Ode to Sleep Deprived Parents

The Sydney Philharmonica Choir performs "Ode to Sleep Deprived Parents" set to Carmina Burana. Enjoy.

I think I can safely call this ironic.

I fed Felicity spaghetti tonight. It was a simple but messy affair. In removing her from her chair, carrying her to the bathroom, stripping her down, and getting her into the tub, I found myself covered in little saucy hand prints, globs of tomatoes, and even a few noodles. I removed my dirty top and threw it in the laundry, and pulled a freshly laundered sweater out of my dresser drawer and over my head.

Four hours later, I looked down and found a dried noodle stuck on/in my sweater that had survived our washing machine from the last  time Felicity had spaghetti for dinner.

Parenting. New thrills every day.

[Please note that this picture was taken before she smeared spaghetti into her hair and over her eyebrows. Please also note the pasta delicately draped over her the arm of her chair. I'm raising an artist here.]

This is feminist parenting

I wrote the following in the middle of a three-hour flight from Washington D.C. to Minneapolis on Thursday, December 20th. I would like to report that Felicity was a complete angel for Ian their entire time together.

This morning, I stepped onto a plane, waving goodbye to my husband, who had our 12-month baby strapped to his chest. This was to be the longest separation yet between myself and the baby, a whole seven hours and a half hours. I felt guiltily liberated. 

Our small family is going to Minnesota for the holidays. My husband has a conference in Atlanta immediately after Christmas, and I’m staying a week longer with my family before joining him back in New York City. We scheduled our flights separately, finding that the best price for my round-trip was to fly an hour to Washington D.C., enjoy a two and a half hour layover, and then sit on a three hour flight to Minneapolis. I booked my ticket with a lap infant, planning to have Felicity fly with me.

Ian, on the other hand, was able to purchase all direct flights. So despite lifting off thirty minutes before he would, I would arrive three and half hours later.

Two mornings ago, talking about our trip and upcoming flights as we prepared for the day, we realized how crazy it was for me to have two flights with the baby and an overall longer time waiting in airports and in the air. Ian suggested taking her. I readily agreed, knowing that I would have her on my lonesome on the journey from Minneapolis to New York City after the New Year. I recalled flying alone with her when she was a sleepy three months old and how challenging that seemed at the time. I felt happy to share the burden of parenting with my spouse.

Last night, thinking about the logistics, I started to panic. The maximum Ian and the baby have spent alone (without me easily accessible) is about four and half hours. It isn’t that he is never home or isn’t a good caretaker; he does much of the parenting when he is home, sharing in the diaper changes, feedings, baths, is in charge of bedtime, and is a really excellent and involved father. It is more the case that I am still breastfeeding. So even if I have appointments, am working, or am ill, I pop in every two to three hours, check on everyone, see if the baby needs to nurse, and generally offer an over-abundance of unnecessary ‘advice’ to my husband about baby-related things he already accomplishes with finesse.

I am in the process of weaning the baby down to one or two nursing sessions a day, and so was not so worried about an extended amount of time without breastfeeding her. Instead, I had a serious case of the maternal “what ifs”: what if her ears bother her on the flight and she screams for hours, and I’m not there to comfort her? What if she desperately decides she must nurse, adamantly giving my husband her nursing sign, refusing the soy milk, peanut butter, and fruit packets we carefully tucked into her diaper bag, and then refuses to be comforted? (This is her latest – and quite effective – tactic to get middle of the night feedings). 

As I write this, I realize our division of labor is good. This is feminist parenting. To say, I desperately would love some time to myself and would like to enjoy (as much as one can enjoy) my day in airports and in the air in solitude, with my book and my writing and my research project. To say, it makes more logistical sense for the baby to be in airports and in planes for less time, and to only have one descent, which can be so painful for little ears. To you, now that we are down to fewer nursing sessions, there is no reason why my very capable and nurturing husband can’t be the sole caretaker for the great challenge of taking a very active, newly willful, almost-toddler across the country. To say that he can handle it, no matter what the day brings. To say that even if she does get upset and cries for their entire three hour flight, it will not permanently damage her and she will be fine, and he will be fine as well. 

They were supposed to be landing about the same time my last flight was taking off. I kept my phone on as long as possible, holding it nervously in my hand, desperately wanting to know how everything went. Alas, I had to turn it off before he texted to say that they’d landed. 

Although it has been nice to be able to think about other things besides the baby, to read and not be juggling a baby on my lap, and work on editing my current research project instead of singing endless renditions of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, the desire to know what is happening is overwhelming. I am accustomed to being in control (or at least feeling that I am in control). 

I find myself counting down the minutes until I see them: ninety minutes left in the air, another thirty or so until I can hug the baby, kiss my husband, and know that being a mother doesn’t always equate to sacrificing what I need and want.

How to have a (somewhat) lazy Saturday morning with a baby

1. Stage sleeping in:
•  Awaken before 6:00 am to strange noises/smells, and realize your baby is awake
• Argue about who spent more time up with the baby during the night.
• Realize the mom is almost always the "winner" here.
•  Kiss to show no serious hard feelings, and hand baby off to partner for one hour, more tired parent sleeps in.
• Swap places with baby and bed, second partner naps for an hour.
2. Baby naps:

•  Everyone snuggle in bed and get baby ready for nap.
•  Baby feels so loved and wonderful, baby inevitably goes down for long, wonderful nap.*
• Enjoy what you would've normally done on a Saturday morning before you had an infant that woke up at the crack of dawn, demanding your near-constant attention, but be aware that your napping child is really a ticking time bomb, so hustle through your relaxing activities. 
3. High-five each other - you are awesome. Pretend that having a child really hasn't completely wrecked every weekend.

*Note: This doesn't always work. Baby may be on to your plan...

The Baby is One

Two days ago, Felicity turned one. I loved it, I hated it.

I adore birthdays. I will even try to celebrate your half-birthday, if you let me (with a half of a cake, naturally!). I want Flick's birthdays to be special, full of tradition, and memorable, even if she isn't the one keeping the memories at first.

I made lots of trial cupcakes, and settled on two recipes for her party. I took time thoughtfully selecting gifts that her little baby self would love, bought a bouquet of flowers for her (mixed in variety and color, because I don't know her favorite flower or color(s) yet), and found a very sweet card for her. She even got a balloon, though she's not really into balloons yet, we found out. My mom and I made a birthday banner for her during Hurricane Sandy, which Ian and I hung with great care, using a ruler and everything.

We went out for breakfast on her birthday. I took a picture and avoided crying. Then Ian left for an all-day conference an hour and half out of the city, and Felicity's babysitter came and took her for five hours so I could clean the house for her party the next day.

I tried really hard not to feel guilty about this (like I try really hard not to feel guilty about so many things): Ian had had a crazy week at work and did not have time to contribute to the housework during that week, I have been prioritizing my own research and writing (yay), and the party was scheduled for the next day, and the apartment needed a little TLC. Plus I had to buy groceries and start cooking. Also, Felicity is too young to understand the concept of a birthday, and what the day is.

I was able to accomplish an amazing lot in the five hours, and Felicity loves E., her sitter. Afterwards, I took her on a long walk, and ate bits of dried fruit and animal crackers with her at the cafe in Whole Foods. She napped in her stroller, and we did an extra-long story time before bed, with lots of cuddles and kisses. She fell into a really good, deep sleep. The sleep of a baby that has been active, laughing, reading, and interacting with someone else almost the whole day, the restful sleep of a baby that has a relaxed mother, a happy mother.

I am increasingly aware of my need to be accepted and to live up to the expectations I perceive others have for me. This whole birthday experience further highlighted this. Maybe it's because birthdays were treated a certain way in our household, with a certain sort of reverence and tradition, and that is what I want to pass on. Maybe it is because I feel the "perfect mother" would have had the house clean in the first place and would be able to handle getting ready for a party while taking care of and pleasing a baby, and that this wouldn't upset her child and exhaust her beyond her limits. I'm not sure who this perfect mother is, but she sure isn't me.

So I didn't let myself feel guilty. At the end of the day, the baby was happy, and I was happy, and she had a really lovely party yesterday afternoon.

I do believe I achieved some sort of balance. A feat, ladies and gentlemen, a feat!

Now I just have to come to grips with my baby not really being a baby anymore. 

Why I Need to Take Pictures with the Baby Too

This is a stunning article by Allison Tate on Huffington Post, give it a read.

...we really need to make an effort to get in the picture. Our sons need to see how young and beautiful and human their mamas were. Our daughters need to see us vulnerable and open and just being ourselves -- women, mamas, people living lives. Avoiding the camera because we don't like to see our own pictures? How can that be okay?

Someday, I want them to see me, documented, sitting right there beside them: me, the woman who gave birth to them, whom they can thank for their ample thighs and their pretty hair; me, the woman who nursed them all for the first years of their lives, enduring porn star-sized boobs and leaking through her shirts for months on end; me, who ran around gathering snacks to be the week's parent reader or planning the class Valentine's Day party; me, who cried when I dropped them off at preschool, breathed in the smell of their post-bath hair when I read them bedtime stories, and defied speeding laws when I had to rush them to the pediatric ER in the middle of the night for fill-in-the-blank (ear infections, croup, rotavirus).

"The Myth of the Male Decline"

Check out this interesting article in today's New York Times regarding the recent buzz about "the male decline." It's a great article, and well worth your time. Here is one particularly discouraging quote that discusses the motherhood penalty as part of the larger sexist hegemony:

Once they have children, wives usually fall further behind their husbands in earnings, partly because they are more likely to temporarily quit work or cut back when workplace policies make it hard for both parents to work full time and still meet family obligations.But this also reflects prejudice against working mothers. A few years ago, researchers at Cornell constructed fake résumés, identical in all respects except parental status. They asked college students to evaluate the fitness of candidates for employment or promotion. Mothers were much less likely to be hired. If hired, they were offered, on average, $11,000 less in starting salary and were much less likely to be deemed deserving of promotion. The researchers also submitted similar résumés in response to more than 600 actual job advertisements. Applicants identified as childless received twice as many callbacks as the supposed mothers.

 

 

 

This infographic was found alongside the article linked to above, and can be found here.

The article wraps up discussing the "male mystique," that is, how men are bound within their sex to particular roles and expectations:

Just as women who display “masculine” ambitions or behaviors on the job are often penalized, so are men who engage in traditionally female behaviors, like prioritizing family involvement. Men who take an active role in child care and housework at home are more likely than other men to be harassed at work. Men who request family leave are often viewed as weak or uncompetitive and face a greater risk of being demoted or downsized. And men who have ever quit work for family reasons end up earning significantly less than other male employees, even when controlling for the effects of age, race, education, occupation, seniority and work hours. Now men need to liberate themselves from the pressure to prove their masculinity. Contrary to the fears of some pundits, the ascent of women does not portend the end of men. It offers a new beginning for both. But women’s progress by itself is not a panacea for America’s inequities. The closer we get to achieving equality of opportunity between the sexes, the more clearly we can see that the next major obstacle to improving the well-being of most men and women is the growing socioeconomic inequality within each sex.

What do you think?

Maternal Thinking vs. Maternal Instinct

I read through Motherhood and Feminism by Amber E. Kinser two weeks ago. I was reviewing my notes this afternoon and came across this quote, which I absolutely love:

Understanding women’s mothering knowledge to be grounded in ‘maternal thinking’ rather than maternal instinct positions us to consider the concentrated effort that women put into mothering, rather than to assume that it comes to them as quickly and effortlessly as, say, as instinctive ‘fight or flight’ response to danger. The concept of maternal thinking also suggests that ‘motherly’ behavior and knowledge of children’s best interests are not merely grounded in biology. Rather than emerging naturally and exclusively between mothers and biological children, such behavior and knowledge emerge from purposeful thought and the engaged practice of caring for children… Mothering is not, then, the exclusive domain of biological mothers; it is a product one’s disciplined, focused, and persistent effort.

Next to the copied quote, I wrote "Yes!" I think that sums up my feelings nicely.

Parenting

1. Ian on parenting: "If you'd told me seven years ago that I'd someday be storing vials of baby poop in the fridge, I never would have believed you."
    
2. I had a fifteen minute breakdown today prompted by the inability to find a clean baby spoon (or a dirty one to clean) and accidentally pinching Felicity's leg in her chair buckle. I went to the bathroom to cry, and in a blind rage, upon finding it a disaster and thus an unsuitable place to cry, cleaned it furiously. So now we have a really clean bathroom, and I'm feeling better. I so hope this is how I deal with my anger from now on.

I've Been Doing Things

You've certainly noticed a lack of posts; I usually make an effort to post daily, yet there has been an almost two-week silence!

It's really all been quite a bit of readjusting and re-prioritizing. That and packing, and cleaning, then a three-day roadtrip, cleaning some more, and unpacking and organizing.

Ian and I decided we really weren't pleased with many of our choices and use of our time over the summer. Yes, I wrote a lot and started a few new projects, and we made steps in the right direction for revamping our budget to save more, and improve our eating habits, but the whole time in Ann Arbor felt very unfocused and confused. We spent several days talking and planning when we got back, and committed ourselves to a schedule that prioritizes my work as well as his. What this means, however, is that we're spending less time together in the evening, waking up earlier, and have less free time in general. We're getting serious, yo.

I love to blog, I love to write. I love working on my projects. But realistically, I need to focus on doing my part in keeping the family in order, then my research, then my physical goals, and then fun things like reading and blogging and watching videos of adorable kittens online (there is actually very little of this, but who am I to say that it doesn't occupy more time than it actually should?)/

We've also committed to not eating out at all, except for once a month on our lunaversary. This is actually pretty easy to do now; there are absolutely no restaurants within walking distance (or even a short train ride!) that are both affordable and cater to a vegan diet. Ditto with baked goods.

And so we are very intentional in planning out all of our meals, even our snacks. It means we are spending more on groceries (though about the same overall as when we were eating out 2-4 times a week and eating meat and dairy products), and that we are both spending more time in the kitchen. I'm the lucky one - I get to spend most of my kitchen time cooking! And then Ian cleans up my messes, which is a really big job. So when I say that a large chunk of time is going to "keeping my family in order," what I really mean is that I spend lots of time in the kitchen. Making delicious things. And lots of messes. But I'd like to focus on the delicious things.

I'm also taking my research much more seriously, prioritizing it above all else during my allotted 'Rachel' time. I haven't done this since the baby was born. Before, if Felicity was cranky, or I was tired, or the house was a mess (one of these three things was almost always the case!), I would choose to stay home. Now, save for a medical emergency and/or natural disaster (they often come hand in hand, no?), I'm out the door when I'm supposed to be. I'm started actually leaving my computer at home to avoid distractions when I'm out. And guess what? I'm working at about 3x the speed. I have to write out my notes by hand, but that's fine.

And exercising. I'm exercising now at night if I'm not working or cleaning. This instead of watching Gilmore Girls (maybe I can do both at once!?!). 

Add on to all of this a poor, sweet little thing about twenty-two pounds in weight that has her two front, top teeth coming in (ouch!), and has had a terrible case of the loose-poos for the past four days straight. As she has no other symptoms, we're pretty sure it's because of the teething and the pediatrician isn't worried... yet. But seriously, Felicity goes through about 15+ diapers a day now, and, despite our best efforts, has a diaper rash that only a forgetful and easily-distracted infant can endure. I'm pretty sure I would not be as patient with such a red, angry booty.

And her sleep schedule is all messed up due to the above. It's super not cool.

So yeah. I've been doing things.

I do plan on starting back with the Meditation Project very soon. We haven't done any sitting or walking meditation in the week we've been back, and I must admit that my daily mindfulness practice has also almost disappeared. Isn't it funny how a change in location can throw off your groove? I need to take some time to plan out how to be intentional with the project and work it into our grand schedule. Personally, I think this will involve leaving hand-written gathas around the house on note cards.

For example:

As I take off your steaming diaper,
I am reminded of the ebb and flow of life.
May your diaper rash heal,
As we heal ourselves and others.

I'm kidding. Sort of...

Baby "Nutrition"

Before I begin tonight's post I will admit that I gave Felicity a pea-sized crumb of a vegan carrot cupcake today (the cake part, certainly not the frosting). She's eight months old, and looked up at me pleadingly when I didn't share my food with her. I acquiesced, I'm nice like that. But I didn't give her the whole cupcake.

I'm a member of BabyCenter, something I have in common with the majority of new moms I meet. Not familiar? BabyCenter is an online community of parents, mostly mothers, who join specific groups with similar interests or demographics. For example, I'm part of the November 2011 Birth Club (Felicity was due in November), December 2011 Birth Club (Felicity arrived on December 1st), several NYC groups, a PUPPPs support group, and a breastfeeding support group.

I spent a lot of time on BabyCenter when I was pregnant. With over 12,000 members in my November group, there were all sorts of interesting questions and thoughts about pregnancy and our coming babies. After Felicity was born, and as she's grown, I've gradually spent less and less time on BabyCenter, to the point where I didn't even check any of the group forums for about two months.

I accidentally clicked on the link to my birth board on my bookmark bar last night, and was immediately sucked back in. And I cannot even begin to relay my horror.

Numerous posts in the November group centered around feeding babies. While it's nice to check in with other moms to see how their babies are doing, I simply cannot believe what some of these parents are feeding their children! Above and beyond the disgusting, jarred purees, parents are introducing (with pride!) ice cream, packaged deli cold cuts, chicken fingers, macaroni and cheese (and I'm guessing it's not the homemade kind), pizza, etc. What frightens me is that, with the exception of cold cuts, which many moms are avoiding, all of these seem to be very standard foods.

It's not just these online moms, either. I former coworker told me her 7-month old's favorite food was marshmallows. The next day, I saw a baby who could not have been older than 6 months sucking on a cheeto while strolling down State Street. And I cannot help but recollect seeing a father scold his young daughter for not finishing her french fries on the subway a few months back.

And we wonder why our kids become picky! Maybe because we first shove canned vegetable mush at them, and then we give them processed and/or unhealthy garbage to eat. Are children even allowed to develop a palate for healthy food?

I write this as a woman who loves her comfort food and desserts. I'm a bit of a sugar addict, and before becoming vegans, Ian and I would enjoy pizza and ice cream most Friday nights. But, as Ian and I have Felicity at our dinner table with us for most meals, we are becoming increasingly aware of the importance of providing her (and ourselves) with balanced, nutritious meals. While I fully anticipate that she will love cupcakes and ice cream as much as the next child, I also want Felicity to have a love of whole foods. I want her to have a love of vegetables and fruits, and to like eating beans and lentils. I want her to appreciate creativity and thought in the kitchen. I want her to like colors (not artificial!) on her plate. I want her to see comfort food and sweet things as occasional treats, not the norm. I want her to think that juice and soda are too sweet, and to not see sweet beverages as a way to quench thirst.

I recognize that feeding your child well and thoughtfully is a privilege. It's a privilege to afford good fruits and vegetables, to have the time and energy to prepare nutritious and interesting meals, and to be able to control everything that is put in front of your baby. Many women, many parents, do not have these luxuries. Yet I cannot help but feel that there is something very wrong with the environment that even has "childrens" foods for the "picky eater," a phenomenon that apparently is rare in France.

I also recognize that, because I'm writing and releasing this post into the great wide world, I will be doomed with a future fussy eater.

Reclaim what now?

Bittylab, a new company just launched last year, is trying to get their BARE bottles off the ground. At first glance, everything seems great: the bottles are designed to mimic a woman's breast, they are free of so many of the nasty chemicals still found in many bottles and baby things, the company seems to be pro-breastfeeding, and they won a 2012 Eco Excellence Award.

Enter their marketing campaign this July on Twitter: "New Baby? Reclaim your wife. Meet BARE," and "Feeling like you're competing with your newborn for mommy's attention? Meet Bare."

While I give them (slight) props for marketing to men (whom most companies completely ignore when advertizing for baby, household, and cleaning products), Bittylab is suggesting that a wife is property to be reclaimed. As in, the wife, or her breasts, are the husband's property. Or, you know, a baby is competing for breast time because it needs to eat so it can grow and not die. Hopefully every new mom has heard by now: Breast is Best;* we should encourage as much nursing as possible!

And then let's look at the second ad for a moment. It either suggests that a) you feed your baby formula; or b) you pump and then bottle-feed your baby. The company's stance is pro-nursing, so the first is out, leaving the suggestion that a mother pump instead of nurse to save some time.

Speaking as *ahem* an experienced pumper, you would prefer that your partner stop everything, strip off her clothing, slather her nipples in lanisoh so they don't crack, connect her breasts to suction cups and a motor, and feel a little like a milking cow? While I appreciate that it's an option and enjoyed the opportunity and choice to pump when I need and wanted to, pumping is just not glamorous.** Pumps don't work as well or expediently as a baby's little bird mouth, and then you actually have to feed the baby the bottle later, not to mention wash and sanitize the bottles and pumping equipment. So it takes a lot longer, which doesn't really correspond with saving time using the bottle. Not to mention, a father really shouldn't be putting his own needs before his infant's needs. This seems to harken back to an era where the patriarch of the family was served their meal first, and makes all of the family decisions.

Oh Bittylab, why so sexist? Why such shameful advertising?

But it's okay everyone, they apologized on facebook!

Ladies, We're really sorry about the twitter campaign run last week. It was a huge miss understood and resulted in offensive messages. It was taken down yesterday. The messages had nothing to do with putting a husband needs before the baby's needs, it was more about having a little extra time for the rest of the family. Obviously the whole campaign was poorly executed. We apologize deeply for this miss understanding and assure you, from now on the campaigns will be closely monitored before they go out. Thank you for a second chance.

.... oh.... they didn't actually realize why the ads were offensive.

* While scientific studies do show that breastmilk is superior to formula for infant brain development, I fully understand that not all moms have success with breastfeeding. While I firmly believe that every mom should do their absolute best, even through the hellish acclimating period (the first 3-180 days), I do not judge those moms that are unable to continue. As long as they tried. Really hard.

** Notice how awkward our friend from 90's is here? Even though she's decked out with her special pumping bra and a cardboard computer, one can immediately tell that pumping is a really strange activity. And this picture? This picture is to actual pumping as a fast food burger ad is to the actual "product" they've convinced you is edible.

Top Ten Favorite Baby Books

This is a post dedicated to our favorite books to read to Felicity (and Felicity's favorite books to help read). These books are in no particular order, by the by.

Mathilda and the Orange Balloon is a delightfully illustrated book that encourages imagination and thinking outside the box. Mathilda is a courageous little sheep, and I do love a strong female lead. And really, isn't Mathilda a sweet name?

Birdsong was amongst the first of the children's books that I borrowed from the library when Felicity was just over a month old. It was the book that delighted her the most; Birdsong is filled with silly-looking birds with even sillier-sounding calls and is a treat to read aloud. It also has a sense of humor, which a parent will appreciate.

 Nothing is so sweet as reading this book with Ian and Felicity before bed. As one might expect, it is a kissing and counting book. "Ten little kisses for teeny tiny toes," and so forth. This is one of those books that can get Felicity giggling, even if she in a grand-fuss moments before.

Dr. Suess has authored some great books. Granted, Green Eggs and Ham has a certain sort of awful something out it (personally, it made me think about rape - pushing and pushing someone to do something they don't want to do until they give in, and then the victim "likes" it? sketchy). However, Dr. Seuss's Sleep Book is a nice account of contagious yawns, and a count of people falling asleep all over (though the way of tallying how many are falling asleep once again falls into the creepy side of Suess's imagination).

This is a fun book to read and act out. My favorite animal? The Crocodile. "Can you wiggle your hips like the crocodile? I can do it!" It might be the case the I have more fun than Felicity reading this book. Just maybe.

Jane Yolen and Mark Teague: what is there to say? Magic. This is one of the very sweetest books. Ian and I love the How Do Dinosaurs series, and this is probably the best. As Ian pointed out once, this series is one of the only that accurately portrays the emotional size of a child in their parents' lives. Of course, we change all of the pronouns to 'shes' and 'hers', because, you know, that's how we roll.

The Foot Book is Felicity's very favorite book. This is probably because I do my best to vocalize the the different kinds of feet ('up feet' gets read with the voice getting higher and higher, and 'pig feet' gets a loud oink, which always makes Felicity shriek with laughter).

And, after having read The Foot Book on average twice daily for the past... five months, I can say I'm not yet sick of it. And that's something.

My French-speaking husband loves to read to my French-listening baby. Felicity loves this book more than all of the other French books he's read to her. Apparently she's into adventure. She also likes to flip the pages. I can't understand a word, so I really don't have much else to say. The cover has nice colors!

 We bought this little board book in Albuquerque, NM when Felicity was five weeks old. Yep, love the dinosaur books. We purchase a set for all of our baby friends.

Bear has a strict bedtime routine and cannot be disturbed. Mouse comes to spend the night, and they have quite a little adventure. I just read over my description, and I promise that the book isn't as dirty as my blurb is. I promise. But really, this is a funny book, and the artwork is wonderful.

Parenting

Parenting: Not being able to find your own keys in your bag, but finding the baby's plastic "keys" instead. Helpful, baby, helpful.

Men at Home and Feminsm

Here's an interesting article from bitch.com regarding the "mancession" and feminsm by J. Victoria Sanders.

I think it's valuable that Sanders points out that even as more dads are staying home now, the respect for what is considered "women's work" is still quite low. The general attitude is that men shouldn't have to be stay at home parents (poor men, having to cook and clean and take care of children!), and, if going back to work, these men shouldn't have to be competing for "pink collar" positions (those that are typically filled by women).

Oh to be in a world where this is equal respect for all types of jobs, especially those caring for children, our future. Personally, I think teachers should be required to have more education themselves, and should be compensated as well as doctors (and really, that physicians should earn less, but that's for a different day - who really wants to talk insurance and inflation now?).