Girl Detective

Alison Wolf makes an interesting argument: career equality between the sexes has negative repercussions for society. In this article, (link via Arts and Letters Daily) she claims there are three results:

-the death of sisterhood, or an end to the millennia during which women of all classes shared the same major life experiences to a far greater degree than did their men.
-the erosion of “female altruism,” the service ethos that has been profoundly important to modern industrial societies, particularly in the education of their young and the care of their old and sick.
-the impact of employment change on childbearing. We are familiar with the prospect of demographic decline, yet we ignore – sometimes wilfully – the extent to which educated women face disincentives to bear children.

I’m not sure where to begin on how messed up this article is, but I’ll try. (Also, the last sentences of three of the four final paragraphs are strange in tone and seem like mistakes.)

First, her assumption of some prior “sisterhood” in which women shared experiences re-visits one of the key mistakes of early, 70’s era feminism, where “women” really meant “rich, white women” and did not accurately or fairly represent the multiplicity of women’s lives.

Second, she decries the decline in volunteer social services, but only implies a conclusion, and one that’s disturbing at that: that educated women should leave the workforce to resume the unpaid social services of the past.

The final concerning implication in Wolf’s article is that the financial disincentives for career women to have children mean that more poorer, less-educated women are having children. I took Wolf’s concern to mean she thought the “wrong” women were having children.

At base, Wolf’s point is a good one. Society does suffer because women are penalized rather than supported in having children. But penalties exist for all women, not just wealthy, highly educated ones. Wolf doesn’t put the onus where I think it should be–on public policy. By implication, then, (so much of what’s troubling about the article is what’s implied, because hard data and solutions aren’t supplied) the onus falls where it usually does–on women themselves. What Wolf has done is blame the victim.

According to this New York Magazine article (link via Arts and Letters Daily) I’m a Grup. I wear tattered high tops and unconventional eyeglasses, I carry a messenger bag instead of a diaper bag. The bands they mention are either in my collection or in my queue at the library and on my radio station. My kid likes to listen to DJ Shadow.

The author defines Grups as

40-year-old men and women who look, talk, act, and dress like people who are 22 years old. It’s not about a fad but about a phenomenon that looks to be permanent.

The article is an extended analysis of the current state of Gen-Xers. Apparently, we’re destroying the generation gap because we like a wide range of music. What was embarrassing about the article was the mirror it held up–so many of the people mentioned in the article are so like each other, and so like me. So much for individuality. What was refreshing, though, was the idea that we’re trying to synthesize childlike (NB: not childish) passion with adult responsibilities.

Being a Grup isn’t, as it turns out, all about holding on to some misguided, well-marketed idea of youth–or, at least, isn’t just about that. It’s also about rejecting a hand-me-down model of adulthood that asks, or even necessitates, that you let go of everything you ever felt passionate about. It’s about reimagining adulthood as a period defined by promise, rather than compromise. And who can’t relate to that?

Of course, that’s not a real ending–even the Grups don’t know how this will end. They know they’re making up adulthood as they go.

Did you think I was just watching movies? I’ve been reading, too. It takes a lot more effort than it used to, and I’m having to give up a lot more things to do it (showers, housecleaning, email replies, phone calls) but I am reading. Further, I’m appreciating the reading, because I have to work so hard to do it. I think it’s tougher than watching a movie; it requires more mental energy, and more physical energy, too. Maybe you don’t think holding a book and turning pages is tough, but try doing it on little sleep and while nursing a baby–no small feat.

During the last big snow storm, I put Guppy in the Baby Bjorn, got Drake in his snowsuit and boots, shovelled our walks, then pulled Drake around the park in his sled. I will try to remember that day anytime I’m feeling useless and unaccomplished.

Three years ago when I shopped for a single stroller I didn’t feel there was a lot of consumer information on which to base a purchase. Yet the dearth that there was (a scanty comparison by Consumer Reports, a decent comparison in Baby Bargains, and highly unreliable personal accounts online) came to seem a relative abundance when my husband and I began to research double strollers recently.

Most feedback favors the side by side instead of the inline style, both for maneuverability and so that both children can see. We first checked out the Combi Twin Savvy and the Maclaren Twin Traveller. Both seemed fine for light, mostly indoor use. I walk a lot, though, and one of the things I like about our neighborhood is that we’re within a mile of our grocery store and two libraries, so I need something that can go up and down curbs, over rough sidewalks, and through the snow. Neither the Combi nor the Maclaren looked up to this kind of travel, so we looked at jogging strollers instead.

The less expensive jogging strollers have a fixed front wheel. In order to change direction, you have to press down on the back wheels so the front one lifts up, then adjust the front. This would be fine if I were running in mostly a straight line.

Pivoting wheels on a double jogging stroller solve the maneuverability problem, but just about double the average price. While the Maclaren, Combi, and fixed-wheel models are priced between about $200 and $350, pivoting-front wheelers start at over $500. We found three models: the Bob Revolution Duallie, the Mountain Buggy Urban Double and the Phil and Ted Twin. Fortunately, we found a good local store, Baby Grand, that carried all three models so we could compare them in person, since information on the web was sometimes sketchy (Phil and Ted don’t even have info on the twin model on their website. Their E3 double is great in theory, and apparently the big thing in NYC, but we want Guppy to have a view other than that of Drake’s bum.)

The Bob has only a single front wheel, and is the least expensive at just over $500. The Mountain Buggy and the Phil and Ted have double front wheels, cost over $600, and are significantly (about 40 cm) shorter in length than the Bob. All three are comparable in width and fit through most doorways. The Bob has the best canopy coverage, and would not require anything additional for sunscreen. You could also access your kid through the back of the canopy, which could be very useful. Both the Mountain Buggy and the Phil and Ted have short, inadequate canopies that are most likely designed so that one also purchases the extended cover, at about $75, making them even more expensive. The Phil and Ted had a forward center of gravity, which made it harder to lift the front wheels than on the other two. We came very close to choosing the Bob, because of its price, its canopy and its overall function, but in the end went with the Mountain Buggy because the seats on the Bob don’t recline. The Bob is better for two children of the same age, or at least two older children, not one like our Guppy who’s only a few weeks old. The Bob also had a more detailed restraint. It was more a stroller for a true runner than for someone like me, who merely walks a lot in the city.

I’ve taken the Mountain Buggy out twice now, and it handles like a dream. Going up and down curbs is easy, and both boys enjoy the ride. We ordered a canopy extender rather than what Mountain Buggy offered, and while it annoys me to have to spend so much more when the Bob had such a great canopy included, I did appreciate that I could have Guppy sitting up, supported by a Snuzzler, or lying down when asleep, which I would not be able to do with the Bob.

I’ve written before that I do not want this site to be a mommy blog, but if you look at my recent infrequent posts, I know that’s what it looks like. I’m not going to apologize, though. It’s just that the mom stuff is very front and center for me now that we have a new baby in addition to a two year old. Their needs are often necessarily in advance of mine, and blogging falls pretty low on Maslow’s hierarchy, though I’m sure Maslow’s list for a mom of a new baby is different from the general one. For instance, need for sleep now trumps need for food, and Maslow doesn’t even mention the need for a shower.

A Mom’s Credo has been banging about in my head like Athena, though, and I think it encapsulates a lot of what this weblog is about, and why I write it:

Be I sleep deprived, covered in spit up, unshowered, and clinging to my last frayed nerve, I will continue to pursue a life of mind. My own needs are physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual. I may need to delay my own fulfillment of these needs to meet more immediate ones of my children, but I refuse to forego them.

***

For example, I resume this after fetching a crying Guppy after his nap, waking Drake from his nap, and putting on a sling, in which I now nurse the baby while typing one handed.

Now that he’s a big brother AND he’s two, Drake continues to exhibit some strong opinions and spectacular tantrums if he doesn’t get his way. Of late, there are a few things that my husband G. Grod and I are no longer able to do if Drake is in the vicinity. He insists on doing them, and throws a spectacular tantrum if we don’t let him, or if, out of habit, we forget and do these simple things ourselves: flush the toilet (though he still refuses to use the toilet); use the microwave; put the lid on his sippy cup; and even more random, pass a burp cloth.

In some ways, though, these are easy to handle, because Drake is consistent about them. He ALWAYS wants to do them himself. Other things sometimes bother him and sometimes don’t, like turning the pages of books, opening the garage door, and unlocking the car.

Monday was supposed to be the first day of new life as usual, but Minnesota got a blizzard with about 10 inches of snow in about as many hours, so G. Grod’s bus wasn’t running to work and he had a snow day. Plus we have kind friends who are bringing us dinner, so we’re hardly left to our own devices.

Getting computer time at all is hard, and having time to write is even harder. And thinking of something quasi-intelligent to say? Ha. I’ve had two very bad nights in a row. I don’t think Guppy has colic, but he is definitely having more trouble at night than during the day. I hold him in the dark, and whimper, “Please, please, just go to sleep.” He’ll usually be up for the two hour feeding interval between 11 and 1, then I’ll get an hour or so between the next few intervals when he wakes at 3, 5 and 7. Someone once told me that sleep deprivation is cumulative, and I’m feeling five weeks of it.

I’ve meant to chronicle some of the firsts as I went. I spent the two weeks after he was born mostly in PJs, only getting dressed to take Guppy for his 1-week checkup. My first solo outing was to the grocery coop. My first outing with Guppy alone was in the stroller to the coffee shop. I took both boys to an indoor gym playdate a few days later. I got there 15 minutes before it ended, but by goodness, I got there. G. Grodd and I went out for birthday sushi. Guppy was in the car seat, and he slept through the entire meal, in spite of slow service. Next, all four of us went to the coffee shop. Then last Friday I put Drake in the stroller and Guppy in the Bjorn and we walked to the coffee shop, the park, the pizza place and home. My next challenge will be taking both boys either to the coop or to Target by myself. I’m in no rush, and I don’t fool myself that it won’t be difficult. Drake is doing pretty well with the big brother thing, but he is throwing some truly spectacular tantrums over some truly trivial things of late, so we’re taking care not to push things.

As for me and the sleep deprivation, I realized yesterday, after he got sopping wet, that I’d put pants on Drake but forgot his diaper. Oops.

In spite of it all, though, I’m managing to get some reading, movies and TV. I’m still ruminating on the last few episodes of Battlestar Galactica, and peeved that I have to wait till October for new ones. I think I’ll try to get some one-line reviews up when I get a chance. Or if I get a chance. Sigh.

One of the intake questions at the hospital where I gave birth was, “Are you under any stress at home, such as a remodeling project?”

Well, um, yeah, we had to admit. The day before I went into labor we’d had an electrician install a heater in our basement bathroom and expand our electric box, the day after labor we had a new washer and dryer delivered, and prior to the baby’s due date we’d hoped to have our old sink removed and a new one plus a dishwasher installed. Alas, Guppy had other plans, which put the sink plans on hold until yesterday.

The last of our out-of-town family visitors left on Sunday. Sink demolition began the day after. While we continue to put off starting whatever life will be as a family of four, we are very much looking forward to having a dishwasher.

As you may have guessed, I haven’t posted recently because I gave birth to Drake’s little brother. I went in for my 38 week checkup on Tuesday the 7th with contractions that went from about 5 minutes apart to about 3 minutes apart while I was there. The doc said I could go home to collect my husband and my things, but then I was due at the hospital. My husband’s ride home from work kindly dropped him off at the clinic rather than at home so he could pick up me and our car. My sister Sydney was staying with us to help with Drake.

We got to the hospital about 6:30. I was in labor for another 5 hours or so, everything going great, using my hypnobirthing techniques and breathing, and certain that I was ready push. Then the nurse checked me, and I was only dilated to 4, a mere half centimeter more than I’d been on admittance. That was a low, low moment. I did all the usual cliches–begged for drugs, cried that I was tired, in pain and couldn’t do it, but my husband, doula and the nurse kept assuring me that I was doing it, and just before 3 am I gave birth, having had no drugs. I still can’t believe I did it. Those last few hours are indescribable in a difficult way. The moment of his birth is indescribable in an entirely different way. We had no problems of positioning, elevated heart rate or meconium as we did with Drake. I did end up with two smallish tears, but nothing like last time. The new guy was 8 pounds,2 ounces and 21 1/2 inches long, in spite of arriving two weeks before his due date.

He sleeps a lot, though not necessarily between 11pm and 6 am, and is napping on my chest in a sling as I type. We finally revealed his name to family and friends; we’d kept it a closely guarded secret. Both his first and middle names were ones that we liked and that are also, incidentally, family names. For the purposes of the blog, though, I’ll call him Guppy.

We’re all tired but doing well. Posts may be a bit sporadic in the coming weeks, but I’ll do what I can, when I can.

Well, yes, at nine months pregnant I am rather larger than I was previously, but still, as I waddle about, struggling with heartburn, hip and back pain, and various other unpleasantries, it doesn’t help to be reminded.

I remind myself, though, that I’m in the home stretch of this pregnancy that’s been less than smooth. My definition of annoying has had to expand a lot, encompassing everything that’s not outright dangerous. Soon, I’ll have a whole different set of issues.

The important things to remember, though, are that I’m healthy, and Drake’s imminent sibling seems healthy, too. I’m going to try and keep us that way through labor and delivery.

Lately I am frustrated that I am less active and less creative–writing both for the blog and on my novel has been difficult. The only thing I don’t have trouble writing is lists. Yet I know this is a phase. Conventional wisdom says I’m nesting. I’m feeling very inward and static, which is yin, according to Chinese philosophy. I will swing back to the complementary yang eventually, expanding once again creatively and intellectually.

For the record, Hypnobirthing by Marie Mongan was my #6 book for the year, though it seems weird to mention, since it’s obviously a situational thing. The name sounds very cheesy, and some of the assurances a little too good to be true, e.g. birth doesn’t have to hurt! But I’m doing two big things differently this time: using hypnosis as a relaxation tool, and working with a doula. When I had Drake, my water broke after a long day; I was exhausted and probably dehydrated. Then when I had tough contractions, I threw up, making things worse. I would love drug-free pain, but I’ll settle for no vomiting. Also, when I had Drake the hospital was full, and G. Grod and I were left alone for long periods of time, with me in a labor whose details were not by the book. This time we’re working with a doula, in the hope that if things go weird again, we’ll have a calmer, more experienced person with us the whole time.

My husband G. Grod made a mix CD, and Drake can identify the newest song:

“It’s Doctor Who!”

or Pampers is messing with me. My two-year-old son Drake has shown no interest in using the toilet, so he is still in diapers. As he’s grown, I’ve had to largely ignore the weight guides on the diaper boxes, since they’re vast. Instead, I look at how the diaper is fitting him, especially around the legs. Sometime last fall, I thought, “These size 4s feel small; time to move up to size 5.”

After a few months in the size 5s, a friend changed his diaper and asked me why I was using 5s. “They’re huge on him!” she exclaimed. I dug up a size 4, tried it on him, and she was right; it fit just fine. I tried hard not to berate myself for however long I’d been buying 5s, since larger diapers cost more because there are fewer per box. I went back to buying size 4s.

But these past few weeks I noticed that the 4s seemed awfully big on him, too. I mentioned this to a friend who produced a size 3 diaper (keep in mind these are all Pampers, so all sizing SHOULD be apples to apples), I tried it on him. AND IT FIT.

Drake isn’t shrinking–he’s finally grown too tall for some of his pants. And he can see AND reach the shelf in his closet that he previously couldn’t. He’s always been on the thin side, but lately he’s been eating well and is not worryingly skinny as he has been sometimes in the past. So I don’t get it. Did I rush him ahead not just one, but two diaper sizes? (I cringe when I think of the wasted money over these several months. Pampers are not cheap, and we are a one-income family.) Has Pampers increased the size of their diapers? Is he growing up and thinning out in the diaper area?

Whatever the reason, I bought a case of size 3s today and they seem to fit him fine. I’ll just put aside those 4s and 5s for now. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be contrary in a good way, and start using the toilet before he outgrows (again?) the size 3s.

The book and movie challenges I did last year arose out of frustration that two of my favorite pastimes got short shrift in the aftermath of having a child 2+ years ago. The goals were reminders that books and movies are priorities. I enjoy them and they engage my mind. Our next child is due in the coming weeks; I’m sure this will make a dent in the time and energy I’m able to devote to books and movies. Last year’s successful challenges show me to hang in there, because things change. They also remind me that motherhood is not synonymous with intellectual stagnation or atrophy. I will again try for 50 books and 50 movies. One of each per week feels manageable, for now.

The pediatrician warned us, “Don’t just feed him foods he likes. Offer him what you’re eating, and if he doesn’t eat it, let him be. Don’t keep offering him things until he eats something.”

It was sound, reasonable advice. But for a long time, Drake was so thin that it didn’t feel right to let him escape from a meal without eating. Now that he’s put a little weight on, though, we have–Surprise!–a toddler with bad eating habits. His diet consists mostly of yogurt, toast, hot dogs, and mac and cheese. He never will eat what we eat for dinner. If it’s all we offer, he starts shouting “Down!” with increasingly volume and frequency until either we let him down, or we offer him something more to his taste.

Last night was the night we decided to make the change. We offered him what we had. He refused. We tried to get him just to try it, invoking Green Eggs and Ham, and Bread and Jam for Frances. No dice. “Down! Down! DOWN!” So we let him down without eating, and decided that offering something new should be done at lunch, which is usually his biggest meal.

I tried again at lunch today. “Just try it. If you try it I’ll let you have something else.” He wouldn’t even try it. So down he got, having had no lunch after no dinner last night and a scant breakfast this morning.

A firm change is best. I know–in theory at least–that he won’t starve, and he’ll eat when he’s hungry. I must not cave before that happens.

My two-year-old son Drake moved out of his crib and into a bed within the past few weeks. Contrary to my fears, his good sleeping habits haven’t changed. He’s climbing into bed at naptime and bedtime, and when we hear him talking we get him up after nap and in the morning. He didn’t seem to be getting out of bed in his room, and he hasn’t yet (knock wood) tried to open his door and exit the bedroom. It was with some surprise, then, that I went to get him up the other morning, opened his door, and didn’t find him in his bed. Instead, he was sitting in the rocking chair, with a book in his lap, flipping pages. He looked up at me and said simply, “I’m reading.”

I burst out laughing and responded, “Yes, yes, you are.”

I made a decision soon after I had my son Drake that I didn’t want us rushing hither and yon on a daily basis to this class or another, no matter how edifying or enjoyable. As I learned quickly, much of the difficulty is getting out the door. Transitions are hard, as is getting dressed, shod, and provisioned. A class or playdate might be fun, but getting ready and getting there rarely is. However, I did make it a priority to get outside and get some fresh air and exercise for both of us except in the most miserable weather. Lately, with winter and advancing pregnancy, I have done this less and less. To my surprise, though, Drake isn’t bored and he isn’t getting cabin fever. Some of the days he’s been happiest have been days we’ve done the least. My husband and I had the flu a few weeks ago, and could do little more than lay about moaning and twitching like zombies. We took turns when Drake demanded attention, but for the most part he played happily on his own and near us. The number of potential activities is growing all the time as Drake gets older–music class, swim class, gymnastics, library storytime, art class, playdates, outings, and more. I try to quell the voice inside that worries that I’m depriving him by not exposing him to things he would enjoy. But I think it works out pretty well to do a little at a time–at most one class-type thing with me a week and one with my husband. This may be even more important for some one-on-one time with Drake once his little brother arrives.

When my two-year-old son Drake woke from his nap this afternoon, I heard him whimpering, with distress in his voice, “Where’s ’something unintelligible that might have been Mom’?” I rushed up to get him out of bed, and found what he was crying for was his new favorite item, the remote control.

We began to let Drake have the remote for the CD changer, and we may have created a monster. When he wakes in the morning or from his nap, he either demands the remote control or to hear his favorite song, which he calls “Hop-Hop”, more accurately The Hoppity Song by John Ondrasik of Five for Fighting, off Drake’s favorite CD For the Kids. Drake has memorized the number of each track of this CD, and has learned how to locate this CD in the changer, as long as we leave it in slot #3. If we ask him to put in a certain song, he can program it. If song number X comes up on another CD, he’ll remark sadly, “Not the X song,” meaning not that song number from For the Kids. When we read Hippos Go Berserk by Sandra Boynton the other day, not only was he naming the numbers, but he recited the name of the corresponding For the Kids song. Also, he’s picking up the names of the other artists we have in our changer, so he’ll announce excitedly with a lisp, “It’s DJ Shadow!”, “It’s Bob Mould!”, “It’s Christmas!”, or “It’s Dog Train!”, which is the new book/CD by Sandra Boynton and friends.

While this is adorable, there is one major problem. Drake does not feel compelled to listen to the entire song, and will often play a song’s first few seconds over and over. I found this particularly distressing on a Christmas mix CD from a friend. I wanted to hear Low’s Just Like Christmas. Drake, however, would only listen to the first 15 seconds before re-starting the song or switching to another one. Over and again I’d hear, “On our way from Stockholm….” and then no more. So we’re encouraging Drake to listen to the entire song, with only sporadic luck thus far.

I put off my two-year-old son Drake’s haircut as long as I could. Playground mothers warned me, when they admired his curls, that they often disappeared at that first cut. Additionally, they added sadly about their own sons’ haircuts, “He stopped looking like my baby; he looked like a little boy.” So I ignored all pointed remarks, but eventually had to admit that Drake’s hair looked unkempt and uncute, and was in his eyes. I made an appointment at a kids’ haircuttery that a friend recommended. Mostly, he was very good, though multiple lollipops helped more than did the TV at the station. He was frightened by the razor even though the woman was very slow to introduce it, and tried to accustom him to it before she began. She cut off quite a bit of hair–almost an inch all around–and sent us home with an envelop filled with red-brown-gold curls. His hair still has some curl to it, and he still looks like my little boy to me, so I think it was all to the good.

With his sibling due in less than two months, it was also time for him to move out of his crib. We have been extraordinarily fortunate both that Drake has become a good sleeper and that he slept well in his crib. As far as I know, he never tried to climb out of it. I checked out children’s beds at Ikea, but chose a simple futon for a very good price at a local store, instead. It’s a twin bed that folds up to a chair, so it can be useful for years even if we end up getting him a different bed later, plus it’s low enough to the ground, even on the frame, that should he fall, it will be startling, but not painful. We assembled the frame first and left it in his room, then added the futon and the sheets. For a few naps and nights, we asked if he wanted to sleep in the crib or his big-boy bed. The first few times he chose the crib, but ever after he chose the bed decisively and would hop off my husband’s or my lap and charge straight for the bed and get in. We left the crib in the room for a while, then began to ask him if it was OK if we took it apart and put it away. He said yes, then no, then yes several times in a row, so we took the crib down yesterday. As with most milestones, he hardly seemed to notice. His sleeping patterns haven’t changed; he is still sleeping well. Some of this I credit to our routine and the set up of his room. In the afternoon, we have lunch, short playtime, books, then nap. At night we have dinner, short playtime, bath, books, and bed. The times vary, and sometimes we skip some of the steps like playtime or bath, but the general order remains the same so he knows what to expect. The toys he has in his room are mostly his bedtime friends, and the books are all ones that we read prior to sleep, so he associates his room with sleep, not with play.

My “baby” now has a haircut and his own bed. I suppose he’ll be asking for the car keys next.