The 2012 AP Month Blog Event is here! Every Tuesday, we will select blogs to feature that best demonstrate this month’s theme, “Relax, Relate, Rejuvenate: Renewed with Parent Support.” Make sure to leave a comment and let us know what you do to Relax, Relate and Rejuvenate!
This year’s Attachment Parenting Month theme is “Relax, Relate, Rejuvenate: Renewed with Parent Support.” We are delighted to kick off AP Month with a guest post about the importance of support by Nancy Massotto, Founder and Director of Holistic Moms Network.
We live in a virtual world. We connect online, spend hours in front of screens, and “friend” people we hardly know. But deep inside, intuitively, and especially as parents, we know in our hearts that in-person, face-to-face connection matters. We know it for our children and carry them, wear them, share sleep with them. But we seem to be forgetting that in real connection is just as important for adults. In real life connection and community matter holistically – for physical health, emotional wellness, stress reduction, and spiritual growth.
Yes, in recent years, we have seen a remarkable decline in the social and civic engagement of Americans. Over the past 25 years there has been a 58% drop in attendance to club or group meetings, a 43% decline in family dinners, and a 35% reduction in simply having friends over. Oh, sure, we’re busy. We have other things to do. So what’s the big deal? The problem is that a decline in connection reduces “social capital” or the collective value of our social networks which help build trust and cooperation. A reduction in social capital has been linked to decreased worker productivity, rising rates of depression, higher rates of crime, juvenile delinquency, teenage pregnancy, and child abuse. Social capital is also what makes governments more accountable and responsive to their populace. And, on an individual level, a lack of social capital leads not only to loneliness, but also to a lack of trust among people and an unwillingness to help others. In 1960 55% of American adults believed that others could or should be trusted most of the time while by 1998, only 30% agreed. “By virtually every measure, today’s Americans are more disconnected from one another and from the institutions of civic life than at any time since statistics have been kept. Whether as family members, neighbors, friends, or citizens, we are tuning out,” argues the researchers of the Better Together Report.
Reconnecting through social groups by being part of community, serving on a town committee, organizing a neighborhood block party, supporting local businesses and farms, or singing in a choir can help rebuild our social capital, reaping benefits on individual, group, and national levels (click here for more ideas on building social capital). Being part of supportive parenting group is another way to help recreate community and play an active role in strengthening not only social capital, but your own personal health and well-being. It matters for all of us and for the sustainability of future generations! In fact, joining a community group could actually cut your risk of dying next year in half. According to political scientist and author Robert Putnam, being part of a social network has a significant impact on your health. “Joining a group boosts your life expectancy as much as quitting smoking” according to the Saguaro Seminar on Civic Engagement in America published by Harvard University.
One of the biggest challenges – and frustrations – that we have at organizations such as Attachment Parenting International and at the Holistic Moms Network is that we believe in the power of building community. We understand how valuable community is, not only in crisis, but every single day. We recognize the power of connection, the energy behind being supported, and the difference that we can make collectively. We believe that communities are what make our culture successful – and that apathy and a lack of participation is what destroys it. And we see far too much of the latter. Online communities don’t cut it. Facebook friends can’t help you care for a sick child, run an errand for you, or give you a shoulder to cry on. Virtual forums can’t give you a hug, watch your kids while you clean up a mess, or cook you a hot meal in your time of need.
Real people can. Real communities can. And some of our proudest moments come during these times. Whether in illness or injury, or a life-changing event like having a new baby, real life communities rise up to support their members. Members encourage each other through the rough times – the sleepless nights, the breastfeeding challenges, the teen rebellions.
Overcoming apathy is an uphill battle. Constantly encouraging people to participate, to get involved, and to be active is not always easy. We are so insular in our daily lives that we forget how wonderful it is to have that group connection – not only when a crisis hits, but even in the good times. A simple conversation, a shared experience, or a helping hand can make the difference. I encourage you to be part of it, in real life, in real time, every day. Find the time, create the opportunity, and be part of a community. Feed your soul, help another, and make a difference. It’s up to you. If we all stop participating, we have no one but ourselves to blame when the communities we depend upon no longer exist.
Nancy Massotto is the Founder and Executive Director of the Holistic Moms Network and mother to two boys. She founded the Holistic Moms Network to meet other parents who shared her passions for living healthy and living sustainably, and to help raise awareness about natural living options
By Deanna Spangler, API Leader in Roseville, California
So life in my house is busy with three girls ages 7, 5, and 2. Not only am I a stay-at-home mom but I started homeschooling my oldest this year. Busy doing the same tasks grossly repetitively I clean, teach, change diapers, laundry, errands – we all have our own version of the grind.
At the library the other day Melany picked a CD off the shelf of the library, I brought it home to find the audio CD from the cartoon movie Curious George of all things. I can’t stop playing it. Most of the songs are really great but the one in particular I heard while driving and thinking. Sappy it may be, but it is one of those songs that stopped me and the noise in my head and spoke to my soul in a way that it made me be totally present.
“With My Own Two Hands” is about changing the world and making it a better place to live (yes, touchy-feely, I know). But, for me, it is about doing divine work here on earth. Doing what I can with my hands, my body, my heart to help, give, and to love and teach. It is my obligation to teach my kids to do the same. Making the world a better place for all is a great goal but is an idealistic, removed way of saying we will fulfill our obligation to each other. But, at that moment I realized practically, realistically what does it mean? How do I REALLY change the world with MY OWN two hands?
The answer is to do all you can to produce quality humans in the world. In other words, do exactly what you are already doing, being the best parent possible. It doesn’t mean being perfect or being everything to everybody. It means being present when your little one looks at you. You are changing the world in your house and in your communities, in your states, in this world. You do this all while you make a house a home and make family dinners. By dropping all your plans and caretaking your little one that needs to see a doctor, or by folding the 8th load of the laundry for the day. You change the world for better when you cancel meetings to make it to the soccer games after school.
As parents we are responsible for SO much. We attend to the physical, emotional and spiritual needs of our kids but let’s not forget ALL the other things like instilling magic, role modeling, striving for balance, grinding out daily rituals, keeping up holiday traditions, juggling vacations, teaching finances, and the importance of voting…the list is endless. But all this work of molding these small humans does not get noticed with paychecks or praise but with moments that reflect what quality human beings they are turning out to be. These small moments are you prize for changing the world.
Guest blogger Dr. Bill Sears shares his thoughts on the much talked about TIME Magazine Attachment Parenting Article, “The Man Who Remade Motherhood.”
Hello parents! The cover was risky but a brilliant hook by Time Magazine to attract readers, and they achieved their goal. The writer, Kate Pickert, herself a new mother and one of Time’s most diligent writers, sincerely wanted to increase awareness of the Sears’ family contribution to parenting and family health. She lived with our family for two days, followed me in the office, and spent hours with me on the phone in an attempt to be factual. While the cover photo is not what I or even cover-mom Jamie would have chosen, it accomplished the magazine’s purpose. And, as some attachment dads observed, finally a magazine displays a woman’s breast for the real purpose for which they were designed – to nurture a child, not to sell cars and beer. Cover-mom Jamie is a super-nice person and highly-educated in anthropology, nutrition and theology. I enjoyed the several hours I spent with her family and her kids shined with the social effects of attachment parenting.
Even though I’m used to being misunderstood and misquoted, as is attachment parenting (AP), I had a few concerns. AP is not extreme. It’s very natural and instinctual. It’s the oldest parenting style in the world. Nor is breastfeeding three years extreme, at least throughout the world. The World Health Organization (WHO) recommends for optimal health children be breastfed for at least two years and sometimes recommends three years.
Another misconception was AP is difficult for the mother who works outside the home. It’s just the opposite. Women are the greatest multi-taskers in the world. AP, modified to the parents’ work schedule, helps busy parents reconnect with their child, which actually makes working and parenting easier. It’s attachment moms that forged the long overdue workplace-friendly breastfeeding-pumping stations and laws which respect and value the ability of a working mother to continue part-time breastfeeding.
Regarding the science criticism, it’s impossible to scientifically prove by a placebo-controlled, double-blind, randomized study (the gold standard in science) that AP works better than a more distant style of parenting. You would have to take a thousand mothers who practice AP and another thousand who don’t, and see how their kids turn out. What parent would sign up for such a study? Yet there is one long-term effect that science does agree on: The more securely-attached an infant is, the more securely independent the child becomes.
I’m disappointed the article did not pay more attention to the bottom-line of attachment parenting: how AP children turn out – and that’s where this style of parenting really shines. In my 40 years of studying the long-term effects of what parents do to help their children turn out well, AP kids generally are more: empathetic and compassionate, relate better to people, are easier to discipline, and are just nicer to be around. When I walk into an exam room in my office, an AP baby, like a little sunflower, naturally turns toward my face and lights up. I’ve yet to see an AP child be a school bully. On the contrary, they are the ones who try to comfort a hurting child.
Attachment parenting is not an all-or-nothing, extreme, or indulgent style of parenting. I advise moms and dads that the seven Baby B’s (birth bonding, breastfeeding, babywearing, bedding close to baby, belief in baby’s cries, beware of baby trainers, and balance) are starter tools (remember, tools not rules) to help parents and infants get to know each other better. And families can modify these tools to fit their individual family situation.
Over my years of mentoring attachment parents, the main two words of feedback I have heard is empowering and validating. My “helper’s high” file is filled with thank you letters such as: “Thank you, Dr. Bill, for validating what my heart and gut tell me is right.” “Thank you, Dr. Bill, for empowering us new parents with your personal experience to help us enjoy our children more.”
As an investment banker dad once told me: “AP is one of the best long-term investments you can make in giving your child a greater chance of growing up happier, healthier, and smarter.” Aren’t those the three main qualities we all want for our children?
As parents, many of us find routines helpful. For example, over time some lovely bedtime routines have evolved for my children. We don’t adhere to them religiously, but most nights we do things in more or less the same order, at more or less the same time. These flexible routines help my children ease into sleep.
While my kids have a fairly regular bedtime, I do not. I’ve fallen into some habits that a lot of parents will find familiar. My kids go to bed at around 8:30 or so. When they finally nod off, I get some time to myself, often for the first time that day. I revel in the quiet for a moment. I visit the bathroom all by myself. I eat a bowl of ice cream, and I don’t share any. I start doing all the things I’ve been putting off, or that I couldn’t do with my kids around.
While I enjoy my quiet time, the hour creeps later and later. I start to feel tired. I know that morning will come all too soon. But I don’t go to sleep, because I’m enjoying the quiet and the freedom of having two hands all to myself. I end up staying up far later than I probably should. In the morning, I’m not well-rested. In fact, I may even be flat-out sleep-deprived. But still, I do it all over again the next night, because once again I don’t want to give up that precious time in the evening that I have to myself.
Most of my life is spent in the company of children
When you have small children, sometimes you won’t be able to meet your needs in the way that you would most prefer to. As a work-at-home parent, I know this very well. I don’t always keep normal office hours. My most productive time is when my children are sleeping. Normally, I prefer to work in the morning. But I’m juggling multiple schedules and trying to meet everyone’s needs. My quest for balance, in part, means making concessions and working in the evening.
All the same, I know that when I’m chronically sleep-deprived, I’m out of balance. I’m also cranky and impatient, which doesn’t make for the most positive parenting. It doesn’t make me the most productive worker, either. While I may revel in the quiet time, staying up late every night isn’t serving me. This is why, recently, I’ve created a bedtime for myself, which has given me 30-45 minutes’ more sleep every night.
Half an hour may not sound like much, but one of the things about striving for balance is that it’s easier to make (and stick with) smaller changes. If I tried to get 90 minutes’ more sleep every night, it would be much harder to keep up. By starting small, I’m making it more achievable for myself. And really, even 30 minutes’ more sleep has had a real impact on my mental state. I wouldn’t say my life is now totally in balance, but it’s more balanced, and I can feel the difference.
I’ve discovered that routines – including bedtime routines – aren’t just for children. Sometimes, as parents, we need to take care of ourselves, too. That could mean going to bed a little bit earlier, like it does for me. Or it could mean getting regular exercise, drinking more water, or taking some time to write in your journal. Really, there are countless ways we could all take a little bit better care of ourselves. Why not try to make a small change for yourself, and see what kind of impact it has?
“Through the blur, I wondered if I was alone or if other parents felt the same way I did – that everything involving our children was painful in some way. The emotions, whether they were joy, sorrow, love or pride, were so deep and sharp that in the end they left you raw, exposed and yes, in pain. The human heart was not designed to beat outside the human body and yet, each child represented just that – a parent’s heart bared, beating forever outside its chest.”
-Debra Ginsberg
Mother.
I was desperate for that title. I went through years of infertility. I was diagnosed with a uterus septum several years ago; I had several operations and procedures to diagnose it, as well as, fix it. My husband and I ditched fertility treatments (fertility drugs and two failed IUIs) and opted to have acupuncture. That did the trick; I was pregnant two years later, with my son. He was born, May 13. Now, his birthday falls this year on Mother’s Day.
Photo by Sara Turner
Now, I am a mother. And with this title, comes the work, the love, the magic, and the chaos.
Right now, he is watching Sesame Street so I can write this. Well, now his bare chested toddler torso is up against my right shoulder and I am begging him to press play again. So much of motherhood is a series of meltdowns that fury inside me, silently, and sometimes not-so-silent, while outside my own body, my toddler’s hands are everywhere, and my body doesn’t seem to belong to me, with cries for “Ba Ba” (his name for my breasts) and toddler somersaults across my chest and legs, crying “Mama Mama.”
Nothing quiets, UNTIL I STOP everything I am doing and throw up the white flag. I give in to his needs. I am not going to lie – this cheeses me off sometimes. I JUST WANT TO FINISH THIS ONE ARTICLE – THIS ONE THING. But that’s the thing – motherhood surrenders, not in defeat, but in victory – for it is in these surrenders, my toddler rises higher, smarter, more loved, more nurtured.
But darn, I just got a knee to the shoulder and his little persistent hands keep trying to turn off my computer. So, I compromise. I stop. And we read his favorite book for the zillionth time, Llama Llama Red Pajama.
The veil of motherhood only gets lifted for a few: my husband, my closest friends, and sometimes, it just does not. I cloak myself in the finest silk and finest expectations of motherhood, and sit idly, feeling ugly underneath that beautiful white silk – feeling dark, angry, forgotten and I stir. Oh, do I stir.
The comfort of kisses and hearing “Mama,” from my toddler, are like waves of rainbows. But the surrender flag must go up to see these rainbows, for I am blind to them if I do not. Magic is a funny thing – it comes and goes and sometimes there are droughts for days – no rainbows – no flag.
I managed to get through the first year breastfeeding, co-sleeping, and no TV.
Photo by R. Oteri
The second year, well, that was a different story. We still co-sleep, but it seems to be something our queen mattress has outgrown. And we are still breastfeeding. But motherhood is not a cut and dry thing.
I really have no idea what I am doing. Really, I don’t. I just have a swollen compass I call my heart which leads me in the direction of my instincts and those instincts some refer to as Attachment Parenting.
Attachment Parenting has taken a beating with the recent Time magazine cover. I have so many feelings about that cover, but mostly the feelings have dissipated and now I am left with the one feeling that is constant in my life: motherhood. My choice is to be the best mother I can and to accept that some of my own expectations of what motherhood should be, simply are not realistic. This flag of surrender, some might refer to as common sense.
Like Spiderman’s uncle said, “With great power comes great responsibility.” I am responsible to raise this little human being to the best of my ability. But babies and children don’t come with manuals. They do though, come into the world wanting to be loved and nurtured. That is manual enough for me.
I have no manual though and do I ever wish there was one. I do not reference parenting blogs, nor do I reference parenting books. Most of the time, I am frantic, unshowered, and bored out of my mind, waiting for something to happen. And it often does: a luminescent crayon streak on the clear plastic blender, a load of folded clothes haphazardly sprayed all over the not-so-clean living room, the dog’s water bowl tipped over onto something that JUST SHOULD NOT GET WET, and a plethora of other things.
I’m not sure if I am doing it wrong, or just being honest. Motherhood is hard. So many slices of myself get deli-sliced-thin and result in a big ole’ hoagie of letting go, sacrifice, doubt, and insecurity. The condiments hold me in place: friendship, love, and support, and the way my boy loves me.
Each mother has their own journey. And I just wish we would stop clothes-lining each other and let each other parent. The Mommy Wars have got to stop. We love our children. We really do and to each his or her own.
Most moms are doing the best they can. The judgment is excruciating. Painful. Ugly. But my theory of where the mommy wars and the judgement stems from is the Grand Canyon of doubt and insecurity you get when you have children. This great responsibility leaves one feeling powerless. And that is the truth (as I see it).
“Through the blur, I wondered if I was alone or if other parents felt the same way I did – that everything involving our children was painful in some way. The emotions, whether they were joy, sorrow, love or pride, were so deep and sharp that in the end they left you raw, exposed and yes, in pain. The human heart was not designed to beat outside the human body and yet, each child represented just that – a parent’s heart bared, beating forever outside its chest.”
― Debra Ginsberg
There are so many things out of my control, so I hold tight to what I can control – how I choose to parent my child. And nobody is going to get their claws on that, for it is wrapped in the impenetrable magic spider web of the love I have for my child. This intricate web is wrapped in the intensity of motherhood.
Photo by Megan Oteri
My mother did the best she could and I am doing the best I can (and some days I totally stink at motherhood, but I keep going, keep trying, and keep evolving). I have some more tools in my tote these days, with supportive mothers, and a computer to reach out on days I feel isolated and alone. Just to know I am not alone on this journey, gives me some sense of peace. I also have a friend who lives in the same town as me, who I can go to, and lift the perfect mommy veil, showing her my warts and scars motherhood brings.
She tells me, “Yeah, I get it.” That’s all I need to hear.
In the distance, I see the magic rainbow – and the beauty of it doesn’t make me feel better – it’s the realization that I can’t see the rainbow all the time that makes me feel better, because it’s raining – the hard hail storm pellets of motherhood.
The beauty, the heart wrenching worry, the deli-thin slices lost to the big ole’ hoagie of motherhood, another bite, another part of myself, as I knew it, gone.
But the rainbow comes out, as my toddler makes ambulance siren pitch sounds right in my ear, and talking toddler gibberish. I see it. I can smell it (or is that me who smells who has not showered or brushed my teeth this morning). I taste it. I touch it. I feel it (his toddler arms are wrapped around my neck as I write this). This is the texture of motherhood – smooth, rough, splintered, cool, hot, layered in the mosaic of mother’s love.
My first had always been a good sleeper. We co-slept through about 18 months or so, and when we moved, Little Man jumped right into his big-boy bed and that’s where he wanted to sleep.
After I had my second child, we went through a phase where Little Man would wander into my bed in the middle of the night. Which was fine for a while. Hey, if he needed some extra security or mommy time or whatever it was, I was happy to oblige. After all, he was adapting to a pretty big change.
After a few months, he would wander into the bedroom in the middle of the night, where the other 3 of us were sleeping, and start asking for trains. Or cookies. Or to go to Zia’s (his aunt’s) house. And when we would say no, a full-throttle tantrum ensued. So, the 3 of us would have to wake fully, get Little Man settled, then try to settle ourselves and the baby to sleep.
He did this every night for about a month. It had gone on long enough that we were all becoming tired, cranky zombies.
I have no problem waking with him for nightmares, for monsters in the closet, or if he’s not feeling well. But to burst in at 2:00 a.m. every night, getting everyone all fired up? It affected everyone, every day. And I didn’t want to start feeling resentful.
Okay, I was already feeling a little resentful.
At a loss, I did something about it. One night, when he came into our room, he made his usual request for something he could be sure we would shoot down. As soon he showed the first signs of tantrum, I picked him up and put him in his bed. I told him he could come back in and talk to us or sleep with us if he could do it quietly, without waking the baby.
Of course, this made him wail. When he came back in, I took him back to his bed, and repeated what I had just said. By the third time, I had almost given up. I felt like I was doing a form of cry-it-out for almost-three-year-olds. But because I was inviting him into our bed and the alternative (sleepy, crabby family) wasn’t good for anyone, I decided to stick to my guns this time.
After one more round, he started to calm down. I asked him, “can you come into the big bed quietly?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
I tucked us all in.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Get trains,” he said.
“No, it’s dark down there and we won’t be able to see them.”
“Okay.” He rolled over and went to sleep.
That was the first and last time I had to do anything like that at night. Now, when he wanders in, he sneaks in quietly and nobody knows until morning. We can all wake refreshed and happy. He has his nighttime security, we have our rest.
Still, as with every parenting move I make, I can’t help but wonder if I did the right thing.
So, about that whole balance thing. I’m bad at it. Really bad. And as we mothers tend to do when expecting baby number two, I’m going through my mental list of things I want to do differently now that I have some experience under my belt. My list seems to revolve around achieving balance. Which, I haven’t yet learned to do with my firstborn. Here are some things I plan to try to get better at this.
1. I will put the baby down. Sometimes. Once upon a time, I thought bouncy seats and swings were for mean mommies. But you know what? We need both of our hands and a full range of motion from time to time. To feed ourselves, to tend to the needs of our other children, to wipe up that dust bunny that brings our hormonal selves to tears because we’ve been staring at it for a week with a sleeping baby in our arms. Even the fanciest slings and carriers come with limitations. Tending to other things, including, you know, basic hygiene, is part of the program. And the baby will be no less content and secure. If she is, I trust that my instincts will pick up on it. Which brings me to…
2. I will trust my instincts. I had a hard time with this one early on. Could you blame me? What did I know? First, I’d never been a mother, so it was all new territory for me. Second, my mother had passed away years before my first was born, so I didn’t have that person I felt I could call to give me the right answer every time. I relied on books, where each one contradicts the next, and instinct. In retrospect, I’ve realized that instinct usually trumped what I found in print.
This time around, I’ll acknowledge that my mothering instincts are there and in working order. We are equipped with them for a reason.
3. I won’t be so paranoid about nursing in public. More often than I’d like to admit, I left a cartful of groceries in the middle of the aisle to run out to the car, or ducked into a bedroom, or surveyed a building upon arrival to find a hidden place to nurse, or lugged around an extra 15 lbs of bottles, pumped milk and ice, or made my crying, hungry child wait for a bottle to warm. And for what? For the comfort of the few squeamish who, in my humble opinion, need to lighten up? Wow, I prioritized rude strangers’ comfort over my child’s and my own. Not cool. I can’t whine that breastfeeding isn’t the norm if I’m not willing to be a part of the change I’d like to see.
4. I will try to remember that I’m a person, too. And I shouldn’t feel guilty about passing off parent duty to the husband or a caregiver to go to that yoga class I wanted to try, or to take a hot shower, or go to an actual store to find post-partum clothes that fit (vs. buying online). True, the baby might cry. And if I’m not there, Dad or the person in charge will do their best to soothe her.
Confession: I still feel guilty if I take a shower while my toddler is awake. My husband would think this is stupid.
5. I will live in the moment. As soon as my little guy was born, I started my mental panic countdown to the day I would have to go back to my full-time job. How much time must I have wasted feeling sad about someday being apart from him when I could have been enjoying my time with him?
Although I will be able to stay home with my kids this time around, being present is just as important. Sometimes it’s hard to do the day-to-day thing mindfully in our multi-tasking, over-scheduling culture. I need to remind myself to slow down and enjoy every moment as much as one can on just a few hours of sleep here and there.
6. I won’t feel guilty when I don’t get it all done. Heck, I don’t get it all done now. I would love to be superhuman, but see #4. I’m just a plain ol’ person. Even if it doesn’t get done, it’ll all be okay. It always turns out okay.
7. I’ll ask for help. Well, I say that now, but when the time comes I probably won’t. Those who know me know that if I’ve asked for something, it’s pretty much a life-or-death emergency and they should rush to my side. Hey, I listed it, which means I’m going to try. (I hope I don’t alarm anyone.)
Maybe I should revisit this list once the baby is born…
Hello parents! The cover was risky but a brilliant hook by Time Magazine to attract readers, and they achieved their goal. The writer, Kate Pickert, herself a new mother and one of Time’s most diligent writers, sincerely wanted to increase awareness of the Sears’ family contribution to parenting and family health. She lived with our family for two days, followed me in the office, and spent hours with me on the phone in an attempt to be factual. While the cover photo is not what I or even cover-mom Jamie would have chosen, it accomplished the magazine’s purpose. And, as some attachment dads observed, finally a magazine displays a woman’s breast for the real purpose for which they were designed – to nurture a child, not to sell cars and beer. Cover-mom Jamie is a super-nice person and highly-educated in anthropology, nutrition and theology. I enjoyed the several hours I spent with her family and her kids shined with the social effects of attachment parenting.
