nursing all day and night. He especially loves snacking at night in a comfy, queen sized bed next to his mama. The little baby loves being carried; all 24 pounds of him tucked in close. Basically Jude loves all the things that elicit gasps, words of warning, and blank stares from inquisitive strangers. Now don't get me wrong, I am a confident mama who feels a hundred percent assured that we are growing a healthy, active, and inquisitive baby boy. However, I am feeling the implications of these comments more and more. As we say good-bye to infancy and welcome the wild land of toddlerdome, I feel like I am leaving a world where I had cover for our practices and entering one of even greater judgement.
The rest of the universe is with me on the extended nursing, co-sleeping, baby-wearing trifecta. While they may be standard elsewhere, somehow these three things seem to be the parenting kiss of death in the U.S. I feel like I parent in a world where if you don't have a child who sleeps 12 hours a night in a crib, drinks cow's milk, and sits content in the stroller by a year, then it is assumed that something has gone awry.
I had an attachment parenting epiphany the other evening. (Isn't it wild that we have a special descriptor for the way other intuitively parent?) Gabe was in Chicago packing up the remainder of our apartment and I was a couple of days into a stint of single parenthood. For the 12 months that I've known the little guy, Jude has been fairly predictable, never easy, but predictable in his own little way. Sure enough, the week that I was flying solo, our meager attempts at structure were falling apart. One evening, two hours into a marathon bedtime routine, I was nearing my capacity for patience. I knew my child wasn't feeling well, but after being on for the last 15 some odd hours, I was finished. Lying in bed, I thought to myself, "Why won't this baby just go to sleep on his own like other kids? I am in serious need of some "me" time." With each passing minute I grew more and more frustrated. Finally, the rational adult in me took over. I relaxed and closed my eyes. As our breaths synchronized, Jude began to drift off to sleep.
As I settled in to my book for what was left of the evening, my "me" time, I thought about what had just transpired in our bedtime test of wills. I laughed to myself, "Now I realize why people let their babies cry. I couldn't do this on a regular basis." But this isexactly what Gabe and I do as parents. Our days/ evenings are not this intense because we have the support of each other to take the edge off when we encounter a more trying moment. However, we have chosen the path that puts parenting at the forefront of what we do. I realized something in this moment of conflict- what Americans are seeking when they say they want to cultivate independent children is really independence from their children. In this moment I needed time to be sans child, not the other way around.
Sure, it is a given that everyone needs some time to decompress. No one can be on all the time. Yet, I think it is the American way of life (moms returning to work a mere 6 weeks after they give birth!) that forces parents to put their babies on the fast track to doing it by themselves. It is a world where babies must adapt to the fast paced life of the family versus the family slowing down to acclimate this new being into their world.
It has taken me a full year of my child's life to make peace with this alternative way of living. I have had my moments, much like the one in the bed that evening, where I resisted the need to temporarily give up my independence. The greatest sum of the past 12 months has been spent calculating ways to free myself from commitments that pull me mentally and physically from Jude. I am a lucky mom! While the parenting path may not always be clear, I am afforded the greatest luxury in the world- time to think and be.
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