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.

Presence

There is a lot of bad psycho-babble talk about the concept of being "present" which is unfortunate because at its core it is a crucial concept. Being raised Quaker and therefore growing up with a faith whose practice of its beliefs relies heavily on this concept, I have been aware of it for a long time. However, in regards to its direct application to mental health, take took more years and some structured therapy. All to serve the good because it is a practice that when I do it, I can see the difference that it makes -- operating in the moment with a regard to how one's actions and words will be perceived by others in terms of how that affects them (as opposed to simply being concerned with the judgment of others) or alternatively simply allowing a state of being, particularly when one is alone.

Yet there is another application of being present that I appreciate as a parent and that is the idea of achieving this with a child. It is easy and sometimes necessary to get involved in chores or work when you are also with your child (or children), but when you are able to simply operate with them in their timeframe, in their state of being, that can create a relaxation state all its own. I certainly find that to be true in most of Abigail's play; sometimes I will try to direct her ("Let's pull out the blocks!") and at other times, she makes all the decisions (like when she picks out a book, walks over and hands it off all while saying "Book!"). When I drop into sync with where she is, our time doesn't necessarily flow smoothly -- her will might include wanting to open the oven or try to play with the spray on stain remover -- but it is certainly satisfying, I think, to both of us.

This point was driven further home to me today when I went out to lunch with a colleague. We were queueing up to place our burrito order when I saw a man taking a seat with his toddler daughter, probably in the range of two and a half years old. He was carrying her and their tray of food yet he seemed at ease and unhurried. I watched him put down the tray, get her settled, and start parsing out their food. She was speaking in sentences, but to look at his face, he might just as well have been talking to a grown up, maybe even an old friend. He was intent yet calm. My colleague and I had our lunch and as we were leaving, I had a chance to watch them again for a few more minutes as they were still there. Anyone who has eaten with a toddler knows that process can move at a glacial pace and they had clearly taken their time over lunch, the surrounding noise and people clearly having been a distraction. Yet dad remained unruffled, continuing to talk to her, redirect her when she trying to engage others who weren't necessarily interested in a toddler conversation and balance actually getting some food into her. It was just a dad with a kid enjoying lunch. It seems so simple and yet for many people, the idea of eating with their children conjures horror or at the very least forboding. Now, yes, there was one of him and one of her. And she was being well behaved for a toddler. But I can't help wondering if that good behavior comes in part because she knows she is listened to and respected, even if she can't articulate all of that.

Naturally, this also makes me think of Brian and Abigail since he is home with her now full time with school being out. I watch him be "present" with her and I can see his approach reflected in the dad I saw today. It isn't about Dada being the "fun" one and not having any rules -- you can be present and still have standards -- it's about applying reasonable behavior expectations with a mix of guidance and just letting that which does not matter truly slide (if I may borrow from a very kid-unfriendly movie). When Brian is simply present with her, I feel that much more respect for him as a father and a spouse which then of course bolsters her all over again since it's always good when one's parents get along ;)

Maybe if we weren't afraid to be tuned into ourselves we would have an easier time being tuned into our little ones. And if we are tuned into them when they are little, would it maybe be easier to be tuned into them when they are bigger (and are especially prone to rejecting anything that smacks of an encounter group)? I have no idea, but this is my working theory and I am going to run with it.

Multipurposed

With the end of school coming this week, it has made for some particularly hectic days and evenings. For example, yesterday was the end of year dinner for Brian's class. This shindig was being thrown by a parent at the student's home and had all students, parents and teachers invited. Clearly this mom has an excellent pharmacological relationship with some marvelous therapist because what we are talking about here is roughly 24 first graders with at least one but often two parents in two and then the two teachers plus their spouses and off-spring. I need to steal from Lewis Black here and say that there is not enough liquor in the universe. But it was great for us in the sense that we just needed to show up and be social and have Abigail be all cute and stuff. All of which was accomplished.

However, that doesn't get to my main point. My main point was that all of this meant I was picking up Abigail by myself yesterday (whereas we usually commute home as a family unit), getting her nursed and turned around for us to grab Brian from school and head to the par-tay. So the pickup from daycare was uneventful and once we were in the car, the (in)famous yellow plastic drum stick was firmly re-established in her mouth. The (in)formal rule that I decided on was that the drum stick does not go to school -- she is not so cathetected that leaving the car requires it although I am waiting for that day to come and test my resolve.

So with choking hazard, I mean beloved transitional object, in her mouth we are headed home. And during the drive she is usually talking while Brian and I are talking so there is some dynamic mix of adult conversation and stimulating toddler interaction. She was just a touch glum yesterday because there was no after school Dada, but I did my best to tell her that we would see her soon. And it was in the course of me "chatting with" her on the way home that I caught what was the biggest geek moment of her short life since she mastered the word "book".

Abigail was in fact using that choking hazarad-come-transitional object as a light saber. Yes, folks, I have a baby Jedi living in my house. Which is apparently the age at which you are supposed to start training them so I guess I need to get on looking for that version of Gymboree for her. And before I get any haters out there, claiming that this level of nerdiness is just too advanced for her, I am telling you that her hand positioning and subsequent movements would have been enough to make a Sith lord quake. Nice to know that a bath toy can serve so many emotional needs as well as fulfilling a desire for weaponry.

Bathroom Blues

Abigail has a fondness for the bathroom...specifically the little pink and white footstool that sits in front of the sink, in part because it is much like the ones they use at daycare so everyone can wash their hands. She loves to come into the bathroom and climb up on the footstool and then proceed to grab whatever is in reach. And her most favorite things are toothbrushes, usually her own but mine will do just as well. But it isn't just the grabbing, it is also the chewing. She will chew on the toothbrush, mine or hers. Now I have dealt with basically every bodily substance she is capable of producing, but I do draw the line at chewing on my toothbrush....and I don't even really want her chewing on hers because, well, that is what electrical cords are for.

She actually does chew consistently on these simple yellow plastic drum sticks that are part of one of her bath toys and it isn't because we haven't offered her actual chew toys - they have always been greeted with a "and that is supposed to be...what?" type of approach. But my overall point is that standards of dental hygiene say to me that I don't want her just gnawing on the toothbrush.

But relocating her from that stool or, heavens, confiscating that toothbrush equals drama as only a 15 going on 16 month old can perform it. There is the building wail, there is the throwing of one's self on the area rug outside the bathroom and then there is the distraction of something else becoming more interesting than being in a snit. What still makes me giggle (at least inside and at least for now because I am sure it won't in another year) is when she will bat away something she really wants (like the aforementioned drum stick) because she is busy being in a snit about having to leave the bathroom. Good times cutting off your cute little nose to spite your adorable little face.

So we leave the bathroom door closed much of the time which is fine because we also don't want to encourage things like playing in the toilet along the lines of "oh look, this whole bowl of water just for me!" as her putting her face into the air conditioned breeze coming from the floor vents is collie-dog enough. And yet I wonder if this simply ups the mystique of the bathroom, if this access denial puts that much higher of a reward price on the experience of getting in there. Of course, this no longer seems to extend to the tub because right now being bathed in the tub might as well be equated to bathing with snakes. Wash in the sink? All good and lots of fun. The tub? Apparently I am trying to maim her.

Never let it be said that she doesn't have strong preferences. I wonder where she could possibly have gotten that from. Yeah.

That Inner Voice

I seriously took to heart all of the developmental advice about talking to one's baby. When I was home on maternity leave, we talked through every diaper change, every walk around the block, every trip to the store, every bath, every doing of chores and eating of breakfast with Abigail perched on my arm and shoulder. Part of this was to keep my brain in a full working order as I think I would have experienced a Blue Screen of Death if I was home all day and didn't speak at all...but mostly it was because I had been told that all of this was good for The Baby's Brain.

And intellectually, I knew it was good for her. Language acquisition, bonding, yah yah yah. But there was still part of me that was all, "really? like she's actually going to pick this up?" Don't ask me why I question, I just do. Then she started babbling and then there were consonants mixed with those vowels and then there was some meaningful mama-dada-up-no action going on...all while I was duly emotional over her learning to talk and completely not connecting it to all the talking I did (and in fairness, that Brian has done and her daycare teachers have done and her aunts and grandmothers have done...you get the picture that this was a team effort, no?).

However, one of the earliest little phrases Abigail busted out with was "oh wow" - which was more multipurpose than it is now and is currently her version of "that's cool" or "i noticed that!" And Brian mentioned this weekend that she must have picked it up from him -- which is true because saying "oh wow" is sort of one of his verbal tics, his verbal filler -- and it all kind of clicked into place. It really should have when she said "book" right at 13 months (and can I tell you I hadn't been that weepy since she mastered "mama?") or when she started picking up all the animal noises that we were modeling (I still don't know what a zebra or a llama are supposed to say, but I have settled on "moing, moing" for a fish), but it didn't. So yet one more reason I am glad that we are doing this as a team ;)

She's also getting better at using all this verbal know-how in contextually appropriate ways. Like enthusiastically saying "bye bye" when you leave...even though you might just be getting the mail. She doesn't know how long this sojourn will take so she wants to make sure you get an enthusiastic send off, I suppose.

But the most recent big kick has been her giving a serious approximation of a kiss. Some babies seem to pop out knowing how to kiss; not so much with Abigail. And while she has been kissed (about a frillion times) since she was brand new, this particular social interaction has kind of eluded her until recently. A good friend of mine spells kisses as "mwah!" and that is just what Abigail is doing...I never realized until now how spot on that spelling really is. You still have to ask for them so it is a command performance sort of thing, but she is getting the hang of it. That and wearing one shoe to stomp around the house -- all the better to look only semi-crazy when she then tries to press her face against the air conditioning vents like an overheated collie.