A Heavy, Grateful Heart

We will find out more this week about another lone gunman, a shooter who this past Sunday stepped into a Unitarian church in Knoxville, TN and began firing. Apparently, this man felt disenfranchised in his life, opposed the Unitarian's acceptance of gays and lesbians and didn't even expect to leave the church alive. What isn't clear to be about that last bit is whether he thought there would be a stand off and he would be killed by police, if he intended to kill himself or if he someone thought the members of the church would kill him. If it was the last of those, he certainly chose the wrong kind of congregation to pick on. However, the man is in jail, having survived this experience apparently, but not everyone in that church was so fortunate. Right now, there are two dead, but that may go up as some of the injured are still in critical condition. So we will have to wait and see on a final death toll.

When I first heard about this shooting, it had an impact as other recent attacks of this nature have, but this hit closer, in part because this was a Unitarian church and the Unitarians are about as close to being Quaker as you can get while still having, you know, structure. We share a great deal in common with them when it comes to a commitment to social justice as part of ministry. But also, this was Knoxville -- my father grew up in Oak Ridge, TN and someone I used to care about a great deal is from there. And though the rational part of me said "what are the odds he knew any of these folks?", part of me still said "get in touch". So I did and basically said "hey, I was concerned and even if you didn't know anyone there, I know that this sort of thing rocks a community". And I didn't necessarily expect to hear anything back, but wanted to at least put my sympathies out there.

This is where I hate hate hate having an instinct be right because that rational part of me couldn't have been more wrong. The first confirmed victim, the one who had dived for the shooter, the man who without thinking had given his life to hopefully protect others (there was a children's play going on at the time) turned out to be his former Scout master and the father of a good friend growing up. So the loss wasn't just in the community it was personal. At the same time (literally) he had lost a good friend to a motorcylce accident -- an idiot running a red light has sent the friend into a ravine, the type of accident that isn't survivable no matter how good your gear is.

It was at this point in reading the email response that I lost my shit. I just sat there at the computer had cried. It has been years since this person was really part of my life, but every piece of compassion I had went out to him as he was trying to absorb not only this violation of his community, but also the loss of a formative influence and the loss of a good friend. And it hit so hard because of the parallels -- while not all Unitarians are pacifists, many are and often work with Quakers on peace issues so it makes this violence that much more painful and Brian and I have loved motorcycles and riding and make a point of being responsible drivers and riders. Yet here were people losing their lives when simply trying to worship and enjoy a ride. Tennessee is good motorcycle country so even if the friend was just driving to work, it was probably the most enjoyable way to commute.

I sat back from the computer and was filled with gratitude that the only real accident Brian's ever had with the bike was due to a rookie mistake and was at relatively low speed. In fact, he was more scared about me being mad than his broken collar bone. But mistakes happen and this is why we had (well, still have) insurance. That wasn't going to stop me from riding with him or have me tell him not to ride, despite what many people said to us at the time. However, I also faced again the idea that someone else's mistake could still erase all the care and responsibility he puts into riding. Just like someone else's hatred or twisted ideas could still violate my religious community.

Though all of these risks are present, it doesn't make me want to retreat. I wouldn't tell Brian to sell the bike out of some misplaced hope of protecting him; he could still get mowed down by a bus any day (which has happened way more than it should in DC in the last few years) and I certainly wouldn't stop worshipping or belonging to a spiritual community that might alienate others. On another level, it made me value having Abigail in our lives to an even greater degree. Yes, she will have to contend with a world where all of these things happen, but if we do our jobs to raise a compassionate, responsible person, she also has the ability to counteract such influences just by being in the world.

It's trite to say "value your loved ones" and that isn't even really what I am focused on; rather, I want us to value our time and the opportunities it gives us and to take advantage of those no matter how small or insignificant they may seem. I think I'll go meditate on my toddler's giggle right about now.

She's Got Legs

And for the most part, she has figured out how to use them. Abigail was a little slow to the mobility game. Crawling wasn't for her, mostly because it required being on her stomach to at least learn the process, and that was was apparently akin to a stress position. So she went pretty much straight from sitting to standing and walking. Which I think is funny now because she loves to sleep on her stomach...just like her daddy. She will be her most knocked out, sprawled out face down. Genetics are a wonderful thing. And that brings me back to her legs since she clearly got those from Dada as well. Long, long legs -- legs which I hope will continue to have that sort of ratio in terms of her height because I view long legs as an asset no matter what your gender maybe. They just look good attached to the human form.

But in terms of using them, the walking quickly became running and now she is often more coordinated than I am (not that this is a high bar to get over, but you get the idea). She is now spending more time trying to manipulate this footstool that my mother gave her, figuring out how to sit down on it, move it around or if that gets too boring, put her Snoopy to sleep on it. Those legs are also still pretty bendy and rubbery, though she doesn't spend much time trying to put her feet in her mouth anymore unless she is in her carseat -- then the draw of being able to chew on shoe laces seems all too powerful. My aunt is right -- at this age, they are just labrodor puppies.

Along with her actual legs a'sproutin' (which they have been doing more of recently, I am telling you she is growing yet again), her verbal skills have got legs of their own. And so we have entered the start of the mimicing phase which has been most entertaininly characterized by Timmy. Timmy, yes, the alternatively abled character of "South Park" fame; you see, in the episode in which he participates in the "liberation" of a killer whale from a water park, he utters his eponymous "Tim-may!" but does so in a whisper because they are sneaking past the guards. This has always struck as as wicked funny, like "hey even Timmy knew they needed to be all super secret spy!" So Brian started whispering "Tim-may" to Abigail and she was whispering it back. But apparently holding on to that name was too taxing so now she will whisper "Dada!", like all excited but still sotto voce. Very amusing for us. Still haven't gotten her to say "ninja" yet but you bet I got her to say "Wall-E". I'm not a fan of the Princess Industrial Complex, but she can love Pixar all she wants.

The Second Breast

I feel the need to get all Simone de Beauvoir today because of a write up of an article that a friend sent to me (thanks Meggan!). There's a piece out called "Is Breastfeeding Fair?" by Dr. Deborah McCarter-Spaulding (she's a certified lactation consultant) and it delves into whether breastfeeding is anti-feminist. The idea behind this is that since breastfeeding is an act that only a woman can physically do then that is a limitation on the equality striven for by feminists. To which the reaction of many is "then what about pregnancy?" to which we say "that requires a woman whereas feeding can be accomplished by other means".

So back to the boobs and the food they produce. I am all for academic adventuring and theorizing. Since one of my majors was women's studies, I am even in support of this particular flavor of navel gazing. However, I find myself refuting the very premise that inspired this line of exploration. Whether one is talking about multicultural feminism or liberal feminism or egalitarian feminism, the main point has been equality, parity, choice and opportunity. In my eyes, something does not need to be split 50/50 precisely down the middle in order for it to be -- humans are capable of much more complexity in emotional thought and physical negotiation. So this idea that the "female only" nature of breastfeeding makes it inherently repressive to me feels ludicrous.

Now I do believe that it could be oppressive if a partner or other people are forcing a woman to breastfeed or making her feel so guilty that she is doing it and feeling like she has no other choice. That to me is most certainly anti-feminist. But there it has nothing to do with the act itself and everything about the expectations of others when feminism is, at least in part, about freeing the self and being able to act with self-agency.

I knew I wanted to breastfeed even before I was certain that I wanted to have children. And once I was pregnant, I worked to educate myself on the process and the resources (living here in the DC area, I am fortunate to have a tremendous amount of access). Once Abigail was born, I networked with other breastfeeding moms (another very especial thank to Meggan on this one) and even got professional intervention (have a few extra bucks? seriously consider donating it to The Breastfeeding Center of Greater Washington -- amazing, amazing place). I even went so far as to have Abigail seen by an ENT specialist when issues with her feeding ended up warranting it (and it made such a difference that I am very glad I did). Why go into all of this? Because through this whole process, I felt genuinely empowered; I was making the choices that felt best for my daughter and for me about how she was going to eat. I have nursed her at family gatherings, at the Bodies exhibit, I have even nursed her at a New Jersey rest stop (and staying at one long enough to do that should demonstrate our level of commitment). I haven't felt oppressed by breastfeeding because I was freely choosing to pursue it, doing so even at times when others might have decided that the level of work required was beyond what they would want give. That work ended up being an additionally empowering part of the choice -- I found the way to overcome the obstacles that would potentially keep me from this choice. What could be more feminist than that?

I would say that (for me, at least) this also extended to pumping once I was back at work full time. Some women hate pumping, other women don't mind it, and I can't say I've met a mama who was totally excited by it. I definitely fell into the not minding crowd in terms of the logistics of the act. However, it was empowering in its own way because here I was pursuing my role in the work world while at the same time providing the consistent food Abigail needed. I pumped for her until she was about 14 months old, slowly transitioning her to cow's milk starting around the time she was a year. But during those first few months back at work when the transition was toughest, I at least knew that was getting my milk and only mine, the only food she had ever had. That was an important emotional link, an empowering link (I keep using that word because it just fits).

Breastfeeding can be an inherently feminist act, allowing the body to perform a function for which it was designed. This doesn't mean that all women's bodies cooperate or that all women will have this sort of thought process about breastfeeding. But in my feminist utopia, women would come to this with a clean slate, with no preconceived notions about it being gross or sexual, with access to safe space and resources, so that they could make the right decision for themselves and their babies. And if they opted to formula feed as being the right thing, then that decision would have been made honestly and appropriately and without the encumbering baggage of others' expectations -- and that would be empowering.

Abigail is 16 going on 17 months at this point. I still nurse her mornings and evenings and if she wakes during the night. I have now chosen the route of extended breastfeeding and I still find it an empowering choice to make. I know I could push her to wean, but I feel no push myself to do so. Her interest will wane and that may also be combined with small pushes from me...we will have to see how the next several months go. But it still comes back to me having the freedom and the power to make these decisions for her and me. I think Simone would be proud.