifier in the car at all times when he was an infant, OR ELSE. When he dropped that pacifier, I would break out in a cold sweat and have to enter into my yoga breathing just to get to my destination. This product would be a remote-activated pacifier dispenser located above the infant carseat.  Drop a pacifier? No problem…just drop a new, clean one from the dispenser and avoid the cold-sweat!

7. Sneeze-Induction Inhalant for the Purposes of Sinus Clearing Before Outing: Have you had this experience?: Walking with your snot-everywhere 3-year old through a parking lot.  The sun makes him sneeze and evacuate a disturbing amount of snot, which proceeds to hang off his nose while simultaneously attaching to his sweatshirt. And you forgot kleenex. Onlookers stifle gags and commence inner dialogue about your parenting abilities. This is my experience with most of O’s colds…he’s not that good at blowing his nose, but a good sneeze clears him out for the time it takes me to grocery shop. This product would induce a sinus-clearing sneeze that you could control while in the comfort of your own home, with kleenexes at hand, away from the McJudge-y public.

What are some of your ideas that would make parenting little ones so much easier?

Running with a double stroller

Shortly after N was born, I graduated from a single to a double jogging stroller. Two days ago, I completed my first real run with both kids (a combined weight of over 65 lbs). Yes, it took me a year to use the stroller for more than strolling.  This was the conversation with my 3 year old:

O:  Mommy?

Me: What?

O:  Mommy?!

Me: Yes?

O: Mommy, why are you making that sound?

Me: What sound?

O: (silence)

Me: (realizes that O is referring to my very labored breathing. Is it possible to be embarrassed in front of your 3 year old?)

Here’s to more labored breathing. Damn, running with a double stroller is way tougher than it seems.  Shouldn’t I be able to lean on the thing for some sort of support while running?

She is a “strong woman”

I want my daughter to grow up to be a “strong woman”. Why don’t we say the same thing about our sons?  Why don’t we say “I want my son to grow up to be a strong man”? Is it that much harder to be a strong woman? Do we assume that our sons can just go ahead and be strong if they want to be?

Today is my daughter’s first birthday. I never thought that having a daughter would be so different than having a son. When I found out I was pregnant with a girl, I had a slight freak-out.  I’ve never been the girly-girl, never worn make-up, hate shopping, have three older brothers, and seem to get along better with men than women. How was I supposed to raise a girl?

A year later, I am fully my daughter’s mother.  Yes, she wears her brother’s hand-me-downs and loves playing with his toy trucks. But she is my girl who also sometimes wears pink. Having her has caused me to reflect on what it means to be a woman, or, more specifically, what it means to be the kind of woman that every mother wants to raise: a strong woman.

Leaving my career to stay home with my children has led me to question if I am emulating the “strong woman” archetype that I would like my daughter to embrace as she grows. As I discussed this with my husband last night, he reminded me that my decision to become a mother, to put my career aside for the time being, was a choice I made with conviction when the time came, and a choice that I still make every day. Some days the choice is easy, other days it takes some yogic breathing to come to peace with the consequences.

So, a strong woman does not have to be the ass-kicking, high-heel wearing CEO who gets her nails done while taking a conference call that we see depicted so repeatedly in the media. A strong woman is someone who runs forward toward her highly personal goals, arms wide open, hair flying back off her face, wide smile, and snort-laughing.  In high heels, bare foot, or while simultaneously chasing a 3 year old. (Isn’t that exactly what a strong man should be, too?)

Happy birthday my little N.  I love you so much.

N's strong newborn fist