The Eyes Have It

Yesterday, I celebrated my ninth wedding anniversary with my husband. We dated for around five years before we married, so we’ve been together fourteenish years, and we knew each other for a couple of years before we started seeing each other, so I’ve basically been at least friends with my husband my entire adult life. Neat. Now, we will actually go on a date on Sunday as we had other commitments last night, and it was mid-week. We’ll have dinner at the restaurant where our rehearsal dinner was held and do something else. It isn’t really important what we do, just that we’ll do it together, and I would say that sums up the last decade-and-a-half rather nicely.

I’ve been reflecting on our life together, recently. We’ve had some wonderful times and we’ve had some difficult times, although our relationship has remained strong through it all. I can honestly say that there is no one I would rather have by my side when things look their bleakest and no one that I would rather share my joy with when they are at their loveliest. I sincerely wish this sort of love for anyone who desires it.

All this reflecting has led me to music. Pop music, because it is what I know the best. “Our song” is “Tupelo Honey” by Van Morrison because it is the song my husband played for me when he gave me the necklace he had made me near the start of our romantic relationship. It is a beautiful song. It was the song to which we danced our first dance at our wedding. Ross from Friends also cited it as the most romantic song, so there is that going for it as well. We made each other mix tapes and mix CDs with a lot of great music on it, in our younger days. Now, we’ve taken to sending each other links to Youtube videos via email or Facebook when the mood strikes us. Recent selections have included Adele’s cover of “Make You Feel My Love,” “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol, “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel, and “The Luckiest” by Ben Folds.

One thing all these songs have in common, other than a theme of deep and lasting love, is eyes. Every single one mentions eyes at least once. Granted “Make You Feel My Love” may be stretching this a little because it really only mentions tears, but you can’t have tears without eyes, so it counts. Three of them speak of recognizing the other person or oneself in the other’s eyes. We see our best qualities reflected in the eyes of those who love us. We recognize the souls of the ones we love in their eyes. I know this to be true. I cannot look into my husband’s eyes and miss his lovely spirit, and I see the best of me reflected in his love for me when I look into those wonderful blue eyes. I know he must see something similar when he gazes into my own eyes because I know how I feel about him, we are here, and we are strong.

I will close by telling a story about his eyes. Anyone who knows both of us knows that my husband generally sports a full beard, and has had one nearly the entire time we have known each other. One day in college I was walking home, and I heard someone call my name. I looked around, didn’t recognize anyone, assumed someone else must have been being paged, and continued on my way. Then I heard someone pick up his pace, and call my name again. I turned around, and it was my husband, although at the time we were just friends (that situation would change a few weeks later). He was clean-shaven for the first time in years, and I had not recognized him. I was only really sure who it was when he smiled, and I looked into his eyes. There he was. There I was. And here we are. 

99% of You Will Not Comment on This Post

Some of my least favorite things on Facebook are the chain statuses. You know the ones. “Re-post this if you think clubbing baby seals is mean. I bet *insert made up statistic here, usually in the 90s*% of you won’t re-post. <3 for those who ARE BRAVE ENOUGH TO SAY THAT CLUBBING BABY SEALS IS WRONG!” I have a friend who has posted about this recently as a status update. Liking and/or re-posting a status update does not do a thing. I don’t need to prove that I would hug a baby seal rather than club it, that I think cancer is bad, and that I love my husband/children/siblings/parents/planet, etc. by re-posting a poorly-worded status.

I think most who start and re-post these things mean well, and I usually just scroll past them. I used to feel that they were harmless, if annoying. Then I began to think more about it. Do people really think they are making a difference? Is re-posting a status self-satisfying enough that it may prevent someone from doing something useful? Does it even send a subtly harmful message while trying to send a positive one? I think the answer to that last question is most certainly, “Yes.” Let’s take the anti-bullying C&P status. There are a few, but they are essentially all the same, and they read something like this:

On the surface, it seems harmless enough. Don’t bully. You don’t know these people, and you’re piling hurt on the undeserving, but there is an implication, however subtle and unintended, that there are people who deserve to be called terrible names and pushed around. What if the girl that was called a slut had been having sex with a different guy every night? What if the pregnant girl had consensual sex? How about that boy who was jeered as being lame? What if he just went home and read comic books all night, nothing grand and noble, just normal? Let’s think about the boy who was crying. What if he’s just really sensitive? And the old man with the scars? What if he got those setting off illegal fireworks or actually doing something extremely harmful to society, like cooking meth? Would they then deserve the mockery and nastiness heaped upon them?

People shouldn’t bully. Period. It doesn’t matter if the girl being called a slut has had sex w/ 0 people or 100 people. She doesn’t deserve it. I won’t even get into how promiscuity is encouraged in young men while being frowned upon in young women, and how dangerous that is for both sexes, or how I frankly feel that anyone who is that young and that promiscuous is battling demons, regardless of their combination of Xs and Ys. That’s an entirely different post. I also won’t get into what I think of the word slut beyond saying that it is foul, and is used to keep women in line. This virgin/fallen woman theme carries on to the next example of the pregnant teen who was raped. What an awful scenario. Why would that need to be the case to offer her friendship and support? It seems to me that anyone in a crisis pregnancy is deserving of at least that much. Does anyone need to be called lame for any reason or have insults heaped upon him because he cries? In a society that prizes physical beauty and eternal youth the way that ours does, is there anyone who should have to hear about scars that he bears for whatever reason? Is it only a war hero who should be treated with a modicum of dignity and respect? You don’t need to know someone or their situation to refrain from being nasty to them. You simply have to, I don’t know, be nice.

What those who bully, and even those who write and share statuses like the ones above don’t seem to realize is that not one person deserves to be treated poorly and made to feel less than human. We are all deserving of love and kindness, regardless of our sins. What one person says about another is less a reflection on the person being spoken about than it is on the person speaking. The things people choose to say about and to each other are often a reflection of their own insecurities and fears.  Maybe they fear they are actually in possession of the trait they are giving the other. Maybe they are lacking something their victim has. What they definitely need is compassion and a new perspective on valuing life and dignity. It isn’t just kids, either. They learn it by watching us. They see the subtler forms of bullying pass as entertainment for the masses. They listen to us snipe about each other. They are exposed to what passes for political discourse in this country. How are we to tell them to be kind, to treat each other as human beings on an interpersonal level when we can’t manage to do that very same thing as a society? When the best we can seem to offer is a status update that implies that not everyone is deserving of the small mercies of an outstretched hand and a smile? If the cited status is the best we can offer each other in our efforts to help stop bullying, then we have a long way to go, my friends.

The Reason I Can Celebrate Mother's Day as a Mother

I first wrote the essay/post below on Mother's Day two years ago. I won’t be peeling potatoes today; my then-four-year-old is now six and getting his first adult tooth. My then-toddler is now three and is full of life and sparkle. The fluttering fetus in the story is now a lovely little toddler who brightens our days. What remains the same is that none of this beauty would be possible were it not for earlier pain. The rarest of gems are formed through the application of pressure over time, and as difficult as things can sometimes be, the wonder that awaits us is worth struggle. I hope those of you who have read this before don’t mind the repeat, and those who find it new enjoy it. Happy Mother’s Day to all.

This Mother’s Day (May 2010) I had the great pleasure of peeling fourteen potatoes while my four-year-old chopped them and put them in a pan of water so we could boil them. Now, I don’t normally love peeling potatoes. It would generally be a perfect punishment, but the company was excellent and the conversation delightful. In the midst of it, I was struck by how very lovely my life is. My husband was outside in our yard playing with the toddler, I was happily engaged in conversation and work with the pre-schooler, and I could feel the fetus fluttering away inside of me.

The thing is, this day could very easily not have happened, or at least not like this. I was diagnosed with Lupus when I was ten years old. It took them three long years to figure out why my kidneys and joints seemed to not want to function properly. When I was younger, I hated the Lupus. I felt like it took me from me. I wasn’t allowed to run and play as often; I spent over half the year in hospitals away from my friends and siblings. I took medications that made me feel awful, stunted my growth, and made me fat. I wasn’t healthy enough to be medication-free until close to the end of my freshman year in high school. I felt like the Lupus had robbed me of my childhood and early adolescence. As I grew older and the remission lasted, I came to terms with the Lupus. It had helped mold me into the person I was, and I liked that person, so it was what it was. Then, in March of 2006, something happened that I never would have thought possible. I became eternally grateful for the Lupus.

Despite the fact that I have been in remission my entire adult life, my pregnancies are considered high-risk. With the first, I was very carefully monitored, which I didn’t really mind. I received extra ultrasounds, and the non-stress tests were comforting, if a bit boring. I was able to hear my baby’s heart galloping along while I waited for movement, so I could press the button to record it. The pregnancy itself was perfectly routine and healthy. I was healthier and happier than ever. The baby seemed to be perfect. There were no problems. Without the Lupus hanging over my medical history, I never would have needed the non-stress tests, and things would have gone horribly, horribly wrong.

For those of you who don’t know my oldest child’s birth story, my husband was on his spring break and came along to my 37 week appointment. We were planning on going out to lunch followed by a movie. I knew the baby was transverse and/or breech (he was flipping between the two), so I wasn’t going into labor that day. As a matter of fact, the plan was to schedule a version for my 38 week appointment. . .

After the visit with the doctor, who was awesome, we went back for the NST. It seemed to be taking longer than usual. They had me drink some juice to get things moving. Then the doctor came in to chat with my husband and me. They wanted to send us over to Labor & Delivery triage for monitoring. The baby’s heart rate was decreasing when it should be increasing. I’d need an ultrasound. We walked across the bridge to the hospital. It seemed the umbilical cord was pooled under his head and any time he tried to move he compressed it, which is what was causing the decrease in heart rate. Since I was already considered full-term, and while the situation was not emergent in that I didn’t need to be rushed to the OR posthaste, it was time, for the good of the baby, to deliver him.

I had really wanted an all-natural birth, but I was pretty philosophical about not having one if it meant better things for the baby. We called our friends and family to tell them that today was the day and to beg assistance from them/impose upon them: Could they get into our house and finish packing the suitcase that was on the bed (we had planned on finishing that after our date)? Could someone bring a camera? etc. etc. I was wheeled into the OR and had a very routine c-section. As we had chosen not to find out the sex of the baby until birth, the doctor delivered our breech son and held up the proof of his sex while asking my spouse if he knew what those were. My husband told me we had a son, and we immediately named him. Then, he didn’t cry. They whisked him away while I was stitched up, with the doctor doing her best to calm us while looking a bit anxious herself. Soon enough we heard the cry we had been awaiting. Relief flooded the room and joking commenced. My husband went back to see our son and then returned. They briefly brought the baby to us. He needed to go to the NICU. He needed CPAP and a blood transfusion. He had aspirated meconium and was severely anemic. That brief little hug was the closest I was to get to holding my son for a day and a half. I could touch him, but not hold him. It was agonizing. I do not know how mothers who have children who are in incubators do it.

To this day, there is no diagnosis behind the acute anemia my eldest suffered at birth. We do know that it was not related to my Lupus, and that he is perfectly healthy and as normal as any child of ours has a hope of being. What I also know is that without the Lupus I would not have been receiving the non-stress tests. My sweet boy could not have survived without a blood transfusion much longer due to the severity of his anemia. Would I have listened to my mommy instincts telling me that his movements had changed, which they had, and called my OB in time to save him? I don’t know. What I do know is that it didn’t come to that. My Lupus saved my baby. I would give my childhood a million times over so I could be a part of his. For this gift, I am eternally grateful. My Lupus may have made so many things so much harder than they needed to be, but it gave me today. It gave me this life, and I couldn’t ask for anything sweeter.

On Mothering, Really

On Mothering Parenting Mothering, Really

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, but I do plan on keeping to my goal of at least one to two posts a week, now that I’m back. With Mother’s Day fast approaching, the next couple will be about parenting, and then I plan to move on to other topics because I like to talk about many different things.

Time magazine has fired yet another salvo in the “mommy wars” (a term I have grown to detest, by the way) just in time for Mother’s Day. If you haven’t seen it, the cover depicts a young mother nursing her three-year-old child, who is standing on a chair and latched on as the mother stands staring at the camera, next to the tagline “Are you mom enough?” I will state right here and now that I haven’t read the article because you have to be a subscriber to read it online and I won’t buy the magazine.  I wonder if for Father’s Day, we will see a photo of a young father wearing a pre-schooler next to the tagline, “Are you dad enough?” Somehow, I doubt it. It irks me to no end that nearly every parenting debate is a mothering debate, and nearly every mothering debate is more about pitting women against each other and playing on our worst fears, that we are somehow damaging our children and not doing something right, and it will be our fault if something happens to our children, than it is about a truthful, open discourse where we can learn from each other. After all, Norman Bates didn’t have daddy issues, did he?

Since I have not read it, I won’t address the article. I will simply talk about the picture and the backlash. People on all sides are offended by it. I don’t find it particularly offensive. I am annoyed, but not offended, that they obviously did it to be titillating, rather than spark an honest discussion about attachment parenting and extended breast-feeding. Those are both interesting and intertwined topics. I am also annoyed that people took the bait. It isn’t titillating. It looks a little uncomfortable, but not indecent. I would certainly rather sit and have my child snuggle into me while I nurse, but if the chair thing works for you, have at it. I would rather see a picture of what most women who engage in extended breast-feeding look like when they nurse because it is a more honest place from which to begin a dialogue. I promise that it would still have enraged those who were going to be put-out by it, but it wouldn’t have made people feel like they have to defend a picture that doesn’t necessarily depict what they do. People would be defending something real, not something designed to be as inflammatory as possible. I am so sad that women who make a choice that is already looked on with suspicion have been put in the position of either defending this photograph or saying “I don’t do it like that!” Both things are ridiculous, and neither will mollify those who are offended by the act in the picture.

Speaking of the people who are offended by it, I am even more annoyed with them. This picture is not the end of the world. It isn’t child abuse, and it isn’t indecent. It is just a mother doing what she thinks is best for her child. Where were your voices when the hundreds of other truly exploitive and degrading magazine covers and ads that are published every month were released? Pictures where you see airbrushed breasts that are being used for no other purpose than to be ogled? Pictures where women are nothing but objects of unattainable beauty and sexuality put there to satisfy the male gaze(even the models in the pictures don’t actually look like that, in real life)? Pictures of women who are barely old enough to vote climbing all over each other in various states of undress? Pictures of women climbing all over ridiculously oiled and hairless men? Pictures of women bending to the will of others and of objects? We see those images every month, every week, every day, but this picture is what has you foaming at the mouth? Priorities, people.  

I have absolutely no desire to nurse my pre-schooler, but I don’t care if another woman does. By American standards, I nurse for a long time. My oldest was just a week or so shy of two when he weaned, my middle child was 22 months, and my youngest could wean any day now, and I would be thrilled, but she will be weaned by her second birthday. That is my comfort level. It conforms with the WHO guidelines, and it works for my family. I see it as my duty to support any mother who feeds her child in any way that is healthy and keeps everyone happy. Do you need breastfeeding support? I’m your woman. Do you need someone to let you know that your child won’t die and is not being denied a future Pulitzer Prize if you formula feed? I’m there for you. Do you need someone to not look askance when you nurse in public regardless of whether your child is three weeks or three years? I’ve got your back. Are you somewhere in the middle? That’s cool, yo.

Here’s the thing. We should all support each other. What good does all of this endless debate and fighting about the “right” way to do something that there is actually no one correct way to do, do for anyone? If I make a different choice for my family than you did for yours, that is not a reflection on my opinion of you or your parenting. It is a reflection of what seems instinctual and best for me and my family, and vice versa. What works for one child in the same family might not work for another. With that being the case, why on earth would we think that what works for one family will necessarily work for another? If I offer advice, it’s because I think it will help, not because I will be offended to the core if you don’t take it. If I don’t take your advice, it isn’t because I don’t like and respect you, it’s because it didn’t feel right for my situation. We need to let go of our own fear of being judged, and respect each other. This need for understanding goes for pretty much every non-abusive parenting decision people make. I used to be much more defensive about a lot of my parenting choices because it’s hard to feel completely secure when you’re responsible for someone else’s life. I am much more secure in my choices now than when I began my parenting journey. I may never be mother-of-the-year, but my kids love me and they are good kids who know they are loved. At the end of the day, what more do we want?