What attachment parenting means to me

Everybody's going crazy about this Time Magazine cover. I've had a lot of thoughts about it and read a lot of responses. Fortunately, most of them are of the "we all need to just shut up and stop judging each other because there is no one right way to parent" variety. However, some of them (and some of the comments accompanying them) grossly mischaracterize the Attachment Parenting philosophy. Here's a representative sample:

[P]arents must wear their babies as an appendage at all times, sleep with their babies lest they feel abandoned for 8 hours, breast-feed for at least one year to even be considered a mom, and pretty much arm your children with zero independence, no self-soothing skills and ensure that they need mommy and daddy for ev-er-y-thing until they at least 15.

OK, so maybe this blogger is being a little tongue-in-cheek, but this seems to be a pretty common (mis)conception of AP.

As someone who believes in Attachment Parenting, this bugs me. So I'd like to straighten a few things out.

First off, AP is by no means proscriptive. It is a philosophy, not a strict practice. There are no "musts." At first I thought maybe I was misremembering things, so I consulted my dog-eared copy of The Baby Book and I was right. Time and time again throughout the book, Dr. Sears emphasizes and re-emphasizes that not all techniques work for every family. The point is to do whatever works for your family to engender a secure attachment between you and your kids, which is the real aim of AP. That is the real message of The Baby Book, and the heart of Attachment Parenting: the idea that if you trust your instincts, respond appropriately to your kids' cues, and treat your child with respect and understanding, parenting can be more successful and rewarding. That seems pretty straight-forward to me, and not at all controversial. I am sure there are militant AP-ers out there who take things too literally and too far and just ruin it for everyone; but I don't personally know any, and I know a lot of AP moms.

So here is what AP has meant for me, following the main tenants of attachment parenting:

1) Birth Bonding
I chose to take an active role in the births of both my girls, not just because I am very interested in childbirth (shocker!), but because taking ownership of the births helped me feel confident as a mother from the get-go. Although neither birth unfolded exactly as I imagined (they never do), I was able to confidently mother my girls from their earliest hours, something I believe would have been more difficult if I hadn't taken on an active role during their births. In fact, although Freya's birth was just as long and intense as Ren's, my greater sense of agency during Freya's birth definitely helped me be a more confident mother to her sooner than I was able to do with Ren.

2) Belief in the signal value of your baby's cries
I don't believe that if I let my baby cry, she'll develop brain damage. Although Dr. Sears is accused of promoting this idea, I also don't recall reading about it in his book. (I have read stuff on how being left to cry can be stressful for a baby, but not to the level of brain damage). Anyway, the reason I respond as soon as possible when Freya cries is the same reason I respond when Erik asks me a question: I think it's rude to ignore someone who is trying to communicate with me. Ignoring her sends the message, "I don't care what you need right now" and I just don't want to send that message to someone I love. Plus, the crying stresses me out physically as well as emotionally and it's just easier on all of us if someone tends to her needs.

With an older child like Ren, of course she can communicate without crying, and she can also try to manipulate me. But fortunately after 4 years of watching closely and responding promptly to her cues, I have a very good sense of what she's trying to communicate at any given time, whether she's faking it, and how to respond. Being responsive can be emotionally and mentally demanding, and sometimes physically demanding, as when a child needs to be held or rocked for long periods. But ultimately I've found that for me it's made parenting more joyful and less confusing and anxiety-inducing.

However, being responsive does not equate to being lenient. This is another big misperception. I have no problem telling Ren "no" if I need to, even if it breaks her heart. She hears "no" a lot. But I'm willing to work to figure out what she needs, and I'm not going to deny her something she truly needs if it is in my power to give it to her, even if it might be inconvenient for me. If her needs and my needs clash, then I figure out a compromise, just like any other two people who love each other might have to do.

3) Breastfeeding
Breastfeeding works for our family. I get that it does not work for all families. In a different situation, say if I had had to work full-time away from home when Ren was an infant, I would have supplimented or formula-fed with no guilt. You gotta do what you gotta do to nourish your kids and keep yourself sane. But for me, breastfeeding is the best, easiest and most fun way to feed my babies. And seriously the laziest. No way I was going to deal with formula and washing bottles if I didn't have to, let alone preparing bottles in the middle of the night. Ugh. Kudos to the moms and dads who choose to do it, or who do it because they don't have a choice.

I could have been the women on that Time magazine cover, except I'm not nearly as attractive as she is. But I did nurse Ren until she was 3 and a half. I didn't plan to breastfeed as long as I did with her. As she got older, there just never seemed a good reason to wean. It made her so happy and was not really any trouble to me, so why not keep going? Then when I got pregnant and it was painful every time she latched on and she didn't seem as dependent on the comfort it provided, we weaned. It really was never a big deal one way or the other, although apparently I'm an outlier and a freak and possibly a pedophile... Anyway, we'll see what happens with Freya. She might go longer than Ren did, she might self-wean at 18 months. I might need to stop nursing for some reason, medical or otherwise. Either way, we'll stop just as soon as one or the other of us is ready to stop. But I will forever cherish the time I spent nourishing them, with them in my arms looking up at me. I'm sure all parents feel that way, whether their baby was on the other end of a breast or a bottle.

Oh, and I don't believe I ever nursed standing up and looking defiant while Ren stood on a chair looking huge and a little shell-shocked. Seriously, they found the most gargantuan three year old they could for that picture, didn't they?

I feed on demand because that is the way I eat. Eat when you're hungry; stop when you're full. (I still need to work on that second one). It just never made sense to me to impose a somewhat arbitrary schedule on a baby or a kid, and this belief links back to #2.

4) Babywearing
Helps me get stuff done around the house, and it's a lot easier to slip a baby in a sling than to lug 20 pounds of baby + car seat around. I'll happily use a stroller when going long distances if it's a place where the stroller isn't a PITA.

5) Bedding close to baby
Once again, laziness. Ren could not sleep alone. Not would not; could not. For all of our sanity, she had to be in the bed with us. On the other hand, Freya will happily sleep in her bassinet, so that's where she is for the first part of the night. When she wakes up hungry, I take her out of the bassinet, put her next to me, stick a boob in her mouth and go back to sleep. We all get the most sleep this way. If co-sleeping equals sleep-deprivation for your family, DON'T DO IT! It's dangerous to bedshare if you're sleep deprived, anyway.

6) Balance and boundaries
This is the one the "AP is EXTREME! It's anti-feminist! It's for martyrs!" folks forget about. Yet it's one of the main tenants of Attachment Parenting! It's right there in the book: it's about "knowing when to say yes and when to say no, and also having the wisdom to say yes to your own needs." This has served me well and really cuts down on the mama-guilt factor. So, yes, I work part-time while the girls are at daycare, I go out with my friends, I have an occasional drink, I take a night off once in a while to be by myself, and I sometimes let the baby cry while I am in the bathroom or the shower. I still call myself AP with no hesitation.

7) Beware of baby trainers
At heart, this just means follow your own instincts and take every one else's advice with a grain of salt. I'd be utterly lost without my instincts, paralyzed by anxiety. If I didn't trust myself to be a good mom, I'd have nothing to fall back on in an emergency or when my situation deviates from the norm. Which is all the time, because no one's parenting situation is totally "normal." There is no one-size-fits-all parenting plan, so you've got to trust yourself to craft a style that works for your family.

This last point sums up all the others for me: I follow numbers 1-6 to one extent or another not because The Great Dr. Sears tells me to, but because that's pretty much what feels right to me anyway. If any of it didn't feel right or didn't work for my family's situation, I wouldn't do it.

Note that these foundations of AP do not address cloth diapering, eating organically, intactivism, elimination communication, home schooling, or any of the other things commonly associated with "the AP lifestyle."

I have benefited from the philosophies behind attachment parenting in a lot of ways. It has helped make me a more confident, happy, well-balanced mother. I think it's doing good things for my kids, too. Certainly no one who knows Ren could say she has "zero independence, no self-soothing skills" and she "need[s] mommy and daddy for ev-er-y-thing." I don't think AP is the only way to raise happy, well-adjusted children, but I do think that if you want happy, well-adjusted children, then having confident, happy, well-balanced parents is a great place to start.

Freya's birth story

Wednesday, March 7th -
appt with Dr. Susa @ 38 w; Dr. Hartung out of town. Blood pressure 150s/90s and won't go down. Starting to think about induction sooner than later; 2cm, 50% effaced, and soft. Made an appt for Friday w/ 24 urine.

Friday, March 9th -
3:00pm - assuming I will probably be induced, mom comes to the appt and we bring my hospital bag. Protein and BP both down, but after talking with Susa (Hartung booked) we decide it's probably time to move on this.

4pm - admitted to hospital for induction. The plan is to break my water first, then start pit if necessary. Mom is with me and Erik is planning to come after work.

5pm - they inform me that due to low staffing overnight and two moms in labor (one with twins), we can't start the induction until morning. Susa says I can stay in the hospital and they'll break my water at 6am, or I can go home and come in for a 7:30a induction. We opt for me to stay. Erik stays the night with me; mom and dad and Ren stay at Diane's. I take advantage of the big birthing tub and E and I watch some Arrested Development. Try to get some sleep but the bed is really uncomfortable.

Saturday, March 10th -
3am - regular contractions start spontaneously and I'm too excited to sleep. Walk the halls and watch TV for a while. Contractions are very mild and breathable, like the ones I've been having for a couple weeks. They don't get stronger and closer, but they don't go away either.

7:30am - Rachel arrives, Erik leaves. We are informed that the twin mama is still laboring and they can't induce me until she's done. The nurse says, "Your induction WILL be some time this morning." I think, does that mean I might have to wait until noon!? Little did I know...

morning - hang out, eat breakfast, check out the art in the halls, breathe through prodromal contractions...

At some point mom, dad and Ren visit and we play in the rock pond in front of the hospital in the unseasonably gorgeous weather. By noon the twin mama still has not delivered ("She's pushing! She's *this* close!")

It has been exactly six weeks since I sat sobbing in my car in the driveway after Dr. Susa called to tell me I have pre-eclampsia again.

around 1p - Susa walks in and says that even though the twin mama is still laboring, he wants to get the show on the road. I'm still at 2cm, 50% effaced, baby at station -1. I'm nervous. Rachel and I listen to the second movement of Mozart's Sinfonia Concertante (the 1982 Perlman/Zuckerman live recording) and it helps calm me down.

1:45p - Susa tries to break my water (REALLY PAINFUL!!), but baby's head is so engaged it's hard to tell. We call Sarah to come. Contractions continuing, slightly stronger than before? Or wishful thinking?

afternoon - Walk the labyrinth outside the hospital. Walk the stairs. Look at art. Sarah arrives. We chat. I labor. Contractions still regular, but have not picked up much.

After dinner we're going to start the pitocin. My saline lock, which was inserted over 14 hours ago and has never been used, is not working and it takes five more attempts to place a new one.

7:30pm - we start the pit, and try again to break my water (ow), since we're still not sure if it's broken. The pit plan is to start at 2 and increase by 2 every 15 minutes until I get a regular pattern. The contractions get stronger. I'm feeling good, laboring well. With the pit at 8 we seem to have reached a regular labor pattern so we stop increasing.

Walk the halls. Nipple stim. Excited and labor is kind of fun. Susa wants to know when the ctrx get "uncomfortable" but I'm not sure what that means because I'm hoping I'm such a rock star that they never feel awful; this was supposed to go fast because I'm a second-time mom! ;)

Sunday, March 11th -
Around midnight - cervical check finds little to no progress. Up the pit to 10, then 12.

2a-3a - The lost hour: DST starts!

4a - still no progress, utterly defeated and scared to death that this induction is not working. We turn off the pit and try to get some sleep. We'll start again in the morning.

around 7a - we discuss options, including the possibility of heading home and coming back... when? That seems pointless. Susa wants a more aggressive pit schedule and internal pressure catheter, trying to break my water yet again, and to change rooms. I say OK to the pit but no cath because I'm concerned it's too invasive to start, and I'll want to be able to labor in water. I'm really scared that it's not going to work. The plan feels "woefully inadequate" (my words) because it's pretty much just more of the same on top of a change of scenery.

10a - after moving to a bigger, nicer room and a breakfast of Belgian waffles, a shower and a visit from Erik, we start the pit again. Up to 8 or 10 quickly, then continuing to increase, ultimately to 16.

midday - labor is great. We're having fun. I love being aware and present in my body. Contractions are much more intense, but still breathable.

1:20p - another cervical check: 2-3 and more effaced. Some progress, but still disappointing...

I keep saying, "This is so much different! This is fun!" Walk the halls a little...
Some quotes:
K: Hello, chickadee! R: Is the baby moving? K: No, [pointing to the bird feeder outside] I'm talking to a chickadee!
Dr. Susa: Only in this hospital do pre-eclamptics get Chipotle.

3:12p - more nipple stim; I'm producing enough colostrum that it's worth saving.

6p - still at "a good 3". We decide to get the pressure catheter to gauge where the pit is at. In the process, my water breaks, and all of a sudden things kick into high gear.

evening - my uterus takes a while to calm down. I'm very emotional and releasing a lot of stuff from Ren's birth, too. I must vocalize through all contractions now. This is still fun, but very, very intense; I am so grateful to be able to experience true labor without the awful effects of magnesium-sulfate: "It's just so joyful; I don't know why anyone would want to numb this." I request the birth tub, and wait to be able to labor in the water.

7:45p - dad comes to visit and labors with me for a while. It's taken a while to adjust to the new intensity, but I'm in a good space. It has started raining. The labor is going well enough that we can stop the pit, take out the catheter and I can get in the water. Dad leaves and I head for the tub.

Labor in the water is disappointing... the tub in the bathroom is shallow (the bigger tubs are not available), and I can't find a good position that still provides some coverage with water. Contractions are quite intense, and I decide to get out.

Once I'm out of the water, things ramp up more (pit is still off). I hit what feels like transition. My mind goes away. I cannot speak. Sitting on the ball, I rest leaning forward between contractions and throw myself backwards into Sarah's arms during the contractions. I try to relax, release and let them wash over me, but it is the most intense pain I have felt so far. Scary, big pain that is so hard to submit to over and over and over. I am at sea. I am Odin on the tree. I cry and shake and try to surrender to fear and pain.

Eventually, it wanes. I think I must have come through the veil. I come back and my voice returns. I am certain I am near complete. I am certain it is the quiet time before pushing. I rest in the bed, once again able to just vocalize through the contractions, which feel very different: a spreading and stretching in my hips and pelvic girdle.

Rachel feeds me strawberries.

Around 11p - my nurse Brooke tells us that Dr. Susa wants to check me so he can plan his evening, but I don't have to get checked if I don't want to. We discuss the pros and cons, but decide to let him check me but NOT tell me. After the check, Susa starts asking about the intensity of the contractions, talking about starting the pit again, and although he insists "I wasn't insinuating anything" I know I must not be complete. I ask them to tell me how far I am.

Six centimeters.

Devastated.

I'm so tired, and so crushed. I was sure I was so close to pushing out my baby, and to hear that I still have to get through transition, when I thought I had been to that place and back, I know I can't do it again. I cannot go any farther. They tell me I can start the pit again and get things done faster, or just keep going and taking things as they come. Both options fill me with dread and terror. I know I can't do it. It's been 55 hours since I started this journey, and I've had very little sleep. I ask about getting an epidural.

I feel guilty and frightened and defeated, but I feel it is the only way to keep going. Rachel and Sarah both assure me that it is the best option. Nothing has turned out the way I thought; almost every decision, every turning point, every stage, has involved some reversal or unexpected snag. Waiting for the epidural is hard, but not as hard as my "transition" was.

Monday, March 12th -
12:15a - the epidural is placed by a very, very nice anesthesiologist in Harry Potter glasses.

1a - I'm feeling no pain; mom and dad, who have been waiting in the waiting room for hours, come by to see me for a couple minutes. After they leave, I fall asleep.

2a - I start to feel the contractions again, although I can sleep between them. I start to wonder if I should ask them to turn the epidural up. The point was for me to get some rest, right?

2:30a - feeling more pressure with each contraction, and even some in between. The pain of the contractions is getting intense and I have to vocalize through them again. I tell Brooke about the pressure, and she asks if I'm feeling the urge to push? Not quite yet.

2:42a - a big contraction hits and I push a little with it, which helps ease the intensity somewhat. Brooke asks again if I'm feeling the urge to push, and I explain that it's not so much an urge but that pushing makes it feel better. Brooke checks me: a slight lip, but almost complete! I try not to push through the next few contractions ("Ha! Ha! HA! Ha!").

2:55a - Brooke checks me again; I am complete!

They call Dr. Susa and I think another nurse comes in. They turn off the epidural, but I can already feel almost everything. The urge to push becomes INCREDIBLE; the most primal force I have ever felt. Not pushing would be an impossibility. It hurts a lot, completely different than pushing was with Ren. I am laying back, and ask to have the bed raised so I can sit up more. I am scared: of tearing, of blowing out my poor bottom, of having this take another four hours. I try to ride the waves and modulate them at the same time; to release my fear and push through the pain without allowing the pushing urge to simply tear me apart. At some point I ROAR through a contraction, in frustration and pain and fear and joy and relief. I am trying to prepare myself for another marathon, when Rachel says, "Reach down and touch your baby." I reach down and feel her little wrinkled walnut scalp just starting to crown. Another push or two or three and then the big one comes and I feel my baby push through and out. Sarah says, "Open your eyes and look down to see your baby" but I shout, "I can't!" I am too deep in concentration to come out. But then I open my eyes and look down and see my baby for the first time.

3:09a - Freya Elizabeth Dawn Hanson is born.

I reach down with both hands and catch my daughter, pushing a little and guiding her up onto my stomach. They tell me the cord is kind of short, so I cannot bring her higher. I quickly check to make sure she is, in fact, a girl, something I had doubted since my ultrasound almost 20 weeks ago. We wait for the cord to stop pulsing, then Rachel cuts it. I hold Freya to my chest; she won't leave my arms for almost an hour; they never have to take her away from me. I'm a little worried about the contractions picking up again so I can deliver the placenta, I am so done with pain, but it slip-slides out easily.

At some point Erik arrives. They clean me up (no tearing means no repair) as I try to get Freya to nurse. She is perfect and beautiful and amazing; totally alert. At 3:43a, she latches on for the first time. Sarah has to leave, so I let her hold Freya before she goes.

The next hour or so is blurry: I finally let them weigh and measure Freya (8lbs, 1oz and 19.5 inches); I get up to use the bathroom; Rachel leaves; I try to get a little sleep.

In the morning, Mom and Dad and Ren come to meet Freya. Ren is over the moon about her little sister, wanting to hold and cuddle her. Liz and Donna come a little later to visit. Erik and Ren come back for dinner, bringing Chinese food. Matthew, Jenny and Kendra visit after dinner. Mom stays with me overnight. In the wee hours of the morning, Freya gets so hungry her tummy is growling; mom syringe-feeds her the colostrum we pumped during labor so that I can get some sleep.

Tuesday, March 13th - we head home as a new family of four.
One last quote: Dr. Susa, "That was the first time I ever read a fetal heart monitor with a candle."

Freya at home

Is Rick Santorum coming after your birth control?

Let's look at what he's said in the past:

• Contraception doesn't work and is harmful to women and society
• The dangers of contraception are a public policy issue
  
• He would fight to prohibit the intentional killing of a fertilized egg
• States have the right to ban contraception
• “All of us have heard people say, ‘I privately am against abortion, homosexual marriage, stem cell research, cloning. But who am I to decide that it’s not right for somebody else?’ It sounds good, but it is the corruption of freedom of conscience.”

But recently he's attempted to clarify his position:

"I was making a statement about my moral beliefs, but I won’t impose them on anyone else in this case."

OK. So, based on his statements, do you think President Santorum would protect your access to contraception?

Me neither.

ETA: by the way, the question he was asked? That elicited the supposedly misinterpreted answer when all poor Rick was trying to do was to express his moral beliefs, certainly not his political policies?

What can we do to advance the pro-life agenda beyond what we've already done?

Got it.

Five dimensions

Due to recent events both public and private, I've been thinking about gender identity and sexual orientation a decent amount in the last few years, and I've formulated a theory that I find interesting. Before I continue, I want to warn you that I have not done any real research in these areas; this is simply my own theory (and theory is probably too grandiose a word for it), based on my thoughts and observations. I apologize in advance to my friends who know more about this than I do (of whom I have many) if I come off as unsophisticated, simplistic or insulting.

I've read a lot of news articles and blogs about these subjects, as well as the attending comments (I know, Liz, I should never read the comments! But I can't help myself...). As usual, one thing that has struck me repeatedly is how people with opposing views on these issues tend to talk at cross purposes; each has their own perspective and it's so different from the other side's that they may as well be speaking different languages. In particular, there are people who cannot fathom even the possibility of a disconnect between one's biological sex and one's sense of one's gender. There are also a lot of people who conflate sexual behavior with sexual orientation.

So I was thinking about those people, and how they seem incapable of understanding gay/trans issues, and I realized that their entire view of both gender and sexual orientation is deeply, fundamentally, nearly impossibly different than mine. And I realized that, for many, many straight people in the world today, all these issues can be simplified down to a single, binary choice: man or woman. That's it! It's so easy! That's all you have to think about! Are you a man or a woman? The end. And everything else just plays out from there: if you're a man then you feel like a man, you act like a man, you want to have sex with women, and (if you're lucky) you get to have sex with women. Opposite goes for if you are a woman. Done.

This perspective is simple, easy and reassuring, and for most people, it's the only perspective they've ever needed to have. They've never felt differently, and everyone they've ever known works that way, too (superficially, at least).

I used to be this way, myself, mostly. As a straight woman who feels at home in her body, I haven't had to think too much about it. I am biologically female. I identify as a woman. I'm not the girliest of girls, but for the most part I stay within the accepted gender roles in our society. I'm sexually attracted to men, and my sexual behavior mirrors that sexual preference. Done. Pretty cut and dried. So it would be easy to think that all of that can be summed up in one simple fact: I am female. Honestly, left to my own devices it'd be difficult to think of it in any other way.

But I've had enough friends and family members who have had different experiences to alert me to the fact that it isn't always that simple. Based on their experiences, my current theory is that, rather than one defining, binary, biological dimension to gender, there are in fact five:

1. Biological sex - what sex your physical body and chromosomes say you are
2. Gender identity - what sex your mind and heart tell you you are
3. Gendered behavior - how you behave re: gender (butch vs. femme, cross-dressing, etc.)
4. Sexual orientation - what gender(s), if any, you are sexually attracted to
5. Sexual behavior - how, when and where you have sex and with whom

Some of these things are choices, some of these things are not, and some we don't know. Furthermore, not only are there five dimensions rather than one, but each of the five is not really binary at all, but a spectrum which also includes all or none, and may change over time and context. Even biological sex is not binary: many people are born with ambiguous genitalia and/or variations of the typical XX/XY at the chromosomal level.

Each dimension is also independent of the others, which is why you can stick a straight guy in a dress and it won't make him either gay or a woman; it's why there's a huge difference between people who cross-dress and transgendered people (and not all people who enjoy cross-dressing are gay); and it's why you can "reform" gay people all you want but even if they get married and have kids and never have homosexual sex ever again, it doesn't change their sexual orientation. Sorry, still gay. (Or throw a straight guy in prison and, despite whatever sexual behaviors he might engage in while in there, it doesn't make him gay.)

So instead of an obvious, singular choice between two concrete options, we get literally an infinite number of possible combinations. That is really scary for a lot of people, especially people who prefer concrete, black and white interpretations of things. It's incomprehensible for others. I will admit, I've had a hard time with it myself, especially the disconnect between dimensions 1 and 2. I have never personally felt a disconnect between my biological gender and my gender identity, and it is difficult for me to imagine what that might feel like.

But you know what? I don't have to feel that way in order to have compassion for those who do. When someone I love comes to me and tells me that he's never been comfortable in the body that he was born with, never felt right, that he hates it and longs for it to match the mental image he has of himself, do I say, "sorry, my mental and biological genders match, so you must not feel that way"? Of course not. How dare I tell him how he's feeling? I don't understand; I can't ever really understand. But that does not give me the right to deny his reality.

So I've come to embrace the concept of the five dimensions. My dimensions are easy, because mine are typical and I've never had to question them. But that's actually the best part of it: I don't have to question mine! I think that may be the biggest stumbling block of all, the biggest, scariest hurdle for those like me who are blinded by our "normalcy" to the other dimensions. It's one thing to understand that someone might feel a gender identity that doesn't "match" their biological gender, or they may even choose sexual behaviors that are not "in line" with their sexual orientation. But to truly accept all five dimensions as valid, independent spectra of possibilities can be terrifying! Because what does that mean for me?!

I'm here to tell you: it's OK. It probably doesn't mean anything for you. Accepting that other people may be different doesn't mean that you yourself have to change. It doesn't put you on shaky ground, although accepting differences can sometimes make your own reality feel insecure. Even in a world with five dimensions, you are still allowed to be a straight person who feels at home in the body you were born in. Most people will still probably be straight, and comfy in their bodies, and prefer to follow some variation of traditional gender roles. That's cool. Accepting the variations will not destroy the world. You don't have to change your own identity or behaviors; just consider opening your mind and your heart and allowing everyone to be true to theirs.

Why I'm planning a homebirth (but you don't have to)

I can't sleep because I'm pissed off at Dr. Amy Teuter. Gods! I know I bring it on myself and I should just avoid the woman and her minions like the plague, but sometimes I just can't help myself.

For those of you who don't know about the infamous Dr. Amy, she's a rabidly anti-natural-birth blogger who's made a bit of a name for herself trolling natural childbirth (NCB) boards and spewing her venomous tirades. Her articles make my blood pressure spike and my eyes roll, they are so dripping with misinformation, condescension, laughably broad generalizations, and outright lies. The worst thing about her is that she doesn't even pretend to be interested in women's needs or desires, or even necessarily women's safety. She pretty much just advocates for one very strict, cookie-cutter type birth experience for ALL women; which is to say, a hospital birth, supine, sedated, most likely cut and most certainly "managed." She is an anti-choice monster. Needless to say, I am not a fan.

But the comments sections of these boards are where things get (very) slightly more nuanced and a little more interesting for me. They tend to boil down pretty rapidly to both sides of the issue shouting at one another: the NCB advocates yell that (s)OBs are money-grubbing, misogynistic men with God complexes the size of Texas who want to steal your birth power, make a quick buck and get to the golf course. The Teuterites counter that midwives are selfish, untrained, uneducated witches who spout off about trusting your body and being a birthing Goddess while mom lies bleeding in pain and baby lies dying. The two sides just shout and shout and no one listens and no one hears.

The reason this is interesting to me is because I honestly believe that both sides (but not Dr. Amy, of course) have their hearts in the right places, but that it all comes back to my 5-10% asshole theory. Both sides are so obsessed with the assholes on the other side, they are completely blind to reason, logic, or even the possibility of an open debate. I will concede right now that there are most certainly assholes on both sides. I've heard plenty of stories about OBs who bully and harass and shame and scare laboring women into unwanted interventions, then collect a tidy fee while patting themselves on the back for "saving the mother's life" after cutting her open and pulling the baby out in time to go home for dinner. I've also heard a horror story about a fatally incompetent midwife who encouraged a mother with broken waters and a high fever to continue laboring at home, only to dump her at a hospital four days later with a dead baby in her womb. (That story comes courtesy of Dr. Amy's website, but I believe that it probably happened.)

But can we please be sane and agree that any pregnant woman should run screaming from both these monsters? And can we please agree that neither of these characters are representative of either OBs or midwives as a whole? Can we please ignore the assholes and start talking about safe, quality options that cover a broader spectrum of birthing choices?

Here's the thing: I'm planning a homebirth with this pregnancy, and I'll tell you why. My body was designed to grow and birth a baby. It's pretty neat. I trust my body's ability to do this wondrous, freakishly bizarre and amazing thing. I also acknowledge that it's going to be a pretty intimate experience, and it's going to be a hell of a lot of hard work. Which is why I don't want to be doing it in front of a parade of strangers, or on any one else's clock, or by any one else's rules. When we talk about hospital birth, there are a lot of let yous: Will they let you labor without the monitor? Will they let you eat? How long will they let you push? Will they let you hold your baby right away and keep her with you? I am not interested in anyone letting me or not letting me do anything while I am doing the hardest work of my life. I know myself, I know my body and I know I will do the work better, easier, with less pain and less fear, if I do it on my own terms.

Some people think this mentality is selfish; that women who choose homebirth or NCB are doing it purely for the "experience" and have no concern about safety risks for their babies. I'm here to tell you: this is hogwash. Most of the women I know who have or are choosing NCB and/or a homebirth have spent a huge amount of time researching their options. For many of us, it has become a real passion. Yes, as in any group, there are some assholes who put more stock in the experience than the safety or the outcome. But most of us have done our homework, run the risk/benefit analysis for ourselves (and everyone has a different level of tolerance when it comes to risks vs. benefits), and made our decisions in the most educated way we know how.

One of the problems, of course, is lack of data. Despite what you might hear from both sides of the homebirth debate, there are no quality studies that show definitely whether or not homebirth in the United States is less, more or just as safe for mom or baby as hospital birth. Seriously. Not one study. Please, please somebody tell me there is a really good study out there. But, no, I'm pretty sure there isn't; I've looked and looked. That's because homebirth is such a comparatively rare thing in the US, it's very difficult to get enough numbers to prospectively or even retrospectively compare apples to apples. So, we just don't know. All the existing studies have some sort of flaw to their methodology which makes the conclusions difficult to apply to planned, low-risk homebirth in the US. But some studies show that homebirth is slightly safer, and some show that it is slightly less safe, and some show that it is safer for moms but riskier for their babies, and so on. So those of us who are passionate about it have had to sift through the conflicting and flawed data and reach our own conclusions.

I've reached mine. I feel like as long as my pregnancy and labor are low-risk, it is safe enough for me to have this baby at home where I can do my work with less stress and fewer interruptions. It'll be an easier birth for me, and by extension, an easier birth for my baby.

Does that mean that I shun modern medicine and believe that nothing can go wrong? Hell no! I was planning a homebirth last time, too, but I got sick with a potentially life-threatening condition at the end of my pregnancy. What did I do? I went to the hospital like a sane person, that's what I did. If you get sick, you need a doctor! My midwife caught the condition pretty early last time, and I got medical help before it got too serious. This time, I am once again trusting my midwife to catch anything that could become a problem. That's one of her jobs, and that's what she's trained to do. And I am so thankful that if something comes up, I have all the wonders of modern medicine at my disposal, less than 10 minutes away. I'm no Luddite, and I have no delusions about the potential risks of childbirth. I just feel confident that my plans ameliorate those risks as much as possible.

I feel more comfortable birthing at home. So what about a woman who feels more comfortable birthing in a hospital with a monitor and an epidural? I say: go for it! Who the hell am I to judge? I am not interested in forcing anyone to agree with my personal choices. I am interested in providing as many families as possible with a spectrum of quality choices and access to all the information they need to make their own best decisions. We are each of us individuals with our own strengths and weaknesses and fears and needs and resources. How on earth could anyone say there is only one valid choice?

But, dear gods, we are so eager to judge. We are so eager to tear each other down. I sometimes think parents are the worst offenders. Whether it's home vs. hospital, breast vs. bottle, circumcised vs. intact, cloth vs. disposable, stroller vs. carrier, crib vs. co-sleep, spanking vs. gentle discipline, the list goes on and on and on... As parents we judge and snipe and peck at each other like a bunch of chickens, like the commenters on the NCB and Dr. Amy boards. We compare and play the one-upsmanship game and turn ourselves into martyrs. It just makes me so sad. We should be supporting each other. Parenting is hard. We make it harder by being so fucking hard on each other.

Parents, next time you're about to make a snarky comment or think a judgmental thought about someone else's parenting, can you please just stop for a minute and remind yourself: we are each of us individuals with our own strengths and weaknesses and fears and needs and resources. We are each of us trying our hardest and doing our best, every single day. Let's cut each other some slack and give each other a little support for a change.

Class Warfare

I had an illuminating exchange on my friend Corrie's Facebook page this evening. One of her other friends, who I don't know, and I were discussing an article that was making the FB rounds today condemning the "Mythical Bootstraps College Student" photo, which has apparently also been making the rounds. Here's what Corrie's friend said:

I guess it goes both ways. People who believe that everyone enduring hardships "deserve it" and people who believe that everyone who has achieved success must have cheated or are greedy. Wish both sides would work towards an equitable solution.

That really got me thinking. The thing that struck me the most was that she had read the same article I had, but come away thinking that the author believed that everyone who achieves success are greedy cheaters. Which made me realize, and not for the first time, that a big part of our political divide is simple misperception. Once side says, "We should take responsibility for our own actions," and the other side hears, "Poor people are scum who deserve a miserable life." One side says, "Income inequality is a major problem," and the other side hears, "Rich people are greedy cheaters." On both sides, we become so enraged by the perceived insult that we cannot begin to appreciate, or even contemplate, the true message. And so it all devolves into so-called "class warfare."

So I thought I'd clarify my thoughts on the differences between the classes and who deserves what. I believe that most people are good, and a few, maybe 5-10%, are assholes. Further, I believe that the good and the asshole alike are probably spread pretty equally across all classes. That is, the vast majority of the rich people are good people who got to where they are through some fortunate combination of circumstance, luck, opportunity, smart choices and hard work, and the other 5-10% are assholes who are gaming the system. Conversely, the vast majority the poor are good people who got to where they are despite hard work and through some terrible combination of circumstance, bad luck, lack of opportunity and poor choices, and the other 5-10% are assholes who are trying to game the system.

I dunno. I thought at the outset that this is a pretty moderate position that most people could agree with, but looking at it now I see that may not be the case.

Anyway, assuming you agree with my 5-10% asshole theory, the next question is then of course: where do we go from there? I can see why some people would be hesitant to pay for the welfare of the poor, for fear of encouraging the assholes who are gaming the system. I can see why some people would wave signs reading "Eat the Rich," in anger over the assholes who are gaming that system. There's certainly a lot of room for argument and disagreement here.

I personally would prefer to ignore the assholes and try to do what might benefit the other 90% of us. Also, I'd rather pay potentially slightly higher taxes and live in a humane culture that provides a bare minimum of support for all its citizens, asshole or no. I'd like to see our society provide more opportunity for those who have the gumption to work for it (I believe that opportunity is currently in decline in this country, and has been for at least a decade). I also think it's obscene for anyone, asshole or no, to make more than, say, 1000x the national average household income; I don't care how hard you've worked or how good a person you are, no one deserves to have that much more than anyone else. Although I'm not entirely sure what can be done about it. At the very least, those people should be paying at least the same percentage of their income in taxes as average workers [ETA, apparently they already pay very slightly more. So that's good]. But those are just my thoughts on the matter.

What are yours?

[Another edit]
My proclamation that it's obscene to make more than 1000x the national average household income got me thinking. Obviously, if someone offered me $50 million a year to do my job, I wouldn't say no. So what would I do? Assuming about half went to taxes, that leaves me with a nice $25 million annually. My family could live comfortably off the interest of $25 million in decent investments, so after that first year here's what I'd do with the money: I'd hire a dozen or so people at six-figure salaries to come work for me; a tax lawyer and some social workers and councellors and tutors and stuff. Then I'd give a college education to a thousand or so single, poor parents every year. It'd be first-come first-serve, and if you were a single parent living below the poverty line in Minnesota, we'd pay your tuition and books. We could provide tax advice and help finding other social services for food and daycare and transportation and stuff like that. As long as you could get into and stay in school, we'd pay for it. Wouldn't that be lovely?

Occupy Wall Street

I'm probably going to have a lot more to say about this, but it's late and I just want to offload a few things from my brain so I can sleep.

First and foremost: I consider myself a progressive. So far, I agree more or less with EVERY grievance I have heard from the OWS protestors. So don't start trying to argue with me about the fact that there are some terrible inequalities happening around the world and right here in our country. I am not arguing with that.

I do, however, have a problem with the protests: the lack of any kind of positive solutions. I have yet to hear any of the protestors propose a SINGLE realistic solution to any one of their myriad grievances.

I get it: they are angry as hell, and they want to be heard. I understand completely.

But there's a name for that state of being. It's called a temper tantrum.

As the parent of a young child, I can easily recognize a temper tantrum:

I AM ANGRY AS HELL, AND I WANT TO BE HEARD!

As the parent of a young child, I also recognize the value of a temper tantrum, and, more importantly, the value of letting one play out. Because the anger is real, and it is destructive, and it needs to be released. And because the desire to be heard, to be validated, is more than a desire: it is a need. So the best thing to do in the case of a temper tantrum is to remove your child to a safe location then let it play out. It will ultimately play out. And after the kicking and flailing and screaming and crying is done, after the catharsis, then you can sit down and try to help your child figure out the cause, amd try to come up with solutions to help avoid future problems.

Unfortunately, too often it is too easy to just walk away after a tantrum; to say "well that happened, and now it's done" and then forget about it. And then the next time your child is hungry or tired or frustrated or whatever, you get another tantrum.

I sincerely hope that at some point, after this tantrum is over, the OWS protestors will have the presence of mind to sit down and figure out some solutions. There are problems that need to be solved, but anger alone won't solve them. We need solutions.