Project Life ::: Week Eighten

PHEW! And I'm finally caught up on Project Life. I deserve a million congratulations. 

//flowers from a street stall are 1/10 the price of flowers in the mall // baking bread in the morning // afternoon pool play with my girl every day if it's sunny // Friday dinners alfresco as the sun goes down and the prayers rise up // pop up brunch on Sunday//

Another Parenting Expert Who Can Shut The Front Door

A parenting article crossed my path this weekend that turned me 14 shades of stabby. Another hack job, poorly researched with a clear agenda.  Another treatise  based not in science, but in fear.  Another article that equates correlation with causality. Another piece written by expert with an agenda: to justify her own parenting choices while cutting down those whose child rearing philosophies are divergent. Oh, and hey, while she's at it, why not install fear in the hearts of new mothers and fathers, threatening suicidal children if her prescribed method of childrearing is not followed.

The article in question asserts that "Modern parenting is making our children miserable" and advocates allowing children plenty of unstructured time to explore the outdoors, fend for themselves, and learn independence. A noble position, to be sure, one with which I take absolutely no issue. The problem comes from the alarmist tone, the chiding remarks, and obvious lack of scientific rigour. Or, even a quick google search for that matter.

Jay Girffiths calls for high contact parenting in the early years, followed by plenty of independance from toddlerhood onwards. She starts off her piece with the tired old argument that leaving babies to sleep on their own, crying it out, abandoned in their dark rooms is tantamount to torture. Sure. Obviously. Right. Loving parents teaching their children to get adequate sleep is certainly right up there with water boarding, profound neglect, and abuse. 

Griffiths then goes on to explain how other cultures raise their babies in tactile closeness, carrying them next to their bodies, mollifying infants with milk and toys, lest they wail for even a moment, and allowing co-sleeping to continue for many years. Indigenous cultures such as Inuit and the Sami are cited as excellent examples of this early dependence / later independence model. They keep babies close, then send older kids out to play by themselves, learning to hunt and cook their own food, their time unstructured, belonging fully to the children. 

This closeness is in opposition to Western practices of abandoning their babies in cribs, allowing them to cry themselves to sleep, and then, when the children are older, parents hover and over-schedule, stifling children's independence and freedom.

Griffiths suggests physical proximity to caregivers in the early years is necessary for the healthy development of infants. And certainly, babies do need love and attention, security and nourishment from their primary caregivers. But controlled crying is not torture. And the research does not bare out the claim that it actually harms children. 

The most manipulative (and frankly dishonest) aspect of Griffiths' argument is her threat that children who are parented according to the Western model of distance then freedom (as opposed to the "indigenous model" of closeness then freedom) leads to higher rates of suicide. 

And, here's where Griffiths equates correlation with causality: she claims that the lower rates of suicide reported in Norway where the closeness then independence model is followed, as compared with other Nordic counties where the independence then closeness model is the norm is proof that babies should cosleep while children should be sent outside to hunt and gather, build their own fires and cook their own food. 

Oh great. Just what every parent needs to hear. Raise your kid my way or, he'll off himself when he's older. It kind of reminds me of other parenting experts who suggest that if you let your child cry, they'll end up with attachment disorder. You know, like children who are abandoned in institutional orphanages and are never shown love, or even held, for that matter. Children who are profoundly neglected get attachment disorder. Not kids who are loved, and cared for, and maybe, perhaps left to sleep on their own if that's what works for them and their parents. 

BUT, let's look at this for a moment. Griffiths praises the parenting practices of several indigenous cultures, including Inuit and the Sami, holding them up as bastions of righteousness against our modern, broken system of childrearing. Parent the way these communities do, she suggests, and we'd do away with suicide. Our children would be free from the torture of CIO; they'd be free to to run through the woods; they'd no loger be miserable.  

A cursory google search reveals that Inuit communities in Canada have suicide rates up to 30 times that of the general population. Suicide rates amongst the Sami, similarly, are significantly higher then those of the general population in Norway. Huh. Weren't these the exact populations Griffiths argued followed the preferred model of child rearing? The model that would ensure lower suicide rates?

Huh. 

This is all sorts of wrong. I mean, let's set aside the fact that such epidemic levels of self harm amongst indigenous populations is a terrible, tragic, and unfair thing. And ignoring the very real social problems faced by these populations does a tremendous disservice to us all. AND then there's the whole noble savage thing going on which, frankly, denies the the humanity of these people, and is just, frankly, kind of colonialist. Let's just put all that away for another day, and focus on how Griffiths and other parenting experts are hurting parents. 

The guilt trips, the dogmatism, the dubious science, it does no one any good. It's way too simplistic. It's disingenuousand frankly, it's kind of mean. So, cut it out, parenting experts. 

Sure! Making an infant feel loved and secure is a good idea. So is unstructured outdoor play. But maybe, just maybe, your infant (like mine) needs to cry to fall asleep, and no amount of holding or rocking or breastfeeding can change that. Maybe your infant needs to cry it out because hourly night waking are not sustainable for you or for the child. Maybe your baby sleeps best in your bed. Or maybe in a crib. Maybe you live in a massive urban centre where parks are few and far between, and freedom to roam is not an option. Maybe your kid goes bonkers if he doesn't have enough structure in his days. Maybe your kid needs the to roam the woods, catching fish and cooking them over a self-made campfire. And that's totally fine.

You know your kid. An expert does not know your kid. You know what your kid needs, and this particular parenting expert can shut the front door. Let's be, as Georgia calls for, experts on raising our own children, and forget about so-called experts in generic child rearing. 

What's really happening here is clear: an author bent on selling a book; an author who knows too well that fear is a primary motivator (and what fear is greater than the thought of loosing one's child to suicide?); an author who may be insecure about her own choices so she moulds the evidence to prop up her position; an author who would rather undermine parents' confidence than building it up. 

And that, my friends, is a total dick move. And one that's rife within the parenting cannon. You see this same kind of thing everywhere. Do it this way or your kid won't sleep. Breastfeed or your kid will die of SIDS. Ban screen time or your kid will get autism. Do it this way. Buy this book. Use this product. These flash cards. this method. Be on edge. Fear. Fear. Fear.

No thanks.

Most research actually does not support the idea that parents can actually affect that much influence on their child's personality, development, intelligence, or future. If you want to help your children to grow up to be a happy, well adjusted humans, here's your best bet: Love them. Feed them. Make them feel secure. Be kind to them. Don't abuse or neglect them. Don't worry about the rest. 

Project Life ::: Week Seventeen

I'm still a week behind in my project life. And perhaps also in life? 

Anyway...here's a few moments from last week. Which, although not the most superawesomefuntimes of weeks (it rained a lot; Mr. Chef worked a lot; Stella tantrumed a lot; I used grown up words a lot), we still managed to extract some sweetness. 

this gargoyle* watches out over my room // post-nap tantrums // rainy afternoon keeps us indoors // a few of my favourites on the sill // Papi worked all weekend, so we made up for it with "special treats" in a cafe //

So, about the gargoyle. Last week we moved Stella into her own big bed in an attempt to encourage her to sleep the whole night through in her own room. Now, she is sleeping in her room, but not without company. At around 4 AM on the first night in her new bed, she sat up, looked at me, and asked "Mama, you go bye-bye in the lion's nose? The lion eat you, mama?" It was heartbreaking, poor thing. 

This gargoyle may or may not be the lion in question. But, whomever the culprit of her nighttime fear, she hasn't let it go. She still asks me, over a week later to confirm that I was not eaten by a lion. We've also got ourselves some lion spray to protect against nocturnal intruders (lion spray recipe >>> fill a spray bottle with water; add a few drops of tea tree oil; lions be gone).

linking up with ni hao, y'all. it's been a while. too long, in fact!

18 / 52

"a protrait of my child, once a week, every week in 2013."

Stella: surveying the deck after an afternoon swim with her Papi

On weeks where my attention is pulled away from my little domestic sphere, my camera rarely makes it out of it's hideaway. Deadlines, projects, and exciting opportunities are keeping me happily busy, and my camera unhappily inactive. So, iPhoneography. You know.

We've been back from vacation for just over 2 weeks, and finally Mr. Chef has some time off work. So, we're making the most of it, getting in some serious family play time. Pool-side pizza, family naps, and Sunday brunch are on the menu.  

Hope your weekend is equally lovely!

Toddler Sleep Problems and Other Tales of Woe

One of my biggest regrets as a parent thus far is not having been an uncaring asshole, spitting in the face of attachment disorder, and saying, "Okay, it is no longer acceptable to wake up hourly. Sorry, kid, but you're going to have to cry it out. How do you like them apples?"

Three years in to nighttime parenting, and I still don't know what I'm doing. Good news: we've moved on from baby sleep problems. Bad news: We now have toddler sleep problems.

In the early days of parenthood I was so confidently sure of my approach to parenting (in the way that only a novice and / or idiot can be). With granola running through my veins, I would parent intentionally and with love. I would attend to my child's every need, teach her that the world is a safe place and her needs would be met. Above all, thought I, she'd never be left to cry.

Well, it turns out that this nonsense parenting is exceedingly difficult to sustain when your child wakes twelve times per night. And requires 1 hour and fifteen minutes of bouncing and pacing and rocking to achieve 20 minutes of sleep. Four times per day. 

(And, guys, I know that I lean hyperbolic, but this right here, this is FACT).

As I was scrolling through my Facebook timeline on the weekend, I saw that Aisha had posted an article about baby sleep. So of course I clicked through it, because duh. Then, as is kind of the way of the Internet, I read through the comments and found myself wanting to poke everyone in the eyeballs.

Sleep is a rage-button issue for me. I bristle when people try to tell me how to make it happen (guess what! tired it! it didn't work!!!) and I snarl when others complain about the slog of nighttime parenting a three-month-old who has the insolence to wake up for two mid-slumber feedings, because OMG YOU DO NOT KNOW EXHAUSTION UNTIL YOU'VE PARENTED MY BABY and btw, do we need to talk about the time she stayed awake for 36 hours??? That one still stings.

Anyway, here were are, so many years later with a nice hearty dose of toddler sleep problems: (nap resistance, bedtime refusal {extreme overtiredness be damned! This kid still won't sleep!!!} nightmare, and a total inability to fall asleep or stay asleep alone.)

(I keep writing about the trails of sleep deprivation. Do you think I have post traumatic stress disorder? Hmmm, what do you think, Dr. internet??)

Anyway, I kind of want to write a coherent post about the ways and means of infant sleep, the guilt and stress, and anti-feminist currents that run through parenting literature and the douche captain doctor who's name rhymes with Mears whom I hold accountable for the massive (and I fear permanent) bags under my eyes. (Thanks kid doctor, for equating crying it out with abandoning my child in a Russian orphanage. I really needed that extra guilt because motherhood doesn't come with enough as is.)

But still, even three years out, coherent thoughts about infant sleep is not something of which I'm capable.

All I can tell you, is that we've trying out my newest scheme in my grand project to secure seven hours of uninterrupted sleep and put an end to our ongoing toddler sleep problems. As such, Stella has a new bed.

She's pretty stoked on the idea, and does not fail to mention to everyone that she has a NEW! BIG! BED! My friend at the cafe? "Stel-wa have new bed! I getting big because!" The waiter at dinner? "Stel-wa have new bed!" Teachers at school? "I have big bed now!" I mean, this is maj! They need to know!

I can also tell you that only yesterday I overheard her screaming at the top of her lungs, "ROCKSTAR! ROCKSTAR ROCKSTAR!" while nestled in the glorious and totally ridiculous luxury that is a full-sized bed for a two-year-old.

 

Looks comfy, no? (And I can tell you from experience that it is! Because guess who's sleeping in it??!! Me!!!! Every night! Except for last night when Mr. Chef was in charge of toddler sleep problems and I slept solidly for eight hours. I don't even think I moved.) 

(Now that I think about it, maybe delegation of nighttime parenting is the answer??)

Labour Day in Jakarta

Labour Day isn't actually a holiday in Jakarta, but who are Jakartians to let that small fact stand in the way of a good protest.

People began arriving downtown at 4 am. By mid-morning, the crowds swelled and heaved. Slogans and chants rose up to the sixth floor, and I thought, oh geeze. How am I going to pick my kid up from school. The main gathering point, you see, is right outside our door. Cars could neither enter nor exit, and not a single taxi would drive towards downtown. 

When I picked up my kid from school, I told her, "The traffic is really bad. There's a demo," not expecting her to understand.

She shot back, "Oh! Yes! Stella saw so many police just now!" So, I guess the schema for political activism is already formed in this two year old. 

Hi. Welcome to a nonsense blog post.

Heyyyyyyy, it's that time again! That time where I tell you that I'm accepting sponsors for next month. Exciting, no?

Well. 

Anyway.

(Mostly, I have to broadcast this message because adding a proper sponsor page to my website has been on my list of to-dos for, like six months, but here I am, not doing it, because not doing things on my to do list is what I do best.)

(Also, I'm stuck in a perpetual existential crisis regarding the life altering decision about going all in with Passionfruit and streamlining the sponsorship process, or keepin it real [insofar as one who sells one's soul for cash money can keep it real] and writing the html myself, and I dunno, actually communicating with people want to support my blog.)

(Further, any income that is generated through sponsorship is reinvested back into this blog. So, it's basically like buying a stock in the internet.)

(Also, a propos of nothing, I would like to tell you the groundbreaking news that Google Reader will be kicking it this summer. For a great post about alternatives, check out what Rachel has to say. Obviously I still have not decided upon my replacement of choice, because why have a mole hill when you can make a mountain!!??? but if you're already dealing in Blog Lovin, I'm there too.)

In conclusion, if you're interested in supporting this little corner of nonsense, send me an email at erica {at} expatraiababy {dot} com.