When you have something you are passionate about, if you get a bee in your bonnet related to your passion, it continues buzzing until you satiate the damn thing. In my case, it's writing down my thoughts. Even when it's closing in on 1:30am and I have to be up in 5 1/2 hours to three bouncing off the wall boys and a very stoic poodle puppy. So I was having a chat with a friend, shooting the breeze about life in general and old times and it got me thinking about something that's been a good positive consistent theme in my life. So as I'm lying in bed thinking about the conversation, I can't get the topic out of my head, so I heaved myself out of my nice warm and ever so comfortable bed, and made my way down to old Betsy and here I am...nose inches from the screen because I already took my contacts out and I can't find my glasses. So this is going to be filled with oodles of errors because I'm tired and I can't see. Duly warned!
For those who don't know, I grew up in Regent Park. Most of it is rubble now, including my former home, but back in the day it was a community rich in culture, people and relationships. It was much like a small town in that we were pretty isolated from the outside world. We would do our food shopping and get supplies when needed, but for the most part, entertainment was local, schools were local, friends and family were local, churches, etc...you get the picture. So that consistent theme. Well everyone always thought of Regent as this scary place filled with drug dealers and criminals, and while the drug trade did find a convenient place to exist in that poorly mapped out community, there were families. Tonnes and tonnes of families. Thousands of people crammed into roughly 1000 units total. Many of these families were headed by women. I can probably count on my hands the number of dads who were consistently there and kudos to them, however fellas, I'm here to talk about the women...why? Because I am one, and it's my blog. :)
These moms were tough! I mean tough as nails tough. We never crossed the moms, didn't matter if they were our own or not, they'd just as soon chew you out, then go tell your mom, who would proceed to make your life hell for the next little while. They had to be strong, strict, caring and stand up to shield us as much as they could from a very chaotic world. On top of that they had to deal with poverty, living in broken buildings, several jobs and all the little things we take for granted, but were magnified because of all the additional crap we had to endure.
But there were those moms, those aunts, those sisters. In Regent, often your family was your friends and neighbours. I have so many people I consider family who I don't share a drop of blood with. You might squabble with them over the noise of their TV, but they'd also give you their last cup of milk if your kids were screaming. We watched out for one another.
One time, we had the fortune of having 3 crack houses on our floor! This caused a lot of night time traffic, fighting and just overall a terrible situation for the rest of the families there. The police did the minimal, the landlord too, so the moms decided to take matters into their own hands. For weeks, they'd whisper death threats to us kids to not leave our apartments (we never listened) and they would collectively stand at the elevator doors and harass anyone who was there to do drugs. There was a church lady there. And anyone who grows up in an inner city community knows that you do not FUCK with the church lady. She had an old fashioned school bells, so the first thing those folks were confronted with when that door opened was an angry Jamaican church lady with a very loud bell, giving them the well mannered, but in no uncertain terms chewing out that only an angry Jamaican church lady could give (God help me if she ever saw the language I use on my blog). But really, all these moms took a serious risk, they could have been hurt in so many ways, there were plenty of opportunities to get them alone, but they decided as a collective that this nonsense had to end and they'd fight like hell together to do so. Within a month, those crack houses had moved on.
Our community was enriched by many dedicated professionals who came in and worked hard. From the school teachers, to the doctors and nurses, the admin staff, the community workers. My sense of constant moral outrage comes from my grade 4, 5 and 8 teacher. She's way crankier than I could ever muster, but dammit, she'd be proud at my uppityness. I remember discussing my sexual health as a teenager with the caring doctors and nurses at our local health centre. I'm sure all you women can remember how much fun THAT was as a young woman. I can remember how much love and encouragement I got from everyone really. Our moms might have squabbled, but they left the kids out of it, that was a hard and fast rule. I used to write for the local youth paper and bringing my sense of moral outrage and uppityness, I wrote an article slamming the local community police liaison committee for classism and completely ignoring Regent Park in favour of the much wealthier communities surrounding our home. Well, didn't all these folks demand a meeting with me, where they proceeded to tear 16 year old me a new one. I was there with two of my 16 year old friends getting that beating. But my mom whom I whispered death threats to if she went all mother bear on me, was there and made sure that I was okay at the end of the meeting. Shortly after, I was at a local committee meeting and was presented with a journal from a lovely woman. She told me to keep writing and keep giving them hell, I intend to make good on that. I still have that journal.
And really, just thinking of how many countless people who have come out of Regent Park, with all the temptation to fall into despair and destructive activities, as folks who have avoided all that and have made good lives and relationships for themselves and others, is a testament in itself to the sheer force of will and soul our mothers had to get us to that point.
I've struggled in the past 8 months, God knows how I've struggled, but I've survived and I've come to a point where I know I'll survive. I've also noticed that the people who have circled the wagons around me, have been predominantly women. One of my most favourite recent memories, was coming home to my bestie aka my wife, my babysitter and our kids at home and dinner well on the way. How perfect was that? My only regret was that my life saving, I worship the ground she walks on, nanny and my mom weren't there. Just women doing what we always do, to take care of the kids and banding together to take care of each other.
I sometimes wondered where I learned how to be this strong, but tonight while chatting, it dawned on me or was presented to me, I'm sorry, it's late, I can't remember that I have this legacy of amazing women all throughout my life. They have been strong, opinionated, generous, downright bitchy if need be, terrifying and loving all at the same time. It's very humbling to think of them, because living or dead, even though their blood does not run in my veins, their wisdom and passion lives within my soul. It was an epiphany tonight, and I know the next time I feel burnt out at the end of my rope, I will remember them. Words cannot possibly express the gratitude and appreciation I feel, it's overwhelming, so all I can do is to vow to live my life with the same strength, fire and kindness that they do/did.
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Interracial kids
I'm getting ranty, so grab a drink and hold on to your butts.
One of my friends over three years ago when we were pregnant asked to meet me at a Chapters. It was actually the first time we've ever met in person. She is a white woman who was trying to prepare herself for having an interracial child. I was impressed at someone taking this role so seriously, because I see so many parents just go into it willy nilly without much thought about their children and how they will be viewed as a brown skinned person in this world. They don't take into account the needs of the child, which is one of the things on my 3000000 mile long list of stuff that irks me. I can't claim I know what the experience of a white woman raising an interracial child, but I can certainly comment on what I as an interracial person think that interracial children need. And since my word is gospel, you know I'm right. :)
I see and get comments like how beautiful we are, what a wonderful sign of racial harmony, it's so wonderful that people are having interracial children, one day it will all be interracial people and we'll all be brown in an ebony and ivory song and doves will coo, bunnies will hop and unicorns will return singing My Little Pony songs. Blah blah blah blah blah! Really? While I agree that interracial people are a cut above and more beautiful than anyone else on the planet in my own unbiased opinion, these words are superficial labels spoken by people who clearly haven't put a lot of thought into this. And the scary thing is, half of these types of comments come from the parents of such kids. Now mind you, I am only one person and it's only my opinion, but us interracial folks tend to be able to launch into discussion about identity fairly easily because it isn't always fairy kisses and cuddles to be interracial and often the only people who understand that is us.
A lot of us struggle with identity. Like it or not, despite the coming together of two people cross race and culture, the rest of the world, still very much binary. Racism? Alive and well. Yes! In Canada! Really really! The other side of that of course is that a lot of people of colour are not all too eager to espouse the values or culture that still has a lot of racists. (Now, I swear to God, if anyone comments complaining about reverse racism, I will scream. Because that is NOT the point of this post). So a lot of us are caught in the crossfire and we're fair game. If I were to talk about my Irish heritage white people look at me funny (despite the fact that of all my heritage, white is the largest percentage). If I talk about my black heritage, black people look at me funny. My native heritage, well, I don't even bother. I'm not unique, many of us struggle to find a place to belong and it's only an experience of half belonging for the most part. We're often forced to make a decision as to which part of us to ditch to fit into either crowd. I do it all the time. If I talk about racism with my white friends, most of them do that polite Canadian "Oh shit! Smile and change the subject!!!!" If I am ignorant about various topics (nothing Earth shattering in case you're wondering) with my black friends, I get the stink eye. I don't pass anywhere, but I often pass everywhere. Any given culture/race/nationality where its feasible for someone to have my complexion, people have asked if I belong.
My mother certainly never kept me from discovering about my heritage, but it wasn't an ongoing or active topic of discussion. My dad insisted that I was black and that was the end of that. That left me confused as Hell for years. My hair, oh good grief, I know this is a superficial topic, but it's something many of us interracial kids have a big beef with. Parents with straight hair, if your kid has any chance of having curly hair, learn how to work with it! Go to a salon, online, one of your friends, a lot of parents of my day had a pass since no one really knew how to deal with curls properly, but there is no excuse now! But it's little things like that, the ignorance of how to deal with your kid's hair can leave your kid feeling like a freak of nature because their hair is so messed up, since mom/dad can't deal with it. I was genuinely shocked when I first went to Jonathan Torch and he exclaimed how healthy my hair was. I had thought of it as a wreck, but evidently not. Where you live, your friends, your family associations, how much you embrace different cultures, all impact on a child who has to straddle two races, two cultures. I can't tell you how many people I see who haven't even begun to do any bit of research on the culture/race their child will be of. They stick to platitudes, thinking that so long as they love the child enough things will be okay. And on many levels it will. But being loved and feeling understood, feeling that they have someone safe and educated to rely on to discuss experiences good and bad, research, knowledge are two different things. Personally I think parents should strive for both and not just simply rely on the easy route.
So, it's a pretty hard position to understand, but it's an important one to try and gain some level especially if it involves your children and it's absolutely worth the effort. So instead of using the cliches and assuring your children how beautiful they are the next time they come home upset because they're the only brown kid with curly hair on the playground, learn how to deal with the bigotry, teach them, validate their feelings, educate them, expose them to children and places where they won't be teased, and get out of your safe place, so you can create one for your child.
One of my friends over three years ago when we were pregnant asked to meet me at a Chapters. It was actually the first time we've ever met in person. She is a white woman who was trying to prepare herself for having an interracial child. I was impressed at someone taking this role so seriously, because I see so many parents just go into it willy nilly without much thought about their children and how they will be viewed as a brown skinned person in this world. They don't take into account the needs of the child, which is one of the things on my 3000000 mile long list of stuff that irks me. I can't claim I know what the experience of a white woman raising an interracial child, but I can certainly comment on what I as an interracial person think that interracial children need. And since my word is gospel, you know I'm right. :)
I see and get comments like how beautiful we are, what a wonderful sign of racial harmony, it's so wonderful that people are having interracial children, one day it will all be interracial people and we'll all be brown in an ebony and ivory song and doves will coo, bunnies will hop and unicorns will return singing My Little Pony songs. Blah blah blah blah blah! Really? While I agree that interracial people are a cut above and more beautiful than anyone else on the planet in my own unbiased opinion, these words are superficial labels spoken by people who clearly haven't put a lot of thought into this. And the scary thing is, half of these types of comments come from the parents of such kids. Now mind you, I am only one person and it's only my opinion, but us interracial folks tend to be able to launch into discussion about identity fairly easily because it isn't always fairy kisses and cuddles to be interracial and often the only people who understand that is us.
A lot of us struggle with identity. Like it or not, despite the coming together of two people cross race and culture, the rest of the world, still very much binary. Racism? Alive and well. Yes! In Canada! Really really! The other side of that of course is that a lot of people of colour are not all too eager to espouse the values or culture that still has a lot of racists. (Now, I swear to God, if anyone comments complaining about reverse racism, I will scream. Because that is NOT the point of this post). So a lot of us are caught in the crossfire and we're fair game. If I were to talk about my Irish heritage white people look at me funny (despite the fact that of all my heritage, white is the largest percentage). If I talk about my black heritage, black people look at me funny. My native heritage, well, I don't even bother. I'm not unique, many of us struggle to find a place to belong and it's only an experience of half belonging for the most part. We're often forced to make a decision as to which part of us to ditch to fit into either crowd. I do it all the time. If I talk about racism with my white friends, most of them do that polite Canadian "Oh shit! Smile and change the subject!!!!" If I am ignorant about various topics (nothing Earth shattering in case you're wondering) with my black friends, I get the stink eye. I don't pass anywhere, but I often pass everywhere. Any given culture/race/nationality where its feasible for someone to have my complexion, people have asked if I belong.
My mother certainly never kept me from discovering about my heritage, but it wasn't an ongoing or active topic of discussion. My dad insisted that I was black and that was the end of that. That left me confused as Hell for years. My hair, oh good grief, I know this is a superficial topic, but it's something many of us interracial kids have a big beef with. Parents with straight hair, if your kid has any chance of having curly hair, learn how to work with it! Go to a salon, online, one of your friends, a lot of parents of my day had a pass since no one really knew how to deal with curls properly, but there is no excuse now! But it's little things like that, the ignorance of how to deal with your kid's hair can leave your kid feeling like a freak of nature because their hair is so messed up, since mom/dad can't deal with it. I was genuinely shocked when I first went to Jonathan Torch and he exclaimed how healthy my hair was. I had thought of it as a wreck, but evidently not. Where you live, your friends, your family associations, how much you embrace different cultures, all impact on a child who has to straddle two races, two cultures. I can't tell you how many people I see who haven't even begun to do any bit of research on the culture/race their child will be of. They stick to platitudes, thinking that so long as they love the child enough things will be okay. And on many levels it will. But being loved and feeling understood, feeling that they have someone safe and educated to rely on to discuss experiences good and bad, research, knowledge are two different things. Personally I think parents should strive for both and not just simply rely on the easy route.
So, it's a pretty hard position to understand, but it's an important one to try and gain some level especially if it involves your children and it's absolutely worth the effort. So instead of using the cliches and assuring your children how beautiful they are the next time they come home upset because they're the only brown kid with curly hair on the playground, learn how to deal with the bigotry, teach them, validate their feelings, educate them, expose them to children and places where they won't be teased, and get out of your safe place, so you can create one for your child.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Coming to terms with the end
I've been reading this book called the Secret Daughter. It's one of my bookclub books and a really good read. I'm about 3/4 of the way through it in less than 24 hours, which gives you an idea of how good it is, even for a speedy reader like me. Anyhow, in it, there is a lot of feelings of resignation. A woman facing infertility, a woman giving up her daughter to an orphanage, a woman dealing with the fact that she's never had a daughter.
We're pretty sure we're finished having children. At least biologically. There are many good things about this. It's tough having three, when we're outnumbered. It's taken a toll on my body with a tougher pregnancy, an irritable uterus and post partum depression. I'm looking forward to continuing losing weight and eventually getting a reduction and tummy tuck (whole new post there around body image and women's contradicting feelings on it!). The lack of sleep, the lack of time, the lack of energy. I'm looking forward to being able to do more heavy duty travel without heavy duty gear, finishing up potty training and just moving on with the second stage of our lives without diapers, strollers and sippies.
Still, there is a sense of mourning around it. I hold Baby D and think about how this could be the last time he does this or that. When he outgrows an outfit, I think about how much I loved it and how cute my babies looked in it and I might as well pack it away for a friend or donation. Still, it's hard for me to bring myself to do that at this point. I think about trying to get as much cuddle time in when he falls asleep in my arms, but there is always something else that needs to be done...at least on weekends. Trying to document everything and scolding myself for falling behind on taking pictures. I try to remind myself that he is only 4 months old and I have a lot of baby time left, but somehow time seems to be flying by all the more faster now.
In reading the book, I also felt that pang of gender disappointment creep back up on me. I really did want a girl. Not so much for the pink or shopping, but just that sense of comraderie. Last night as we were eating dinner, the guys in the house decided to start lifting up their shirts to show off their muscles. Nothing wrong with that and chances are a girl would probably join in, but I kinda felt left out amidst the cuteness and giggles. But there is also that shared experience of periods and sexism and female power and perhaps even pregnancy and rearing children from an entirely female perspective that I'm not going to pass on my eternal and life changing wisdom. (Okay, a little grandiose, but I have a high opinion of myself *g*). Sometimes a female perspective is just different from that of men, and while I might be lucky enough to have a great daughter in law and to share a great bond, I'd love to be able to work on that bond from a young age.
I told Dearest about this and he immediately launched into "We can adopt!" "You're still a young woman, we can have another!" etc. Adoption may very well be an option for us, but pregnancy is probably right off the list, or at least as much as the Mirena promises it to be...and it better live up to that promise! However I don't think he truly understands what its like, some perspectives are uniquely female and feeling a little glum over this isn't something that can be fixed quickly.
It's going to be a great future. I'm looking forward to many new stages, and not, but I suspect there will be many greats and maybe if we do adopt, I will get that daughter. But for now, I'm trying to give myself some space to mourn and feel a sense of goodbye as I close a chapter of my life. I'm hoping this is a normal feeling and I'm not just some drama queen moping over the fact. I feel very grateful to have been able to have my children. Not too long ago, it didn't seem at all possible, but we've been blessed by three very great boys. It's not an overwhelming sadness that I say goodbye to my bearing children, but just a quiet and thankfully small mourning, but it's still there, ready to take a nip out of me every now and then.
We're pretty sure we're finished having children. At least biologically. There are many good things about this. It's tough having three, when we're outnumbered. It's taken a toll on my body with a tougher pregnancy, an irritable uterus and post partum depression. I'm looking forward to continuing losing weight and eventually getting a reduction and tummy tuck (whole new post there around body image and women's contradicting feelings on it!). The lack of sleep, the lack of time, the lack of energy. I'm looking forward to being able to do more heavy duty travel without heavy duty gear, finishing up potty training and just moving on with the second stage of our lives without diapers, strollers and sippies.
Still, there is a sense of mourning around it. I hold Baby D and think about how this could be the last time he does this or that. When he outgrows an outfit, I think about how much I loved it and how cute my babies looked in it and I might as well pack it away for a friend or donation. Still, it's hard for me to bring myself to do that at this point. I think about trying to get as much cuddle time in when he falls asleep in my arms, but there is always something else that needs to be done...at least on weekends. Trying to document everything and scolding myself for falling behind on taking pictures. I try to remind myself that he is only 4 months old and I have a lot of baby time left, but somehow time seems to be flying by all the more faster now.
In reading the book, I also felt that pang of gender disappointment creep back up on me. I really did want a girl. Not so much for the pink or shopping, but just that sense of comraderie. Last night as we were eating dinner, the guys in the house decided to start lifting up their shirts to show off their muscles. Nothing wrong with that and chances are a girl would probably join in, but I kinda felt left out amidst the cuteness and giggles. But there is also that shared experience of periods and sexism and female power and perhaps even pregnancy and rearing children from an entirely female perspective that I'm not going to pass on my eternal and life changing wisdom. (Okay, a little grandiose, but I have a high opinion of myself *g*). Sometimes a female perspective is just different from that of men, and while I might be lucky enough to have a great daughter in law and to share a great bond, I'd love to be able to work on that bond from a young age.
I told Dearest about this and he immediately launched into "We can adopt!" "You're still a young woman, we can have another!" etc. Adoption may very well be an option for us, but pregnancy is probably right off the list, or at least as much as the Mirena promises it to be...and it better live up to that promise! However I don't think he truly understands what its like, some perspectives are uniquely female and feeling a little glum over this isn't something that can be fixed quickly.
It's going to be a great future. I'm looking forward to many new stages, and not, but I suspect there will be many greats and maybe if we do adopt, I will get that daughter. But for now, I'm trying to give myself some space to mourn and feel a sense of goodbye as I close a chapter of my life. I'm hoping this is a normal feeling and I'm not just some drama queen moping over the fact. I feel very grateful to have been able to have my children. Not too long ago, it didn't seem at all possible, but we've been blessed by three very great boys. It's not an overwhelming sadness that I say goodbye to my bearing children, but just a quiet and thankfully small mourning, but it's still there, ready to take a nip out of me every now and then.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Advocacy
I've been trying to think of what to write all this morning when the post kind of jumped on me. I was sitting having a coffee after running an errand at the grocery store. You know when you're staring off into nowhere not even really recognizing what you're seeing? Well, I was doing that. In my line of sight, I discovered was a mom feeding her baby a bottle. I didn't realize it until she said
"Yeah, I know it's a bottle and I feel bad about that."
I woke up and rather elegantly responded "Huh?"
She told me "You were watching me feed my baby and I just wanted to let you know that yes I do feel guilty about giving him a bottle."
I said "Why?" Obviously my vocabulary has been limited to one word answers today, it is a Monday after all.
She started to tear up a bit and told me with a shakey voice, "Well, because it's not best for my baby, but I tried breastfeeding him and I don't have enough milk."
I felt her, really REALLY felt for her, anyone who has read my blog knows the problems I've had with breastfeeding and the encounters I've had with "well meaning" people about it. I went through my bag and pulled out the formula I had bought and said "Dude" (I say dude a lot) "You're not getting any judgment from me!"
She looked very relieved. I told her that I too had problems breastfeeding and after umpteen different experts, meds, herbs, water, oats, yadda yadda I just didn't have it in me-the milk that is. During this process she had told me how she had been approached on several occasions in her mom groups, classes strangers about "doing what's best for her baby" (Seriously, if I can borrow a term from the Childfree by Choice crowd, this is a Bingo and a half!). She had been told about how her child was going to turn out fat, stupid, sick. It was freaking deja vu. This was her first baby and she was traumatised enough with adjusting to life with new child, let alone every freaking person with too much time on their hands telling her that she was doing a shitty job at it. I told her the first thing that came to my head, something I should have said over 5 years ago when I was dealing with these people. "You tell them to go to Hell!" She kinda laughed, I smiled and said "Seriously. It's none of their bloody business and you're doing your best by the baby." I told her how brilliant and healthy my 5 year old is, and how evil and healthy my 3 year old is and how inconceivably cute and healthy my 4 month old is, which she witnessed first hand. I told her that being a new mom is hard enough, to not listen to people who felt the need to criticize her no matter how well intentioned they were. Maybe because I'm of inferior intelligence having been fed formula when I was a child, but I have a hell of a time picking out this mysterious caste system of superior breast fed children and the unwashed masses like me and said as much to her.
Now, this does seem to be a rant in one direction and dangerously coming close to me just taking off with that (and yes I love ranting, deal with it!) but it's more a lights on moment for me. Why the hell didn't I say this 5 years ago? True, I didn't know how awesome my kids would turn out (when they're not being evil little despots) but truly I knew that how I fed them was no ones business. I was a lot more outspoken 5 years ago, why didn't I give them the verbal smackdown they so obviously needed? Because I'm terrible at advocating for myself. And you know what? I'm not alone. As I had this brainiac moment, I remembered a post on my FB from a friend wondering why she's so terrible at advocating for herself when she has pretty much levelled cities in advocating for her child. I talk to moms, women of all persuasions all the time who are intelligent, gutsy, cheeky people, who have no problems going Incredible Hulk on behalf of their kids, family, friends, colleagues, strangers! But true to form, they come last and all of a sudden, that ferocity is gone. I'm no different, not in the least. I've gotten up in the face of drug dealers, police officers...people who carry guns! And yet, if my doctor reads me the riot act because I'm overweight, even though I've dropped 10 pounds in the past 10 weeks, I crumple...and seriously, my doctor is 5'0 and 90lbs soaking wet, with a voice like one of the Mole Sisters, I can take her! Do we not feel that same amount of entitlement for ourselves that would have people treating us as well as our loved ones? Apparently not! Maybe we use it up, maybe we just don't think that highly of ourselves, but that needs to be changed, on the quick!
I started thinking of ways to be a better advocate for myself and I think I've stumbled upon something. We all have people who love and care about us, and if we don't, then you need some, I'll pinch hit if need be, just keep me supplied with wine and cookies. Think of yourself and how riled up you get when one of your friends has been treated poorly. Think of how you want to come to their defense and rip a new one for whoever has treated them poorly. Now reverse that. I'm going to try and picture what my gal pals would say on my behalf if I'm being treated poorly. I'll use the quickness of one, the snarkiness of another, the reasoning diplomacy of the third, the eloquence of a fourth and the kick in the head ninjaness of the fifth. Combined, they will be SuperJoyDefender! Taking Shit from no one!!!! Or I could just picture my mother, but I'd probably end up in prison, not so good on a resume for a mother of 3.
Those are actually two methods for the blog price of one. You can either draw that strength and logic and objectivity up from how you would respond if your friend was being treated this way, or you can channel them into defending you.
*Waiting for the applause*
Okay, maybe not so much the applause, but I would be interested in some feedback by folks who are interested in trying it for themselves. I need to channel my inner asskicking friend as I'm about to fire someone and will use my diplomatic friend to do so in the most awesome terms. I will let you know how it goes when I discover the fallout...which I'll weather, somehow. I need to find a fallout friend that I can channel. Too bad most of my friends are great at staying out of trouble.
"Yeah, I know it's a bottle and I feel bad about that."
I woke up and rather elegantly responded "Huh?"
She told me "You were watching me feed my baby and I just wanted to let you know that yes I do feel guilty about giving him a bottle."
I said "Why?" Obviously my vocabulary has been limited to one word answers today, it is a Monday after all.
She started to tear up a bit and told me with a shakey voice, "Well, because it's not best for my baby, but I tried breastfeeding him and I don't have enough milk."
I felt her, really REALLY felt for her, anyone who has read my blog knows the problems I've had with breastfeeding and the encounters I've had with "well meaning" people about it. I went through my bag and pulled out the formula I had bought and said "Dude" (I say dude a lot) "You're not getting any judgment from me!"
She looked very relieved. I told her that I too had problems breastfeeding and after umpteen different experts, meds, herbs, water, oats, yadda yadda I just didn't have it in me-the milk that is. During this process she had told me how she had been approached on several occasions in her mom groups, classes strangers about "doing what's best for her baby" (Seriously, if I can borrow a term from the Childfree by Choice crowd, this is a Bingo and a half!). She had been told about how her child was going to turn out fat, stupid, sick. It was freaking deja vu. This was her first baby and she was traumatised enough with adjusting to life with new child, let alone every freaking person with too much time on their hands telling her that she was doing a shitty job at it. I told her the first thing that came to my head, something I should have said over 5 years ago when I was dealing with these people. "You tell them to go to Hell!" She kinda laughed, I smiled and said "Seriously. It's none of their bloody business and you're doing your best by the baby." I told her how brilliant and healthy my 5 year old is, and how evil and healthy my 3 year old is and how inconceivably cute and healthy my 4 month old is, which she witnessed first hand. I told her that being a new mom is hard enough, to not listen to people who felt the need to criticize her no matter how well intentioned they were. Maybe because I'm of inferior intelligence having been fed formula when I was a child, but I have a hell of a time picking out this mysterious caste system of superior breast fed children and the unwashed masses like me and said as much to her.
Now, this does seem to be a rant in one direction and dangerously coming close to me just taking off with that (and yes I love ranting, deal with it!) but it's more a lights on moment for me. Why the hell didn't I say this 5 years ago? True, I didn't know how awesome my kids would turn out (when they're not being evil little despots) but truly I knew that how I fed them was no ones business. I was a lot more outspoken 5 years ago, why didn't I give them the verbal smackdown they so obviously needed? Because I'm terrible at advocating for myself. And you know what? I'm not alone. As I had this brainiac moment, I remembered a post on my FB from a friend wondering why she's so terrible at advocating for herself when she has pretty much levelled cities in advocating for her child. I talk to moms, women of all persuasions all the time who are intelligent, gutsy, cheeky people, who have no problems going Incredible Hulk on behalf of their kids, family, friends, colleagues, strangers! But true to form, they come last and all of a sudden, that ferocity is gone. I'm no different, not in the least. I've gotten up in the face of drug dealers, police officers...people who carry guns! And yet, if my doctor reads me the riot act because I'm overweight, even though I've dropped 10 pounds in the past 10 weeks, I crumple...and seriously, my doctor is 5'0 and 90lbs soaking wet, with a voice like one of the Mole Sisters, I can take her! Do we not feel that same amount of entitlement for ourselves that would have people treating us as well as our loved ones? Apparently not! Maybe we use it up, maybe we just don't think that highly of ourselves, but that needs to be changed, on the quick!
I started thinking of ways to be a better advocate for myself and I think I've stumbled upon something. We all have people who love and care about us, and if we don't, then you need some, I'll pinch hit if need be, just keep me supplied with wine and cookies. Think of yourself and how riled up you get when one of your friends has been treated poorly. Think of how you want to come to their defense and rip a new one for whoever has treated them poorly. Now reverse that. I'm going to try and picture what my gal pals would say on my behalf if I'm being treated poorly. I'll use the quickness of one, the snarkiness of another, the reasoning diplomacy of the third, the eloquence of a fourth and the kick in the head ninjaness of the fifth. Combined, they will be SuperJoyDefender! Taking Shit from no one!!!! Or I could just picture my mother, but I'd probably end up in prison, not so good on a resume for a mother of 3.
Those are actually two methods for the blog price of one. You can either draw that strength and logic and objectivity up from how you would respond if your friend was being treated this way, or you can channel them into defending you.
*Waiting for the applause*
Okay, maybe not so much the applause, but I would be interested in some feedback by folks who are interested in trying it for themselves. I need to channel my inner asskicking friend as I'm about to fire someone and will use my diplomatic friend to do so in the most awesome terms. I will let you know how it goes when I discover the fallout...which I'll weather, somehow. I need to find a fallout friend that I can channel. Too bad most of my friends are great at staying out of trouble.
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