20SomethingMom chronicles of a young mom

Bilingual StridesPosted by admin on March 10th, 2010

Since I recently began contributing to SpanglishBaby, I have been re-energized in my efforts to keep my son surrounded by Spanish. The shifting balance of Spanish and English has been particularly interesting to watch. He has always responded differently to each language, but has recently developed preferences according to the rules of his interactions thus far.

I speak only Spanish to him, with few exceptions (i.e. when I’m frustrated and can’t find exactly the right words). He watches equal amounts of Spanish and English television — his favorite is Pocoyo — and I only read to him in Spanish. (This becomes funny when translation is involved.) Most days, it’s just the two of us interacting en espanol.

In the past few weeks, he’s become quite opinionated about my use of English. He doesn’t flinch when I use English with other people in front of him, but he completely ignores me if I speak directly to him in English. Today, I took him to Starbucks. Because I was speaking to the barista in English and my brain was in that mode, I asked if he wanted a cookie in English. He didn’t even look at me. But when I said “quieres una galleta?” he nodded and said “mmhmm.”

Things are the opposite with my mom. He spends a lot of time with her when I’m working and on her days off. She uses only English with him, but she’s starting to learn some Spanish words. He laughs when she speaks Spanish and sometimes even shushes her.

This awareness of separate languages is an exciting development because he’s simultaneously advancing towards the stage of nonstop talking. He said his first complete sentence (5 words) a few days ago, but it was English and Spanish mixed together. I was so excited to hear him mix the languages (code switch) because it means that he has a command of both grammatical structures. I feel like a scientist conducting an experiment, and being blown away by the results. Every myth that we grow up with about our limited brain capacity explodes at the moment that a 2-year-old says a coherent sentence in two languages, with native accents in both.

I suppose that for someone who grew up in a bilingual household, this wouldn’t be such a crazy discovery. For me, though, it’s an amazing thing to witness. I know plenty of people who grew up speaking Spanish at home and English at school, so I know it works. Still, there’s no lesson like seeing it happen in your own child. We think that the “firsts” stop after the first step, the first word, but I’m learning that there are many, many more to come.

I wish that every child in the world could have the gift of bilingualism, but all I can do is encourage other parents to do what they can to expose their kids to a second (or third or fourth) language. There is room in those little heads for all of it.

Technorati Tags: bilingualism, code switching, espanol, parenting, Pocoyo, spanglish, SpanglishBaby, Spanish

Toddlers And Their EarsPosted by admin on February 17th, 2010

First of all, I must apologize for having been MIA for a month. I’ve been paralyzed by the long wait for grad school decisions. I have yet to hear anything, so I’ve decided that instead of obsessively checking discussion forums and application status pages, I’ll use some of my time to write about my latest parenting conundrum.

My little boy is now 25 1/2 months old, and has recently made a cognitive leap that has me scratching my head and wondering what other parents do. He listens to nearly every word I say, even when I’m not talking to him, and responds by saying or doing something related to what I was talking about. This may seem like a “duh” — that a child of two years would be fully capable of understanding the gist of adult conversations — but it’s the level of necessary adjustment in my topics and tone that has me confused.

When a baby or young child is in the room, s/he tends to be the center of attention and the object of praise. As parents, we get used to talking about the little one’s latest discoveries, frustrations, and milestones without much consideration for what the child is absorbing. Now that my son has settled into toddlerhood, he is developing empathy, curiosity, and the capacity to be embarrassed. If I am talking to a family member about something cute he did, he repeats it so they can see for themselves. If I seem upset during a phone conversation, he responds with a furrowed brow and a hug.

These reactions are exciting because they represent greater levels of personality formation, and make me even more intrigued to find out who he becomes as an older child, teenager, and adult. Yet, I waver between knowing that it is necessary for him to see or hear the truth of a situation (like an argument between me and my mom) in order to function socially, and wanting to protect him from all things negative.

Like most other aspects of parenting, this remains a gray area. I can’t lay down rules and always limit my own behavior in front of my child, but I can try to judge which conversations and interactions might be overwhelming for him. I can talk about my worries and fears in an adult way when he’s not around so that he doesn’t feel my stress so much. I can encourage his empathetic responses and explain things that might upset him. It seems to be a decision I have to make on a case-by-case basis. Right now, that’s the best answer I’ve got to the question of when to restrict my true feelings or vocalizations.

Does this get harder as kids get older? What should I be expecting in the next few years?

Where do you think we should draw the line in terms of talking about private things and about our children in front of them? Are these things damaging or essential?

Technorati Tags: child development, empathy, motherhood, parenting, toddler

Gender WonderPosted by admin on October 5th, 2009

I’ve always had somewhat radical views on gender, in the sense that I believe it is a mutable social construct.  It is not until we start placing bows on baby girls’ heads or putting mini basketballs in little boys’ hands that they represent gender differences.  As I watch my boy grow and change, I wonder (even more frequently than I did before I was a mother) what would happen if we never placed them on one side of the scale or the other.  What kinds of differences would emerge naturally?

Of course, it’s impossible to know because even this kind of (arguably unethical) experimentation would take place in the context of a society built upon the male-female dichotomy.  Still, many people fail to remember that sex and gender are two different things.  Sex is chromosomal, biological — a mere determinant of phenotype.  The way we dress, speak, act, work, and love are all elements of gender.  We have to act out our gender, or else no one knows what it is.  And we are all familiar with the prejudice and confusion that can arise from that kind of mystery.  

As parents, we play a special part in the perpetuation of gender roles.  While there is nothing inherently wrong with buying Tonka trucks for a boy and Barbies for a girl, it becomes ambiguous when we freak out about our kids playing with the “wrong” toys.  When I was at the store with my son yesterday, he played with such a variety of toys in the span of 20 minutes that it wouldn’t have been far off to say that he doesn’t have a preference for blue or loud toys at all.  At home, though, because there aren’t any dolls around, I tend to assume that he has an affinity for cars and balls — really, anything that can be raced or thrown.  

I’m not poised to spend money on gender-balancing my son’s toy collection, but I wonder what I will say if, when he becomes fully verbal, he asks me to buy him a toy that’s slated for girls.  I would probably get it for him and worry more about answering questions as to why my son owns something girly than about how it would affect his gender identity.  

Toys are just the most glaring part of what genders a child’s world, though.  I notice certain skills and tendencies in my son that are typically associated with males (and especially developed in the males in my family): mechanical abilities, a desire to perform daring physical stunts, and — most fascinating of all — the instinct to laugh at bodily functions.  Are these things really related to his sex, or are they simply the things I notice or value most about him because I have been conditioned not to pay attention to, for example, his love of cuddling and babies?

This is one of the larger questions that seem to take up an abnormal amount of my time.  I am a big-picture person about most things, and parenting is no exception.  Gender is one of those grand structures that seems to exist for no reason and every reason, and I cannot (nor will I ever be able to) reconcile its incredible influence in modern life.  

I wonder about gender as I play it out for myself.  As a woman raising a boy, I wonder how to make gendered choices for him until he can make them himself.  

What are your gender wonders about raising children?

Technorati Tags: boys vs. girls, children, gender, gendered toys, motherhood, parenting, pink and blue, sex and gender

Absence Makes the Baby Grow CuterPosted by admin on September 28th, 2009

As a newly single mom, I don’t get too many hours away from my son.  I do everything from working to grocery shopping to showering with him by my side (more often, climbing on me).  Although the days are punctuated with plenty of kisses and exciting new vocabulary, my threshold for one-year-old gimmicks is significantly lower than it used to be.  On an average day, I am over it by 10 AM — after a few broken things, a leaking diaper or two, and at least half an hour of shrieking for no reason.

I have tried every method there is to entertain and exhaust my child, and calm myself.  We go on a daily run, ride trucks up and down the sidewalk, swim in the pool, and chase the dog.  Still, my sanity factor is directly proportional to the amount of time for which he closes his eyes in the afternoon and how much coffee I have been able to consume at the ideal temperature and with as little spillage as possible.  There is no better method for relaxing us both than leaving him in someone else’s care for a short time.

My parents have been great about recognizing when I’m about to explode and seizing the opportunity to bond with their grandson.  My dad has taken him to the beach and the park so that I can make progress on grad school applications, and my mom is here every day for bath time, bed time, and tantrum time.  I am struggling to strike a balance between allowing myself to go through the tough moments with no help and leaning too heavily on those who are willing to take over.  

Any parent will tell you how important it is to establish boundaries and create a healthy, respectful relationship with your toddler.  I need to experience it all and have the space to follow my instincts.  There are frequent moments, though, when I wonder if my lack of patience erases that possibility and if it may be better for both of us if someone with a greater patience supply steps in.  Grandparents certainly have an abundance of patience with their grandchildren, if not sympathy for their children.   

The most astounding thing about leaving my son for awhile is how instantaneous the stress relief can be, and how quickly the stress can return.  Parenting is often about swinging from one extreme to another: overwhelming love to impossible frustration.  When I escape (go to Starbucks) for a couple hours, I miss my baby and wonder what he’s doing every second.  Then, I come home and get a great big hug followed by a leech-like creature stuck to my legs…and I start looking forward to my next break.

I’m interested to see how these feelings evolve over time as my son and our relationship mature.  I know that you never stop being a parent, worrying like a parent, but physical separation has to be different in the early years.  I have spent so few days away from my son in 21 months (plus the 8 months of pregnancy) that it’s like ripping off a Band-Aid every time I leave him.  It hurts, I have to do it quickly or risk bursting into tears, and I get to cover my wound again when I have him back in my arms.

Technorati Tags: baby, motherhood, parenting, separation anxiety, single parent, toddler

What No One Ever Tells You About WeaningPosted by admin on August 31st, 2009

I will get around to writing about my grad school plans and pet peeves, but since most of you were interested in reading about weaning, here goes.

DISCLAIMER: If you are a man, or a woman who’s uncomfortable with nonsexual breast talk, proceed with caution.

There are plenty of things that no one bothers to mention when you’re expecting a baby, but the surprises don’t end in the first few months postpartum.  Breastfeeding is a hot topic these days, but weaning?  Not many people want to talk about that, and I’m finding out why.  

First of all, milk production is not like an addiction: it can’t be stopped cold turkey.  That is, unless you want a plugged duct or, worse, the terrible infection that is mastitis.  The only way to signal to your body that your baby is ready to slow down his consumption is to decrease the frequency of nursings gradually.  VERY gradually.  Dropping roughly one feeding a week until you’re completely done has worked for me…and I’m still not done.

In addition to dealing with a (frighteningly verbose) child begging for the kind of milk that doesn’t come from the fridge, mama must live through the ups and downs of breast engorgement and pain, extreme lopsidedness, and leaking.  It’s like the day your milk came in, for three months straight.

Here’s where I border upon revealing too much information: about five times a day, I have to milk myself just a little bit.  It has become an art form: hand expressing just enough to take the pressure off, but not enough to signal to my body that it should amp up production again.  That’s the amazing thing about the breastfeeding process — each mother’s milk is constantly adjusting in content and quantity to perfectly meet her baby’s needs.  Myths exist that discourage mothers from nursing past a certain age, like the claim that breast milk loses its nutritional value after a baby is [place arbitrary number here] months old.  The exact opposite is true, which is why it’s sad that so many new mothers buy into prevalent misunderstandings.  Breastfeeding is a personal journey full of personal decisions, but women have a right to medically correct information prior to making those decisions.

I must clarify that my weaning experience is wholly different from that of a mom who may have supplemented with formula or started her baby on solid foods earlier than 7 months (when I did).  My son took breast milk from a bottle when I had to leave him with family while I was still in school, but now he only occasionally uses a sippy cup.  No pacifiers for him; he throws them across the room.  I have been his pacifier for almost 20 months, and that is more than okay with me.  It is a personal preference, and a unique relationship dynamic: Mommy as teddy bear.  He is just now demonstrating signs of independence, and the associated manipulation skills.  Weaning is one part of the transition out of baby stage, like moving to his toddler bed and picking up his toys.

After over three months of nighttime waking to the sound of my son screaming “daychay!” (leche), I am feeling ready to let the breastfeeding relationship go.  I think there is more than just a physiological reason that my body has not fully ceased production.  My heart hasn’t been up for it.  The hormonal shifts of lessened production (and the hormonal hell that is just around the corner after I fully wean) are enough to make a woman weepy, but it is more convoluted than that.  

As a mother, I can’t explain my need to mother.  It just is.  Breastfeeding is an element of the instinct to protect, nourish, and encourage your baby, and stopping it is like going through a slow grieving process.  Knowing something is about to die doesn’t make the death less painful.  

As far as the mechanics of weaning are concerned, I wonder how my slippage down the slope from exclusive breastfeeding to practically none at all would have been affected had I known more about the needs of body and baby from the start.  I think I may have been less inclined to go with my gut.  Luckily, I learned about slowing the flow the hard way.  While that has often meant walking around feeling like I have rocks in my bra, I’m okay with things being hard for awhile when I see the happy, healthy boy my body helped to create.

Technorati Tags: baby, breast milk, breastfeeding, motherhood, nursing, parenting, toddler, weaning

Babies and the Boundary ConundrumPosted by admin on July 30th, 2009

I have had a string of frustrating days for reasons completely unrelated to my child.  Add to this, though, a little one who wants to ride on my back all day and dangle from the railing, and I’ve discovered the recipe for Mommy Insanity.

The angst is partly caused by an endless stream of tough decisions.  Should I stop my son from breaking the TV and risk his screaming through my tutoring session or continue working in relative silence?  Would it be better to leave him on the big bed and worry about him falling or lie with him for an hour while he falls asleep?  Is it better to shriek when he bites me so that he gets the message or will that make him think that yelling is okay?

None of these are great options.

Setting boundaries is difficult for any parent, at every stage in child development.  With a 19-month-old, there are incredibly fuzzy lines of comprehension.  While he can answer my questions about what he wants to eat and whether or not we should go outside, he can’t be reasoned with when it’s time to stop playing with the neighbors’ cat.  So, tantrums ensue from each positively benign turn of events.

You parents of older children are probably nodding and smirking at my naivete, or thanking the universe that those days are behind you (or are they just coming around again because time is cyclical? ha!).  Like anything else, though, when you’re in the thick of it, you cannot see above, below, before, or behind yourself and the predicament of the moment.  The only important thing is to save yourself from a complete breakdown, which requires advanced breathing techniques when you are wrestling with a large toddler.

My personal pet peeve is having my personal space invaded too often.  Babies know how to do this well.  Yesterday, my precious boy thrashed around in my arms while I tried to rock him to sleep and, after I finally removed my hair from his hands, I emerged with scratches on my face and a boiling anger in my stomach.  At the end of the day, I just want to sit down in my own space.  I don’t even need to be doing anything; a lot of nothing is perfectly fine.  When that moment is ruined by a monkey man climbing onto my lap with fire trucks, I don’t react kindly.  Sometimes, I feel selfish for erupting in frustration, but I suppose it makes me fully human.

Somehow, each horrific period of claustrophobia, anxiety, and rashness passes, and your smiling child emerges once again.  My son only has to envelop me in a bear hug, complete with back tapping, and I magically forget about his monstrous qualities.  Perhaps those are the little gifts that were built into parenting from the very beginning, the ones that we can’t possibly explain to tantrum onlookers in the grocery store.

Luckily, the most embarrassing thing my son does in public is dance wildly while sitting in the shopping cart and elicit adoring laughter.

I hate to imagine that it could get any worse…but, alas, he hasn’t turned two yet.

Technorati Tags: baby, boundaries, motherhood, one year old, parenting, tantrums, toddler

Toddlers and…Discipline?Posted by admin on June 25th, 2009

So, I thought that I would be able to post every day, maybe every other day, when I started this blog.  When I look at my planner, I see plenty of blank spaces where free time should lie.  Why are my days flying by?

Because of this ball of energy and aggression that I call my son.

Nothing is easy these days, or even tolerable.  With a boy who’s almost 18 months, but the size of a 3-year-old, we are literally fighting for our sanity.  We are not a super structured family, and we like it that way.  My husband and I are night owls (it used to be the only few hours of quiet time we got), and we like to sleep in and wake up slowly with our coffee and MSNBC.  Any time we have tried to establish a routine, even if it’s not set by the clock (fake time), our son rebels and becomes even more of a hungry, tired, attention-seeking mess than if we have no plans.

Any parent will tell you that every time you think you have your kid figured out, he changes.  I think that’s what we’ve been going through for the past 8 months.  I remember thinking, when he was about 10 or 11 months old, that this phase just needed to be over.  Well, it’s still going.

It’s the phase of amazing physical and cognitive development, a phase in which parents are left in the dust by the astounding pace at which their little one is growing and becoming his own person.  In everyday terms, this means that you will not only be chasing an unstable toddler when he steals your wallet and kissing the gigantic knots that form on his forehead, but you will no longer be able to sit in front of the computer with him in your lap or read a book without having him slap his own book on top of it.

Much of this is normal, except for the fact that our baby is gargantuan and we cannot hold onto him when the meltdowns occur.  Our dilemma, though, is a convoluted one because of our unique work situations.

Since my husband and I both work from home, we each need peace and quiet to make phone calls, send e-mails that have not been ruined by toddler-typing, and meet in virtual conferences.  Herein lies the problem: our office is actually a pantry, with two computers and two office chairs squeezed into it.  There is no door.  Thus, when I am tutoring online and my hubby’s in the other room with the baby, my clients can hear every squawk that he makes.  He has tried taking him outside or to the park during those hours, but he consistently falls asleep or gets incredibly cranky.  When my husband finally gets around to doing his own work, it’s dinner time, bath time, bed time, and we’re both exhausted and frustrated at never having any ME (or US) time.

We are conflicted at this moment, because we feel lucky to be spending every moment of every day with him.  There is a lot of quality play and bonding, but there comes a point when any adult needs to be able to make lunch without having to pull her child out of the refrigerator.  We use occasional babysitters when we’re both occupied, but can’t afford one every day.  It is impossible to fully child-proof an old apartment, and it wouldn’t matter much with our daredevil of a son.  So, when outdoor adventures, new toys, and an entire day of undivided attention isn’t enough, we encounter the true problem: saying NO.

Consistency is important, we know.  There are certain conditions my husband and I agree upon (i.e. our son should not be allowed to throw markers into the air conditioner).  The hard part is deciding together on a strategy of discipline that allows us to preserve our sanity and gets across a stern, but fair, message to a growing person who may not fully comprehend our reasoning.

I don’t believe in smacking, since anyone who has ever done it on a consistent basis can see that it doesn’t get to the root of the problem.  It masks, and often exacerbates it.  Yet, there are certainly moments when I don’t know what else to do, and my frustration gets the best of me.  My husband always says NO first, and then when he sees outright defiance, he pops our son on the hand.  Sometimes, it annoys me, and other times, I am glad that he’s doing it so that I don’t have to.  We have had plenty of discussions about how best to discipline him, yet we come to no conclusions and end up winging it.

Truly, that’s what most parents do: wing it.  All parents are first-time parents at some point, and when you’re in the middle of those long days, all advice or research you’ve ever heard goes out the window.  You end up just surviving.  Perhaps we are naive, but we continue to wonder if we are doing something “wrong,” or if we just have an unusually boisterous child.

My current interpretation is that he trusts us enough to be vulnerable around us, and that’s a good thing.  With others (friends, family, sitters), he is an angel.  The early onset of the Terrible Twos is an important stage for building independence, but where do we set limits?  I have always believed in this statement by Kahlil Gibran:

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you

The question, to me, seems much larger than whether or not to spank the child for minor indiscretions.  How much right do we have, as caretakers, guardians of a separate soul, to interfere with his personal development?  And when is that line crossed — when does it go from just teaching your child to get along in the world to ignoring who he is?

Technorati Tags: children, discipline, family, Kahlil Gibran, marriage, parenting, spanking, toddler, work at home

You know he's not a baby anymore when…Posted by admin on June 9th, 2009

• he grabs the Wii remote, hops on the Wii Fit board, and starts swaying back and forth like he’s exercising. He could probably beat my Super Hula Hoop score already!
• you open the fridge and he chooses his own food, then walks to the drawer (which he’s tall enough to open and dig through) and grabs a spoon. Now, if he would only be consistent about eating, life would be much easier.
• he comes up to you, holding his diaper, and says “YUCK.” I thought this day would never come.  Though we are far from potty training, it’s nice to have a sign that I might not have to wrestle a giant to change diapers someday.
• he drags the broom out of the closet every time you wash dishes, and proceeds to push it around every inch of the house, including in the bathtub.
  
• he walks up stairs by himself, holding onto the railing. Thanks to the diligence of my aunt and uncle, and only one horrific fall (under my watch), he is a pro stair climber.
• you ask “cuantos anos tienes?” (“how old are you?”) and he holds up one finger. Yet, he refuses to say “uno.”
• he swipes your BlackBerry every time you’re not looking, and marches around the house pretending to text or jabber on the phone.  The extent of his technological knowledge is already astounding — what will he be doing as a teenager?
• he “oohs” and “aahs” like a monkey from the backseat of the car until you turn on the music. As long as he has a soundtrack, he will sit in his carseat forever — a far cry from the days of giving myself a neckache from tossing him toys.
• he no longer tries to touch the other baby in the mirror, but simply smiles mischievously at his beautiful face.
• he turns on the bathtub faucet at every opportunity, but gets annoyed when it’s not hot. I’m still trying to explain the idea of conserving water, but Asheville’s environmentalist stance has yet to rub off on him.
• he claps every time the president is on TV. He started doing this during the election, actually — a sign of hereditary political leanings?
• he scatters GRE vocab flashcards all over the living room, and sometimes makes ugly faces at them. He’s already learned to hate standardized testing.
• he wants to push the ON button on the coffeemaker every morning. What’s not quite as exciting, however, is his enthusiasm for lighting the gas stove at dinnertime.
• he gets closer to climbing out of his crib every day. This is another reason it’s only used for playtime.
• he tries to hug the ducks at the bird sanctuary instead of running from their scary beaks.
• he stands on the coffee table and dances to the Toyota Prius commercials. Our music man has always had a favorite commercial, and it tends to change about once a month.  He was particularly irked when the one for Nasonex (with the animated bee) went off the air.
• he slips on Papi’s sandals and tries to run away, despite repeated falls. Oh, the confidence of being one year old and on top of your world.
• he rebels against not going straight to the kid’s area of the bookstore by yanking large books off the shelves and crawling ever so slowly, instead of walking, to the exit.

I could continue, but that’s a good synopsis of the things we find simultaneously irritating and hilarious every day.  Those of you with toddlers will sympathize, I’m sure.  This stage is mostly fascinating because it makes me contemplate what I was (apparently) like at that age, and who I am now.  I used to be wholeheartedly on the nurture side of the nature vs. nurture debate, but I’m discovering that some things are innate and inexplicable.  Or, they just came from the other side of the family!

Technorati Tags: Asheville, baby, BlackBerry, children, family, growing up, milestones, nature, nurture, one year old, parenting, toddler, Wii