It’s no secret that I’m staring down 50, and it’s been 16 years since I’ve been pregnant, praise the lord. But somehow it feels like one hundred years ago, with all the stuff I see the new, new moms doing. My biggest issue as a new mom was feeling guilty for choosing Huggies over cloth diapers, and bottle over breast. Two debates which seem to have gone the way of ugly maternity clothes. Nowadays I hear young moms griping about getting dirty looks when they breast feed in public. Here’s an idea: cover up! Twenty years ago breastfeeders were modest, keeping their udder, er, I mean breast, and baby’s head under a little blankie. Call me a prude, but nothing stops me dead in the middle of a conversation quicker than an exposed boob. My sister was in the middle of a job interview when all of a sudden the boss lady whipped it out, pulled a breast pump out of her desk drawer and set to milking herself. Classy. Almost as genteel as the mom who breast feeds until her kid says they want to wean. You’ve probably seen this at Starbucks: toddler walks over, chomping on a piece of gum, whining, “I’m hungry.” Mom takes out the boob and sticks it in his face, but not before admonishing him to take the gum out of his mouth. To that toddler I say, enjoy therapy. Advice to Mom: needlepoint is a satisfying and enjoyable hobby.
Admittedly I have more respect for this type than I do those that pre-chew their kids’ food. And then pass it to them mouth to mouth. Do I stand alone when I say WTF?? The theory, they claim, is that this is natural, mimicking how birds feed their young. And since birds have risen from their nests to take over the world, we should try to live like them, yes?
I remember when “time out” came into vogue and took the place of a good spanking, and I had friends that talked about “making” their own babyfood…two things which I tried to avoid. By the time Charles came along there was delicious (although how would I know??), organic, babyfood in a jar and I didn’t have to smash and strain peas and bananas and freeze them in ice cube trays to keep up with the Joneses.
Let’s face it, there are two things that we all dread as parents: potty training, and teen driving. There really isn’t anything worse (short of discovering you’re out of wine), nor can I decide which of those horrible experiences I would label the lesser of two evils. It took me years to potty train my oldest. Yes, years….because some stupid parent’s magazine told me that it was possible to train a baby as soon as they learn to walk. That is a lie. That’s essentially the baby training the parent to know when he will poop. I potty trained Max from the age of one year until he was three. By that time Bianca was born. Having learned my lesson, I decided to wait until she showed me signs of “readiness,” and I was prepared to wait. The day I witnessed her change her own diaper on the kitchen floor while I was on the phone bitching about my husband, was the day I realized I may have waited too long. When I had Charles, believing that the third time had to be the charm, I enlisted him in what I like to call Potty Boot Camp when he was 2 1/2: five days of never-leaving-the-house, intense potty training, akin to the brain-washing tactics I learned from watching fictional, made-for-tv movies about cults and the CIA. On the fourth day of my torture, I realized that I needed to take a different, more practical approach and resorted to financial bribery. If you know Charlie, you know that did the trick. (And as far as teen driving goes, that deserves a blog of it’s own….)
However painful it all was for me, it was probably a walk in the park compared to the newest method: diaperless baby. Letting babies pee and poop on the floor, or wherever it may fall. Is it me, or is this like having an untrained dog without the benefit of a crate? In an article I read about this new movement (no pun intended but HAHAHA!!) the author was reduced to placing mixing bowls in strategic locations around her home when she had a diaperless baby visit for a mommy-and-me playdate. Another mom related how great it was to take the baby to the park and just let them take a poo under a tree or in a bush. Very natural, she said. (I wonder does she bring a pooper scooper with her? And can she be fined for not picking it up?) Yet another mother was photographed for the article holding her bottomless baby over a sink. I have no words. Except for these: has the world gone MAD? What the article failed to address is what these kids plan to do when they become school age. Will they all be shitting on the floor of the kindergarten classroom? Or will they excuse themselves to the hallway? Perhaps they will hold it in until recess and then drop a steamer on the hopscotch court. More importantly, will they ever wear bottoms?
As if this all isn’t disturbing enough I discovered that some women found a new use for their baby’s placenta. The most outrageous thing anyone ever did with a placenta twenty years ago was to take it home and bury it. Silly and disgusting, yes? Well I would rather attend 100 placenta-burying ceremonies than have a five minute convo with a mom extolling the virtues of eating her baby’s placenta! Quite seriously, you can ship your baby’s placenta to some freak-assed company that will dry it out and make it into pellets meant to be eaten. They claim that it’s good for you. I’m skeptical that anything your body expels can be beneficial to put back in. Yes, cats and maybe even dogs and who knows what other animals eat their placentas. But again, I had thought we were somewhat more evolved, what with the invention of prenatal vitamins and forks.
Of course the great irony in all this will be the day my own children become parents, and bring their boobs and their bottomless babies and their placenta pellets to my Thanksgiving table. I should probably invest in another set of mixing bowls.
