Category: General Interest

Creating space to “hold” your child’s emotion

As any parent knows, the size of a person’s emotions has nothing to do with the size of his body.

Babies and toddlers stretch us emotionally by confronting us with feelings that we’ve been taught to dismiss, ignore, or stuff down to get by in Western societies. After all, it wouldn’t be cool for an adult to throw a temper tantrum in a mall or at the supermarket.

To avoid the squashing of emotion, we parents are taught to validate their children’s emotions – giving the feelings names, and letting the kid know it’s okay to feel the way he feels. This is a powerful tool for helping a child navigate the world, and knowing he’s got someone in his corner.

The tool we’ll explore today takes that validation a step further, and it doesn’t necessarily involve words. It’s also incredibly healing to the adult who can pull it off. And I speak from experience, though I’ve only pulled it off once.

By way of introduction, we’ll start with a metaphor. A great Kabbalistic teacher once illustrated the principle of receptivity (which is what Kabbalah means, by the way) by handing an apple to his disciple. The disciple reached out to take the apple. Again and again the teacher reached out with the apple, and pulled it away when the disciple went to take it. Frustrated, the disciple looked to his peers. “Don’t take it,” they advised. “Accept it.” The disciple breathed out his confusion and curved his palm up into a bowl, and his teacher dropped the apple into his outstretched hand.

When babies have big emotions, it can be trying for their parents, who are often emotionally invested in their child’s happiness. We come at them with anxiety, frustration, the agenda of solving their problem, and sometimes even anger at the disruption.

To become receptive, we must hollow our feelings out like the outstretched hand of a student. That doesn’t mean ignoring or banning our feelings and perspectives, but accepting them, then letting them be. We approach our child with the intention to accept his feelings – to make a sacred space for our child and all the feelings inside him, and to hold them lovingly inside ourselves.

We create that internal space, a space of non-judgement, non-striving – a vacuum really. Not only are we accepting everything that our child has to give us, we are embracing it. Through that act of unconditional love and support, we are able to connect on a profound level – not only to our child, but to ourselves and to that something greater.

There are few paths that offer the depth of testing, learning and personal growth than parenting. It can either be a struggle, or it can be a joy (and for most of us, it’s both). By reaching in deeply and letting our child know he’s okay – not only okay, but that every part of him is completely, deeply lovable – we channel more love into the world, and into ourselves. Parenting can heal our wounds, and it can help us to heal this deeply troubled world, one moment at a time.

Parenting Criticism

If I were asked to define myself in one word, I would respond without hesitation that I am a mother. I am of course so much more. As a woman I fill many simultaneous roles. Each and every one of us lead busy lives and are called to coordinate our schedules to meet and accommodate the needs of the many different roles we fill.

Despite the fact that I would not define myself as only a mother, I certainly do consider my role as a mother to be one of the most important roles I play at this point in my life. My daughter is seventeen months old. She relies on me for everything. When she is hungry I feed her. When she is tired, I sing her to sleep. When she is upset, I cuddle and console her.

I have the great privilege, thanks to my hard working husband, to be a stay at home mom. I am able to be here for my daughter every second of every day.

In addition to being a mother, I am a mother who practices Attachment Parenting. I nursed my daughter until she decided she was ready for more freedom. My husband and I practiced safe co-sleeping while my daughter was an infant. She still ends up in our bed for part of the night.

I still have a hip sling for my daughter has never liked the stroller, always preferring a baby carrier or sling. She has always been a child who craves constant closeness. And who can blame her? It is the most basic of human desires to be close to those you love, and to those who love you. The bond between parent and child is unlike any other. It is concrete, it is solid, it is unending. It is only natural for a child to crave the closeness they experienced while in the womb.

My husband and I have only left our daughter a handful of times since her birth, always with a family member, never for more than a few hours, and usually while she is sleeping. We have been met with both criticism and praise for our parenting choices. Regardless of the opinions of others, whether positive or negative, we feel that our parenting style has enhanced the bond we have with our daughter. She is a happy, loving, confident child.

Recently I was called to testify in a custody hearing for a friend. The courthouse was two hours away and I was not about to leave my daughter. The attorney informed me that children would not be allowed in the courtroom. I responded that should he wish to have me testify, then my daughter would be with me. The attorney informed the judge that I practice “some weird style of parenting.”

Much to the judge’s dismay, I testified while my daughter played quietly at my feet. I was not about to leave her in the hall with a bailiff. She is a child who needs her mother and I am a mother who adores her child.

The bottom line is, we are all entitled to our own style of parenting. One style is no better than another; whatever works for you and your children is what is right. Calling something weird and degrading those who practice something different than you is not okay. Condescending people and making them feel inferior is not okay.

I love my child. My child loves me. I am proud to be an Attachment Parent, criticism and all.

 

Jillian is an Attachment Parenting advocate. She is also an author, writer, and public speaker. For more information about Jillian and her work visit her website and blog. 

 

 

Why Attachment Parenting Promotes a More Connected Society

My family and I spent most of the day yesterday in the Federal Building updating passports. It was a very long day in a crowded space and what else does one do, other than watch your kids play superheroes with other kids in their common language, except people watch.

I’ve always enjoyed people watching as a way of understanding the world and people more. It’s so easy to let the little gifts pass us by unless we take the time to look for them. Today we were surrounded by newborns. There must have been at least 20-30 of them with their parents in line and in the waiting area. At first my heart just melted and I had to ask how old they were. Most were only a week or two weeks old. Then my boys and I just stared as we viewed the miraculous sightings of these precious little angels.

I watched the mothers and fathers and it took me back to those first days and weeks. I remembered the magic, the LOVE, the fragility, the fatigue…all of it. I saw first borns, twins and siblings with their new little sidekicks. It made the day go by and I truly enjoyed being around and interacting with such a diverse group of people and witnessing my boys doing the same.

What surprised me the most in this very large crowd was the fact that not one person was wearing their baby in a wrap or carrier. It actually made me sad but I also felt fortunate as I reflected on the years I wore both of my boys in wraps and carriers. I wanted to stand up and tell everyone the joy that comes from wearing your child. The room was filled with strollers and car seats. I watched the babies drink from their bottles, get burped and then placed back into their seats, then repeat….over the course of several hours. My wish is that one day soon, I will walk into a waiting room or public setting and see a room full of parents holding and wearing their babies.

I am not judging those who bottle feed, nor am I judging you if your baby is in a car seat or stroller. What I am saying however, is that I feel our society has become and continues to promote and encourage detachment from our children. They go from car seats, to strollers to walkers, to play pens to cribs. I know they get fed and cuddled somewhere in between but I can’t help but to wish we could all connect even more. We all need to know we are loved and our babies are completely dependent on us for everything. If we are able to give them as much love, contact and warmth as possible, I believe they will feel more secure and safe which will only make them thrive even more.

In other societies and cultures throughout the world, it is normal and commonplace to wear your baby all day, sleep with your baby and spend as much time skin to skin as possible. Especially in the first year of life. I think about newborns. I imagine their world before they were delivered into this one. They are tucked in, warm, cozy, safe and comfortable within the womb of their Mother. When they enter this new realm, they are no longer tucked in tightly. The stimulation must be overwhelming and the warmth and basic necessities are all they require. Sleep, eat, burp, poop, repeat.

I know as a first time parent the responsibility of it all can be intimidating and taking care of the basics makes you feel like you made it through the day successfully.

Again, I want to make it clear that I understand we all do our best. At least I hope so. Not everyone was born to be a babywearing, cosleeping, breastfeeding parent. I get it. Not everyone will agree with me and in fact I realize many will disagree with me and my ways. That is okay also.

My need to express here isn’t about you or me or how we parent. It’s about the most fundamental principal in all of life. LOVE. If you aren’t wearing your baby in a wrap or carrier, I’m not saying you don’t love the same way a babywearing parent does. I’m saying, let’s do it more. All I thought about in that room all day was how happy those little babies would have been if they were wrapped up close against their Mothers.

I saw people getting frustrated and annoyed that their babies were crying. Babies cry. Don’t ever feel embarrassed or ashamed when yours does. To me though, the quickest way to ease them once you tend to their needs, is to hold them close. Let them feel your heartbeat. Let them smell your skin. Let them hear your voice. Let them feel the thousands of kisses on their little heads as you carry them throughout your day.

Yes, I support babywearing. Yes, I am an attachment parent. I am not saying I’m better. I am not saying it is all easy. What I am saying is this. This time goes by so fast. These moments need to be cherished. The sacrifices we make are worth it. I promise. The love, security, stability, warmth and connection you offer will make a difference. My wish for the New Year is for all of us to Love more. To connect more. To Accept more. To Attach more. That is my wish.

Congratulations to all of you who have already experienced the extraordinary gift of giving birth. I wish those of you expecting to have safe and healthy deliveries. Being a mother is the greatest gift and role of my life. I am so thankful for my boys and for my family and I will love with all of my heart each and every minute I am breathing.

Much Love and Support,

Weaning Early

I didn’t think much about parenting before I became a mom, but when it came to breastfeeding, there was never a question in my mind that we would nurse.

From the moment she latched on, I knew we would be doing this for a long, long time.

And so, on the week of her first birthday, when I found out I needed to have a biopsy for a polyp in my sinuses, I was horrified because the anesthesia would mean we would need to pump and dump my milk for a few hours. Even more alarming was my doctor’s insistence that the medication I would need to help whatever was going on would require me to wean.

On my drive home from that doctor’s visit, all I could think about in the car was having to wean Kaylee. And how that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

When I walked in the door and screamed for my mom, I expected the words out of my mouth to be about weaning Kaylee.

“I may have cancer.” Came crying out as I held my mother tighter than I had before. And I realized that there was much more at stake than nursing.

Two days later, I awoke from surgery and heard the news, suddenly weaning was not in my mind as much as living. And as I watched my daughter open her birthday presents that weekend, I could only hope to see her do the same at Christmas. Just a few short months away.

The next week, I had my first appointment at Sloan Kettering. It was on the 9th floor with the other pediatric patients.

I had Kaylee with me. I had been nursing her frantically. The only time I could maintain any sense of calm was during that beautiful time we shared.

One that I knew was going to end soon.

During the appointment, I was given my options for treatment.

I faced the most difficult decision of my life.

And I chose to give up a year of my life, to save the rest.

But it wasn’t just my life, it was the life of my little girl.

She who would need to go from sleeping by her mothers side and nursing on demand to having a mother who was rarely around.

We had a week to wean before treatment began.

My first thought was to let her nurse as much as possible, even encourage it. Let her enjoy it while it lasted.

But, it just didn’t sit well in my heart. She was only 1. I couldn’t tell her what was happening. It seemed more cruel to go from more than enough to nothing.

I changed tactics. When she came over to nurse, I would offer a hug and a smile. Tell her I love her and act as if that was all I needed as well.

And she was okay with the hugs. She stopped asking to nurse after a day.

Nighttime was a different story.

I didn’t have it in me to try to stop. She was still up every 2 hours and I was not in a place to try to get that to stop with so little time. Sleep was hard enough as it was!

And so, the night weaning was like ripping off a bandaid. Where I was the bandaid, and just like that, I was taken away and it was up to my daughter and her father to get through those first milkless nights.

I was weaning on my own.

Pumped milk is like gold. A precious commodity, you don’t want to lose a drop.

But my pumped milk was poison. With toxicity so great, I felt guilt every time I poured it down the drain.

Unable to fight any infection in my body, I had to be sure to pump milk regularly, because any plugged duct had the capability of endangering my life. At the same time, I had to get my breasts to stop making milk.

And so, it was a delicate balance. A tedious process that was draining physically and mentally.

In time, the milk was gone.

I think back to those first few weeks.

The diagnosis. Leaving home. Being sick.

And out of all the traumas of that year, its this experience.

Of pumping and dumping.

Of being scared to sleep with my child for fear she would start nursing.

Of weaning. Too early and too abruptly. Of having the experience last for weeks with every drop of milk that went down the drain.

And perhaps that is because its just not something anyone spoke about. Everything else seemed so big, weaning was just an aside.

And yet, the pain and heartbreak were tremendous.

Perhaps I will be graced with another child someday. A child that will wean gracefully. A child that will have their mother during their second year of life. A child who has happily married, healthy parents.

And that is a lovely, heartwarming thought. One that brings tears to my eyes.

But thats not what I need. And that life is not any better than Kaylee’s life.

Children don’t need to be protected from experiencing life. They need to be given the tools to help them get through it.

Kaylee is okay.

She is more than okay, she is incredible.

Well spoken, creative and compassionate. She is the walking example that all you need is love.

I wouldn’t take away any of her experiences regardless of how awful they may have been. They are hers to have had.

We spend a lot of time worry about messing up our kids.

Those traumatic experiences they encounter that we could have prevented.

The times we lose our cool and let our anger get the best of us.

We neglect ourselves trying to get it right.

Obsessing about the day to day encounters and experiences.

But its not our job to be perfect. Its not our job to make our children’s lives easy. Nor is it our job to push ourselves beyond healthy limits and boundaries because we are scared.

Its our job to Love. To give compassion. To teach and guide.

To forgive ourselves and others so that our children can too.

Whatever worry you have on your mind. Whatever struggle at the moment. Its going to be okay. Your child is going to be okay. The experiences and traumas we encounter cultivate who we become.

And when we are given love we become love and thats all any of us need.

Weight loss, Attachment Parenting style

Guest post by Kelli Roschak

Let me start by saying that I am in no way a professional exercise coach or have any kind of trained expertise in weight loss. I am just a new mom, probably like you, who needed to lose weight after giving birth to my beautiful baby girl, and I am not going to lie, there’s was a point where I had the need to use Botox.

I have struggled with my weight for many years. Growing up, I was very athletic. I started skiing and using cheap ski goggles when I was 2 years old which turned into racing that lasted up until high school. I was also involved in t-ball, soccer, basketball, gymnastics, track and cross country running. So needless to say I didn’t grow up having any kind of body or weight issues. You can find here a great post to read about weight loss Lasting impression Medical spa.

It wasn’t until my last year of high school that I gave it all up. I was tired and you know how teenagers are…I just wanted to do what I wanted to do. From that point on I pretty much stopped moving. Since I didn’t have a specific sport to focus on it didn’t even cross my mind to find another form of exercise. So, I started putting on the weight…20 lbs here, 5 lbs there and on and on, and after that consider treatments to lose weight like natural supplements,  fitness program or a dermal filler by contacting with SKINCLUB AUSTRALIA, which can also help people to reduce fat tissue.

Before I became pregnant I was on the BMI chart just about to cross the line from overweight to obese. Yikes right? But I didn’t really feel like that. I mean, I knew I was overweight but obese? I’d sort of tried to lose the weight over the years but never really went on any kind of serious diet. I would work out but could never stay motivated enough to get results any better than 5-10 lbs at a time and then I would put it back on and more usually. If you have weight issues read this resurge review.

Then I got pregnant and gained 50 lbs more. But to be honest, I wasn’t really worried about it. I had this feeling, even before I became pregnant, that once I had a baby things were going to change for me. I’m not sure why but I just had this gut feeling. Plus the last thing we women should be doing while we are building a baby is stressing out about the weight we are gaining and how we are going to lose it .

So now I’m a new mom basking in the amazement and joy of my new gift. Losing weight was nowhere near the top of my list of things to do. I just jumped into motherhood with gusto. I was in awe of this little being that solely depended on me to help her survive in this new world. I wanted to do nothing but make sure she felt safe and secure in every moment of her new life. She was only going to get the best from me as that was now my purpose in life.

I had decided from the moment I found out I was pregnant that I was going to breastfeed her. It was what my body was designed to do and finally I would get to use it for its purpose. I started wearing her close to my heart in a mai tie or ring sling. I was right there ready to respond to her when she told me she needed something. I was watching every move she made to try and catch her needs before she had to yell at me to do something. I was sleeping right by her side so she could nurse whenever she woke to hunger pangs or the need to know she wasn’t alone.

It was wonderful… really I couldn’t image doing it any other way. It wasn’t until a few months into it that I heard about Attachment Parenting and started reading up on it. Turns out, that everything I was already doing, instinctively, was right in line with the AP principles.

As I was reading and learning by doing, I found out that a lot of Attachment Parenting practices would help with my weight and overall health.

Breastfeeding

I’m sure you’ve heard that breastfeeding can help you to lose weight. It’s no joke…really! On an average you will burn 500 extra calories a day. Could be less or could be more up to even 1000 calories a day.

I’d have to say I’d rather sit in my rocking chair or lay in bed gazing into my little nurslings eyes and smelling her sweet smell than spend an hour or more running on the treadmill and/or driving myself mad on an elliptical machine…wouldn’t you? There will be no other time in your life that your body will be able to burn so many calories without you having to expend a major amount of physical effort and energy.

That being said, this is also the easiest time in your life to take advantage and do a little extra moving around to multiply that 500+ calories burned. Milk it while you can!

This doesn’t mean cut back on the calories you are consuming. Please don’t do that! You still need to make sure you are giving your body the fuel it needs to produce this amazing milk for your little one and keep you healthy and full of energy.

Bed Sharing or Co-Sleeping

Sleep is one of the most important things we need to stay healthy. It’s been shown that adequate sleep contributes to maintaining a healthy weight. Therein seems to lie the problem…being a new mom it’s impossible to get enough sleep right?

Thankfully, that wasn’t my experience. We bedshare, and I feel that we both get so much more sleep and she gets to nurse whenever she needs to. Half the time I don’t even know how many times a night she feeds because if I’m awake it’s only for a few seconds while she latches on. She almost never fully wakes.

To know how you can grow and maintain the health of your hair check out the connection between folic acid and hair growth.

Babywearing

Wearing your baby from the time she is born at least until her 1st birthday is the easiest, quickest and most enjoyable way to burn some extra calories. I gained 50 lbs during my pregnancy and by about 10 months I had lost 70 lbs and I attribute a large part of that to wearing my baby. I do have one of the best home treadmills though and that may of helped quite a bit, but to be frank I didn’t use it as much as I should.

Your everyday activities can turn into a great way to burn extra calories with the extra weight of him on your front or your back while you’re doing them….the dishes, laundry and grocery shopping can all be done wearing your baby! Just taking a walk to the park using your baby carrier instead of simply pushing a stroller will turn it into an extra calorie burning session. He will also love being close to you and getting to see everything that’s going on from your same level.

If you were to start a conventional weight loss work out plan your trainer would have you start with lighter weights in strength training and slowly increase the weight over time as your body gets use to them. Well, your baby is a genius fitness trainer because she naturally will do that for you. As your body adjusts to carrying her around she grows and gains more weight to up the ante of your workouts with her.

Aww… your baby is so smart….yes the smartest baby in the world! She helped you gain all of that weight and now is going to help you lose it too.

 

Kelli Roschak was born and raised in the Mountain’s of Colorado and currently lives in the Bronx, NY. In 2011 she gave birth to her first child, a beautiful baby girl named Kayla. She is a natural parent at heart and so Attachment Parenting fell right into line with all of her motherly instincts. You can read more from Kelli on her blog www.newagehippymama.com

A Tribute to My Father

My father was a mystery to me.  He had issues of his own that I really never understood until after his death in 2003 when I had the wisdom to see him as a person separate from his role as father.  He grew up during the Great Depression — born October 5, 1929 —  his birthday month ringing in the Crash; his family lost everything. He had to sleep in the enclosed porch of his Southside of Chicago home, as his parents had to have boarders to makes ends meet.

 

My father stopping to smell the roses on my wedding day

 

My father’s father was an alcoholic –a singer and musician who played in Chicago nightclubs. Some nights he was funny and charming, other nights cruel and mean. I think of my father as a little boy and imagine what he may have gone through.

 

There is a story that breaks my heart and a story only told to me by my mother, with direct instructions to never let my father know I knew.  My father, 6’3, black curly hair, green hazel eyes, filled with pride of his first car, eager to share his pride with his own dad. My father must have been 16 or 17.

 

Instead of sharing in this proud moment, my father’s father berated him, cutting him down and assaulting him with insults about his crappy car.  All my father wanted was his father to be proud of him.

 

My mother told me this story once to help me understand my dad.  It made me sad to think my father went through that.

 

My mother also told me this is why he bought me a royal blue 1970 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia in mint condition when I was 16 years old.  Man, that car was cool! And I will never forget the pride in my father’s smile when he showed it to me, surprising me by ushering me outside to have a look.

 

Betty and John were special people. Anyone that ever met them knew this. They were storytellers and magicians. They made people feel good. Sure, like everyone, they had their problems, but deep at their core, they were the pot of gold. My magic - my love.

 

My mother didn’t tell me this story until I was in my late twenties. My dad was an alcoholic and quit drinking cold turkey when I was born. I imagine he drank to tame his demons from childhood and from the war.

 

He fought in the Korean War.  He was a member of the Frozen Chosen, the Battle of Inchon, where he saw thousands of men murdered. It was so cold during this time that men’s eyeballs froze — their own tears icicles upon their own eyes.

 

I never was able to look at this as a reason for his own depression and anger.  At times, he was down right frightening, flying off the handle in a rage I did not understand as a child nor a young adult. He did not physically abuse me, but there was mental abuse at times.

 

The thing is, now as a parent, I am able to forgive him and understand him.  I love him and honor all the good about him.  He went to work everyday to support his family and had a boss that berated him and put him down.  He brought me home paper to draw on as a child from the bank where he worked as one of the mobile patrol security guards in downtown Chicago.  He worked the second shift and never missed a day of work.

 

I think of him struggling to drown his depression and sorrow in a bottle, but he never did.  He soldiered on.  I imagine him discussing the horrors of war and his own childhood with his therapist, a very kind man he saw for many years.
My dad during the Korean War on a ship. He was a Marine.

 

I think of my father marching out of Inchon, knowing in his heart there was a family waiting for him on the other side of this awful war he witnessed.  Somehow, he knew in his heart that our family would make him whole even though he had not met us.

 

It would be almost twenty years after Korea that he would meet my mom.  They would go through so much.  The first night my parents met, he told her everything about his past, including the sad story of his father assaulting him with insults the day he showed off his first car.

 

My dad in Korea. He was a member of the Frozen Chosen who fought in Inchon in the Korean War. He is buried at Arlington Cemetery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My dad and his friend from Korea. This man called me shortly after my father died. He told me a story of how my father saved his life and how my father's thick head of black curly hair stuck out of foxholes because he was so tall.

 

Now that I am a mother myself and understand how overwhelming it is to be a parent at times, I have so much respect for my father for not continuing the cycle he saw.  He did the best he could and he was torn up from war, childhood, and a hard life.

My father and I on my wedding day, November 23, 2003. My father has cancer and my husband and I got married in my parents' bedroom so he could give me away.
Photos from my wedding

 

So instead of remembering the bad things and his imperfections, I remember the kindness and courage I saw on a daily basis.  He taught me so much and I just wish I had the opportunity to tell him that I am proud of him.

 

My dad around Christmas time 2002 -- his last Christmas
He died 9 years ago in the middle of the night, technically December 11 at 4 am holding my mother’s hand. December 10, 2003 was the last time I saw him and had to say goodbye to the father I loved for 29 years.

 

Death sucks, but it is a part of life.  But you see I miss him. I miss him, and as grief has numbed the loss – a hole that death leaves, gaping in concave fragments of the heart, a sense of longing has replaced this. This sense of missing him, knowing he is gone.

 

I miss him.

 

I miss seeing the veins on his hands, crossed in a holding pattern on his lap, a cigarette always tucked puffing solo in his lips. I miss his morning silence and two cups of coffee minimum rule: “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee.”

 

I miss him.

I miss watching his gait, heavy to the left, limping, shifting the weight in stride to his other leg — the leg I now know had significant damage from frostbite from Korea. I miss his odd sense of humor and his incredible intelligence. I miss how he could talk to anyone. I miss his pride. I miss his pats on the back and how awkward he became when I insisted on hugging him.

My dad smoking his cigarettes thinking. I miss him.

I miss him.

I miss the way he could pack a car, no matter how large with flea market finds. I miss his Cuban wedding shirts. I miss his scarves which he always called mufflers and reminded me to bundle up on cold Wyoming winter nights before I left the house. I miss his anger, sometimes dark and black. I miss his garden and the flower pots he filled them with — stacked in neat rows around the brick wall around our house on Maxwell. I miss seeing him peaceful with dirt in his hands.

I miss him.

I miss the way he wrapped his shoelaces around his ankles, tying them pragmatically in double knots as an old man. I miss his grey hair comb over. I miss his kindness and Irish pride. I miss smelling Corn Beef and Cabbage every St. Patrick’s Day. I miss the strong scent of coffee in the kitchen of our home. I miss having a hell of a hard time trying to buy him the perfect Christmas gift.

I miss him.

I miss his voice and his ability to speak only when necessary in a conversation. I miss his knowledge and the statistics he could whip out on any baseball team in this century or the last. I miss that he could give the biggest compliment to me through a third person like when he told my best friend Heidi that she had to make sure I write because it is in my blood — “Make sure Megan writes; she is a writer — a journalist a poet. She is related to Percy Bysshe Shelley, you know? Make sure she writes — it is in her blood.” I miss his smile, sometimes rare and sometimes wild.

I miss him.

I miss watching him read thick books and biographies. I miss startling him if I walked up on him unexpectedly, giving me a sense he knew fear in the strongest sense of the word and I miss the sense of relief he had when he knew it was me. I miss his car — a long maroon Lincoln Continental plastered with proud Semper Fi bumper stickers.

I miss him: John Shelley Miller, my dad — the first man I ever loved.

Photo Title: "Fence" -- I send messages to my father through the birds. Cardinals deliver same day mail. My father loved cardinals and I can't help but think he sends me messages back when they whistle by me. My yard in North Carolina is filled with cardinals. I see one weekly -- at least.

 

 
My thoughts and prayers go out to the families and community of Newtown. There are no words, only grief.

A Bad Day

 Today’s incredibly relatable guest post is by Lisa Lord, our new editor at The Attached Family. Enjoy!

 

It was midway into the week-long preschool break, a holiday for the kids but not for me. Late in the day I came across my 3-year-old whacking miniature wooden cakes off the kitchen table, chirping my favorite curse word with every smack.

I cringed. Where did he pick that one up? Probably it was when I found the modern art exhibit he’d drawn with markers on the living room wall, sofa, coffee table and carpet that afternoon. You know the kind of markers I mean, the “washable” kind that actually aren’t.

My two boys had been difficult all day. The 4-year-old tackled his little brother or snatched his toys every time I left the room. The little brother poured lakes of milk (or juice, water, you name it) on the coffee table as fast as I could clean them up. When he wasn’t pinned underneath his brother, that is. The general level of whining and crabbing was driving me nuts.

The problem? Me. I’d woken up irritable and intolerant, a mood that didn’t lift as the day wore on. By 6 pm, my husband’s arrival still an hour away, I thought I might crack up if one more person needed or destroyed one more thing. The worse I felt, the worse they acted. To divert myself, I went on the internet and soon enough, came across a helpful review that would later make my life easier at the kitchen.

This kind of day is a frustrating and embarrassing reminder of the eighth principle of attachment parenting—creating balance in personal and family life. This is a hard one for me, partly because I am the only one at home with the kids for twelve to thirteen hours a day with no family support close by.

On top of that, I got tangled up in the negative thoughts and judgments continuously churned out by my critical mind. Today it was a mind obsessed with the kids’ certain futures as juvenile delinquents. Along with the misery of the wasted day came worry about the lingering effects. What have the kids learned about emotional control from me today?

The antidote for a day like today? Treats, treats and more treats. I define a treat as anything that grounds me with pleasure in the present moment. We could have enjoyed lunch at the local café or made popcorn and put on a favorite movie. I could have taken them on a long bike ride with a planned stop for a cappuccino and snacks, invited a fellow mom for tea, called my sister to vent for a while, or even enjoyed a glass of wine while building block towers.

Unfortunately for all of us, I did none of these things. It was the cursing child that finally broke the spell. Yes, it was a sad commentary on my behavior. It was also hilarious. I quickly grabbed my notebook, which gave me the distance and distraction I needed to reframe the day. On the page, the marked up walls and milk puddles were silly anecdotes, moments I will reminisce about with laughter in years to come. My reactions were a serious reminder that I need to lighten up when I’m feeling bad and give myself a break from myself.

Somehow we all got through my bad day. After dinner, the 4-year-old cuddled with me through four readings of Superworm. The 3-year-old stood at the coffee table drawing me a picture, with his pants inexplicably around his ankles and his adorable behind on full display. My bad mood didn’t stand a chance.

 

A native of New England, Lisa Lord now lives near Dublin with her Irish husband and two young boys. She is a freelance writer and editor of theattachedfamily.com.

Preparing for Birth

Before I had heard this buzzword “attachment parenting” I have always known that birth matters. I’m a bit of a birth junkie myself.

Before we conceived our daughter, I started checking into the legalities of home birth in our state and if our insurance would assist in the cost. For prevention, we also looked at birth defect law in case something went wrong during delivery. I was so delighted to find that our insurance would cover my midwife that we immediately set to work on making a baby.

We quickly conceived and I moved down to my husband’s duty station in North Carolina. When I arrived and started making arrangements for prenatal care, I was really shocked at how few options I had available. There was only one homebirth midwife who could legally practice in my area and she wouldn’t accept my insurance.

Brick wall. Long story short, we planned a homebirth using alternative practices but we ended up transferring to the hospital about 18 hours into my labor because I just wasn’t making any progress. I honestly wasn’t prepared to transfer. We had taken The Bradley Method and made a birth plan but there was no way I would be the mom to transfer. Not me!

Arbor’s birth experience was extremely traumatic for all of us. There’s no way to candy coat it. I’ve heard it said before that the definition of insanity is repeating the same actions and expecting different outcomes. So when we discovered I was expecting our second child, a lot sooner than we had counted on, our first plan of action was finding a better way.

We were 100% certain we wanted to attempt another home birth but we would need to prepare for the possibility of a transfer if this labor was as long as my last 38 hour labor. While we loved the Bradley Method, we are looking at other childbirth preparation classes to gain different perspective.

We started talking about hiring a doula to have just in the event of a transfer. Most importantly, we came to the decision that we did not feel comfortable having me give birth in North Carolina again. So as much as it pains us to split up the family, Arbor and I will be moving home to Virginia where we have multiple home birth midwives to choose from, at least two free standing birth centers we could use and at least one hospital that has the kind of statistics and reputation that would make me feel more comfortable in the event of a transfer.

This wasn’t an easy decision to come to and I am completely terrified to be moving away from my husband for any length of time. I’m the wife of a marine and have been blessed to not have to deal with a deployment yet. Because of the nature of his work, he isn’t able to just switch jobs to come to be with us. It’s a sacrifice we are all willing to make because we believe birth matters.

It is crucial to give yourself and your baby a fighting chance for a healthy start. I had to fight so hard for my breastfeeding relationship because of our birth experience. I’m grateful I had the sheer determination to make it work but I don’t want to have to fight this time. This baby deserves to have a birth team who respects the process and honestly has our best interests at heart. I feel it is of utmost importance to learn from where we made mistakes in my last pregnancy and try to make this experience healthier for all of us.