Now you see it, now you don’t

I inherited my love of photos from my mom. Not my love of photography, just my love of photos. There was never anything too mundane or cliche or cheesy that my mom wouldn’t pose in front of for a photo. My favorite memory of a family photograph is still from the 2005 Christmas cruise we all took together. Anyone who has cruised will be familiar with the “formal” nights where professional photographers will set up photo shoot locations throughout the main lobby of the ship. One of these inevitably will be with the captain of the ship. This is supposed to be a bit of an honor and at the very least, you’re supposed to behave yourselves and be polite; generally, it is also the photo op with the best location and background. On our cruise, it was halfway up the grand staircase with the formal Christmas tree towering behind the captain. So we took the obligatory picture with the captain and painted on our practiced family photo smiles. Then my mother, without any compunction or irony, asks the captain to please step aside and out of the photo so we could get a family photo. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man look more shocked, distressed, and awkward (this is probably an indication that my life is overly sheltered). But you know what? It made a great family photo. That almost mollifies the depths of our embarrassment that day . . .

Now, coming from a family that believes deeply in capturing every moment on film, it’s no wonder that I have had a camera for as long as I can remember. I bought my first digital in the late 90’s when such things were ridiculously expensive. And yet, I still had my eye on that digital SLR camera that supposedly made you a semi-pro overnight. When we found out we were expecting, it seemed like the perfect time to finally indulge in this semi-expensive whim and “invest” in a nice camera (and camcorder, but that’s an entirely different topic). So I did the usual unnecessarily endless amount of research into different dSLR cameras and found the one I wanted. Little did I know that was the easy part.

If I thought baby photography was difficult, trying to capture that fleeting smile or trying to inspire a repeat of a fleeting, endearing moment or behavior, it’s got nothing on toddler photography. Once those babies get mobile, it’s a whole new ball game. I could fill dozens of albums with the blurry photos I have taken of our daughter, and this is with a dSLR that has almost no lag in start-up and a minute shutter lag. Part of the problem is lighting. We have a dark house (great for insulation, terrible for photography). We spend a lot of time in our house. And I hate how a flash washes out the color saturation of a photo and I have been too lazy (and cheap) to buy a nice auxiliary flash. So, take pictures outside, you say . . .

Yeah, so we’ve tried this too. Part of the problem is that you can either corral a child, or you can photograph a child. It’s quite difficult to do both. And most places that you can bring your child to where he or she will be happy and entertained (and therefore smile) are also places where you might want to keep a hand ready to assist your young child: the park or playground, children’s museums, play places, a river with fascinating ducks, etc. Now, you are obviously able to keep an eye on your child through your camera, but it’s awfully hard to help a child sit down at the top of the slide and frame the perfect shot at the same time (trust me, I know this from personal experience – apparently it is not acceptable to continue to frame the shot and risk your child falling down the slide, as I now know – sorry honey). So here are my suggestions for toddler (or mobile baby) photography, although I am certainly still open for any and all suggestions as the ratio of blurry to good photos is still something like 1000:1. But these actions might help:

(1) invest in a dSLR (yes, pricey, but the quick shutter speed and future interchangeability of lenses is important)

(2) buy the largest memory card you can afford, in fact, buy a couple

(3) buy extra hard drive space – you will fill it fast with #2 above

(4) try to get good ambient light for the environment (e.g. turn on some overhead lights or better yet, shoot outside on slightly overcast days) or buy a good auxiliary flash (unlike me – it’s on my to-do list)

(5) frame a wide shot and using autofocus (if you’re still an amateur like me), autofocus on your child, but don’t take the shot yet (a nice wide shot will allow you to capture general movement around the space and you can always crop later)

(6) keeping the camera at the right height, look up away from the viewfinder and interact with your child, and then start taking lots of pictures and hope for the best

(7) conversely, you can try to sneak up on your child and take some good candids using steps 1-4 above; I find this difficult as the second I get out the camera, our child stops doing whatever adorable thing she was doing and is immensely interested in the camera (well, in acquiring said camera and gumming it and tearing it apart to figure out its inner workings)

(8) invest in a photo editing software and learn how to use it (I’m still working on the latter, so if you figure it out, could you send me a tutorial?)

(9) relax and have fun – worse comes to worse, whip out that camcorder and just go with the flow

I’m sure all of this was common sense, but I had to figure these out and maybe this will help another new parent trying to figure out how to capture these transient moments before their “babies” are all grown up and off to kindergarten. In the meantime – happy shooting.

Piggy Back Rides

This is the sequel to the stroller post – our neo-hippie attachment parenting gear. The Baby Bjorn was a major timesaver when she was younger. Although we did use the stroller to take her from the car to our destination and around said location if she was asleep in her carseat when we arrived, this almost never happened. Our baby, adorable and brilliant as she is, is allergic to sleep. Apparently something about not being awake to experience every last moment inspires in her deep anxiety and panic. But I digress once again . . . so we used the stroller occasionally at stores, we brought it on vacation and trips to haul around her carseat that we traveled with, and we went on long walks to the park and the zoo and around the neighborhood in it. But just as often, or really, more so I admit, we used our Baby Bjorn carrier. Again, there are lots of carriers out there, but why save money when you can blow part of her college fund on the accessories of her infancy and toddler years? And as an added bonus, it really is one of the best reviewed carriers on the market.

So we have nothing really extraordinary to say about the Bjorn really. It is small and we left it primarily in the car so we would have it anywhere. It fit in the bottom basket of the stroller and that was convenient too. And more importantly, our baby loved it - no matter where we went or how disgruntled she was with the car ride (this is before the "Brain Rot" blog about the car DVD system), the instant she was snapped into the Bjorn, there was peace on Earth as far as she was concerned. She loved being at adult height, she loved being held, she loved being able to freely kick her legs and wave her arms. It was a beautiful thing. But apparently we may have used it slightly beyond what is customary. We realized this when she was 16 months and two things happened: (1) strangers kept staring and pointing when they saw her in the Bjorn (and very helpfully, one woman said pointed to her partner "see, you can still use it when they are much, much bigger") and (2) I caught sight of the two of us in the mirror when she was in the Bjorn and realized how ridiculous we looked as she was half my height. She's always been a lean child, so strapping her in wasn't a problem, but I did notice we had to, uh, push a bit and pull a bit to get her in when the weather became cooler. Okay, so on to the new and currently preferred carrying system (that is, when she allows us to carry her and doesn't insist on running everywhere herself, or isn't permanently perched on my hip). The back pack carrier . . .

For once, I didn't do a ton of research in finding and purchasing this. It was more of an impulse buy as I was stocking up at the local Babies 'R Us. I remembered those amused looks from strangers about the Bjorn (she was 16 months old by then) and decided to add one of the back pack carriers in the adjacent aisle to our cart. It's a Chicco and although this is entirely superfluous, matched the deep red of our stroller (this somehow reassured me that it was the right one, despite the fact that we would never have both the stroller and the carrier out at the same time).

And I have to admit, it's worked out pretty well on the one long vacation that we brought it on. It folds relatively flat for travel, but is too tall and bulky to be given any extra points for portability. It has nice padding everywhere, although anything would be an improvement over the spine crushing weight the Bjorn was starting to confer on longer trips (hefting an extra 25 pounds from your shoulders for hours is not a minor discomfort). It has a five-point harness which I like, and more importantly, has a very large canopy which is a great advantage over the Bjorn (I would often carry a big floppy hat to hold over our hat-a-phobe baby's head). Two main disadvantages to the back pack carrier over the Bjorn surfaced quickly however.

Getting the baby carrier on is, shall we say, difficult. The baby is strapped in while the carrier is in a stable open position on the ground. No problem, as any mobile parent has used five-point harnesses on strollers and carseats hundreds of times by the point their child is 18 months old. But then you have to somehow magically transport said baby strapped in carrier on the ground, onto your shoulders and stand up. This feat is worthy of Cirque Du Soliel. First, I would sit cross-legged on the ground with my back to the carrier, then carefully wind my arms through the straps, behind my back (like an incredibly heavy and badly tailored, narrow jacket). Then I would strap the waist band around my waist, and here comes the fun part, slowly rock forwards shifting my weight to my hands as I moved my legs out from under me until I looked like a more vertical cat on her hands and knees. Then ever so carefully, and minding the fact that my now alarmed child is clutching my hair painfully and firmly, I would plant my feet and slowly lift from the legs to standing. Years of latent ballet skills came in quite useful here. Luckily, we figured out that a large, sturdy table made a far better location for insertion and removal of baby.

Also, you don't fully appreciate the larger foot print you and your carrier make until you enter a store, or a crowded area, and realize that you have become a minor King Kong in your ability to destroy store displays and knock people down at will or whim. The Bjorn is a very trim package. It is easy to maneuver any crowded area with your baby securely tucked under your chin, which is one of the reasons we used it so often. Not so the back pack carrier . . . I think there may still be entire tourist areas throughout the Caribbean that we visited that have banned us from their port. Ah well. At least our baby didn't run off in the crowds to join a motorcycle gang and her translucent, fair English skin didn't burn to a crisp within seconds of being outside. Oh, and once her deep and real fear of being dropped receded, she quite enjoyed being transported around all of those lovely areas that we visited (which is good, because we may not be allowed back).

But in the end, stroller, Bjorn, back pack carrier . . . the preferred mode of transportation for our baby is still balanced on one hip with a firm arm around her waist and her tiny arm around my shoulder. Not the easiest way to get things done, but for now, it's still incredibly sweet, and she will be too heavy one day soon for this half-hug transport system.

Milk, milk, everywhere

One of the more heated debates in motherhood these days is breastfeeding versus formula and some variation thereof. The public health campaign of “breast is best” has had both positive and negative effects on new mothers everywhere. On one hand, more woman are trying breastfeeding than in a generation (both my husband and I as well as many friends in our generation were bottle fed). Many scientific studies, both laboratory and population based, have found the benefits of breast milk on various development systems in infants, both physical and mental. The evidence seems mounting that overall, breast milk has definite positive effects on an infant, both the actual content of the milk as well as the psychological effects on the bond between mother and child, and the physiological benefits to the mother. But in all of this positive propaganda, a murkier, more subtle negative undertone pervades. If “breast is best,” then what do we make of women who “choose” to bottle feed?

Well, as in all matters regarding parenting, it’s just not quite that simple. First of all, breastfeeding isn’t instinctive and easy as the campaign (or Hollywood) would have you believe. Some women have real difficulties producing enough milk, or have some physical problem early on which creates difficulties resulting in a lowered production, resulting in further difficulties satiating a hungry newborn. Some newborns have actual physiological difficulties latching on due to the shape of their mouths and tongues. Also, more cesarean sections are performed than ever before, and newborns are often given a bottle or two or more of formula in the hospital while new moms are recovering and dads and other caregivers assisting the recovering mom continue to give bottles of formula upon arrival home. In addition, many women have short maternity leaves and cannot or do not wish to pump upon return to work and this has a strong impact on continued breastfeeding after the initial weeks. All of these reasons, and many more reasons, mean that fewer woman are breastfeeding. But the pressure remains from doctors and the public health community and perhaps even friends and family to breastfeed, when perfectly valid barriers exist to prevent many women from breastfeeding at all or as long as they may wish.

So in addition to sleep deprivation, overwhelming anxiety to be successful at parenting, an almost obsessive-compulsive watch over weight gain (baby’s not mama’s) to measure ability to thrive, and still finding time for the basic daily needs of food and shower (or at least a vigorous brushing of the teeth and mouth wash), new moms are also under pressure to succeed at breastfeeding and to continue to do so for the 6 month recommendation from the CDC and public health and doctors. I would personally encourage anyone and everyone to give it a good try (“good” in my opinion being at least two weeks when your milk has finally come in and should be at it’s highest supply and latching has become more accomplished by baby). However, I would also strongly emphasize that anything to allows a new mom to be the best mom she can be for her baby, is what is best for that baby.

Stress and anxiety will not help either mom or baby, and an entire generation or two of children have been raised on formula and thrived and succeeded just fine. Breast or bottle, children respond best to moms who are (relatively) well rested and happy and comfortable in their new roles. No amount of health benefits from breast milk are worth the amount of guilt and grief many new moms face when turning to formula and bottles. It’s not poison, it’s not even a poor substitute, it’s just food, and the baby will be fine, really and truly. There are enough worries, real and otherwise, that face parents today, let’s at least agree that as long as baby is fed, we’re doing just fine. Now if we could only find a surefire way to get them to sleep . . .

[in the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that we are still nursing at 21 months, only at bedtime and first thing in the morning, and when we wean is a topic for another day and another post . . . ]

Baba Gaga Wawa, oh My!

Babies are funny little things. One minute,  you’re up to your eyeballs in dirty diapers and dirty clothes and dirty dishes and for that matter, a dirty house and just plain dirt . . . and the next moment they are chattering about the big dog they saw yesterday while putting on their own shoes and walking out to the car. It all goes by both tauntingly too slow (as all sleep-deprived parents can state) and much too heartbreakingly fast. So when it comes to accelerating the process from baby to adolescent, there are a few areas in which we would happily linger and procrastinate.

For instance, there were several words that our baby learned before she started vocalizing clearly that were apparent only to us as her daily companions. She calls diapers “baba” and water “wawa” and eye glasses “gaga” (although she also refers to tigers as “gaga” so context is important). My sister, who is younger and single and without child, in her infinite wisdom has questioned our continued use of these words as discouraging proper speech (to be fair, she is the most vocal critic, but hardly the only one – others are probably just more tactful). She was also one of several folks who were also concerned about our use of sign language to communicate with our preverbal child. But there’s nothing quite so satisfying for baby or parent when a need is communicated effectively and met instantly, especially if that need happens to be a change of “diaper” or to “eat” or “more” or for “milk” to drink. And there is nothing more endearing than to see her sign “please” (and say “peas!”) and sign “thank you” (“took-you”), even if it is only in the pursuit of more chocolate from the chocolate cupboard.

Now, we understand her concerns, but when you have a baby who is too precocious to remain a baby for long, there are certain idiosyncrasies you cherish and encourage to prolong this sweet and transient phase. What we would give to hear her say “nnnnnnnnoooooo” again in that sweet drawl or “yesshhh” or “dooooooorrrr” these are the moments that fill your heart and embrace your soul. Of course, we also relayed to my sister that her fears were unfounded and our 18 month old daughter often says quite proudly, “daddy says ‘water,’ baby says ‘wawa’ . . . mama says ‘water,’ ‘baby says ‘wawa’ . . . “

This holds true for grammar as well, at least for now. Trying to make the distinction between personal pronouns for a toddler is beyond my current level of mental exhaustion and parental patience. One day, we may regret this decision, but for now, her ability to communicate her wants and needs and ready affection are good enough for us. So if she wants to fetch me my gaga in the morning so I can change her baba while she sips on her wawa, I’m fine with that. Especially as she could very well demand her "cup of tea" to go with her "quiche" and the "motey" (remote) to watch her "Classical Baby" during breakfast.

To preschool or not to preschool . . .

We are grateful everyday for the simple fact that we both get to work from home and our daughter is watched by her nanny just upstairs from our home office. This meant that we didn’t have to choose between work and missing a single moment of her infancy, breastfeeding versus pumping or formula supplementation, dealing with recurring childhood illnesses, or concerns about safety or sanitation or enrichment of an out-of-home day care. This is not to say that there haven’t been other conflicts when it comes to how to parent or feelings of overwhelming guilt at not being able to spend more time with our baby, but at lease we can pop in anytime for a kiss and a cuddle. But our “baby” is quickly approaching two years old and the time has come to make a few decisions.

Although she has always been very social and appreciates the company of other babies (and children, but she still refers to them all as babies), she has also been granted the gift of one-on-one interaction since she was born. There is always a minimum of one adult interested in her actions and chatter and newly learned behaviors and a non-stop cheering section to reward her. For our efforts, she’s a confident, loving, happy child with an expanding vocabulary and a growing understanding of counting and reading and interactive role-play. She’s reasonably good at sharing (given that her natural instincts as a toddler is to hoard and protect) and is sweet and generally polite (again, given that they are natural sociopaths at this age) and compassionate about the pain and suffering of others (“baby cry!” is often followed by a soothing pat on the shoulder, which is an improvement from the sympathetic crying she used to engage in upon hearing a baby cry). But all of those admonishments to “be gentle” and “be kind” and to share and not to hit or shove or bite (luckily a very short and transient phase) or throw have caused her to be overly passive in a group setting.

It’s a fine line between raising a sweet, compassionate child and fostering a future victim of bullying. Her father’s solution to this dilemma is to train her in four martial arts and let nature sort it out. Practical as this may be, currently we have a sweet little girl who is often the victim of being pushed or shoved or sat on (which happens more often than one would think). But how do we correct this without going too far in the opposite direction?

And on a completely different vein, are we doing what is best for her to submerse in her a daily environment of mostly adult-to-child interaction? Would she benefit from greater contact with other children on a regular basis? Would she learn greater self-confidence and assertiveness if placed in a take or be taken environment (I thought kill-or-be-killed was a bit much for this example)? So we have come to the point when we must decide whether to start preschool when she turns two this summer or wait another year.

Selfishly, I love having her home with us and being able to hear your tiny, sweet voice at lunch and snack breaks calling out “mommy!” at the baby gate to the home office. I love how she runs unerringly into my arms and hugs me oh-so-tight and delivers a sloppy, wet kiss on my cheek (“kiss too!”) as she settles into my lap. Granted, I’m fully aware this is because I happen to be the gateway to her preferred addiction to Sesame Street on my computer, but I’m willing to take it wherever it comes. I have had the privilege and great pleasure of putting off actually leaving my child for work for almost two years. Can I willingly now place her somewhere out of the home for 8 hours a day? I have a hard enough time with business trips that take me out of town for a couple of days, knowing that I will have plenty of cuddles to come back to when I return. But is my selfish need for her time and attention preventing her from healthy social growth?

For now, we continue to do what we believe is best for her and give her all of the love and affection and time and attention that she needs. She will be two soon enough, and three too for that matter, much sooner than we would like. So why rush a decision that the future versions of us can handle when that time comes. For now, we’ll just enjoy our biweekly playdates and family outings to kid-friendly environments and memorize every cuddle and kiss for the inevitable day when she boards that kindergarten school bus for the first time.

Wheels!

The old saying goes, "be careful what you wish for," but maybe it should also include, "be careful what you threaten" as well. When I was a teenager, my parents and other relatives enjoyed teasing me about how my attitudes would change one day when I became a parent. Part of the middle-age package included the acquisition of a minivan. I swore up and down that I would never, ever, if the choice was a tricycle with a shoddy wheel or a minivan and I was being chased by an angry mob, would I ever buy a minivan. Luckily for me, my family is too gracious to tease me overly much when we had our baby and did indeed purchase a minivan (that, and being such harried, harassed parents gave them far more material to tease us about than just our wheels).

Now, it wasn't easy for me to give in to the pressures to get a minivan. I have always loved well engineered cars and agile handling, and in a past life, nothing gave me greater joy than driving an Audi S4 sports car and cruising the Golden Gate bridge at 80 miles an hour and then blithely dropping down a gear and passing another car at 90 miles an hour with mere nudge on the gas (obviously not in rush hour). Despite the fact that we paid more for our monthly car payments than many recent grads paid for their rent, it was a joy to drive. I'm slightly embarrassed to admit that there are even Audi clubs that would get together on the weekends to drive up the windy, twisty roads at "top speed" to the summit of Mt. Tam just north of San Francisco. And yes, we did that more than once too. And then there were the little drives down to Monterey and up to Napa in the vintage Porsche with the removable top (which you had to remove yourself prior to driving as this was 1970 and even Porsche owners couldn't expect everything to be automated) and the joy of class German engineering beneath and surrounding you. It doesn't hurt that I happened to be driving this vintage Porsche when I was side swiped by a drunk driver high on weed and I easily survived without a scratch (as did my car) while the other SUV was not so lucky. Anyway, the point of this is all to say that I really enjoyed cars that were a pleasure to drive.

So the first step down the rabbit hole was when we became far more practical and sold the fun toys of newly found financial independence and acquired a fun, but practical compact sedan instead. It was in this everyday sedan that we brought home our baby girl from the hospital. For the first couple of months, this was fine, as long as my 6'5" husband didn't mind bending like a pretzel to fit in the front seats, no one ever wanted to sit in the back, and we didn't need more than two bags of groceries (that impractically expensive stroller we discussed earlier took pride of place and volume in the trunk). So on a whim, a simple impulse, we decided to try out a minivan one weekend "just for fun" (and yes, this is one of many signs that our lives had changed irrevocably with the addition of a child).

And as the salesman opened up the dual automated side doors and the trunk and my tall husband sat up front and he showed us how to store the third row into the floor . . . we were in love. Gone were the days of struggling with an increasingly heavier combination of baby and carseat while fumbling with keys and doors and bending over to click her into the car. Gone were the days of folding like a pretzel, desperately hoping not to happen into an accident and have your body compress into a tangle of limbs and chest and head. Gone were the days of choosing between the stroller to take her around the stores and actually buying anything in the stores. Gone were the days of having visitors and family members rent a car because we couldn't fit them in our only car (well, this one is a debatable advantage actually, but that's an entirely different topic for another post). We were smitten. And this was before we were shown the DVD system (subject of a previous post) and the lojack and alarm systems (which were the bane of my existence when they continually warbled at 3am and woke everyone in the neighborhood including our newborn who had finally gone off just because a tiny flower or nut from the tree above the car dared to land on the roof). This was a very good thing and when the inventory showed that it was available that day in our favorite color, and they honored the price that we wanted to pay and gave us a good trade-in for the former compact car, we were out the door in our new set of wheels.

And there's just something to be said about being surrounded by that many tons of metal and space and airbags that cushions you against the taunting and jeering looks of loitering teenagers and their judgement (and this very observation of said teenagers is only further proof that we are firmly established a deeply middle-aged now). But while they jerry-rig the roof of their cars with a couple of jump ropes and some steadfast determination to drive home a piece of furniture they have salvaged from someone's refuse pile on the lawn, we can quickly transform our rolling living room into a cavernous space capable of any amount of damage to our Costco credit card or great deal from Craigslist. And once we figured out how to disable that incredibly aggravating alarm (after congratulating ourselves on paying for that last minute hard-sell impulse buy), we have never looked back. Someday I'm sure we will look back and realize just how dorky and yuppie we were driving around town with self-satisfied smirks on our faces at our superior choice, but for now, we'll push that sunroof button, pump up the volume on the Veggie Tales DVD, and let the good times roll.

Yours, Mine, Ours

I read an article recently about whether or not it is appropriate to discipline another child who is misbehaving, specifically at a playdate where you know both the parents and the child, although this may also be true in a public setting. The article concluded that you should never tell another parent how to parent and that you should never discipline someone else's child. Unfortunately, this kind of advice may leave your child open to harm, or at the least, the suggestion that these behaviors are tolerated in other children and open for mimicry.

Our toddler is 21 months old, which is the perfect age for bullying to begin. They are very mobile at this point and have a strong sense of possessiveness. Also, several children at this age may still be an only child, with baby #2 on the way (or not) and have not yet entered preschool. So the daily environment at home tends to cater to children getting their own way at this age. Also, communication tends to remain fairly simple as each child differs in vocabulary and expressiveness (although there's no mistaking the possessiveness of snatching a toy and shouting "mine!").

Throughout the winter, we have also had many more indoor playdates and "outings" than over the warmer months, so there has been a greater risk of children not wanting to share toys and playing in a confined space. All of this leads to the increased incidents of bullying in the last few months, covering a wide spectrum from a mild snatching of a toy to a more egregious hitting or shoving or even biting. And much of the time, a child who acts up regularly at playgroups or out in public is strongly correlated with a parent who ignores the behavior or explains away the behavior without any correction.

Now, while I agree that it is best for every individual to define parenting for themselves, at the same time, I will not allow my child to be placed in a harmful environment. I wouldn't allow her to play near a pool without supervision and swimming lessons, or to play near a lit fireplace, or to run around with sharp objects, why would I subject her to repeated incidents of bullying when I can prevent it? So for playgroups in someone's home or confined spaces where you know the temperament of the children and the parents, I think it is perfectly reasonable to remove your child from these situations when bullying becomes physically harmful, or even to leave the playgroup temporarily to see if the situation corrects itself.

For public play areas, or during a playgroup when you witness misbehavior, there is a difference between stepping in and diffusing a situation or setting a good example versus outright discipling another child. Any kind of actual discipline should remain at the discretion of the child's actual parent, but if another child hits or pushes or bites or throws something at my child, I will not stand by and allow it to progress. A firm "that's not nice and we don't hit/push/bite/throw," and distraction with other toys may help. If the situation heats up or is repetitive, removing your child to another part of the play area may also help diffuse the situation. But in the end, you may need to confront the parent of the misbehaving child and remove yourselves from the environment.

Many experts agree that children need boundaries and will naturally mimic behavior they observe in others. Children develop these boundaries, and an innate sense of morality, using the reactions of their parents, both positive and negative. Without any kind of positive or negative reaction to a behavior, children will assume that it is allowable and continue to act out in whatever manner they wish to express themselves. It is important therefore, to set an example AS the behavior occurs, not at some point later on when the child is no longer engaged in the act. Getting down at their level, looking them in the eyes, and using a firm tone to explain that the behavior is "not nice" and what is expected of them, is important to establishing these boundaries.

And hopefully in the end, they develop into adolescents who are self-confident and capable of working with others and compassionate towards one another. Or at the very least, they grow into kids who can play together for the hour it takes parents to unwind with one another and regain a sense of sanity in camaraderie without bashing each other in the face with a Tickle-Me-Elmo. Well, one can dream . . .

Not so planned obsolescence . . .

There are many different ways to transport a baby, here's what we've found to work in our household:

Stroller - Bugaboo

Yes, I read somewhere about this incredibly expensive, yuppie stroller that was the luxury import of all other strollers and this little yearning started in me - I had to have it. Or at the very least, I had to spend hours researching it and finding out if it really could kick the bottom of every other stroller out there. And I spent way more time reading up on the reviews and consumer review websites on this stroller (and most of the items below) than I would care to admit to our family and friends.

And the Bugaboo really was everything I wanted: it could reverse the handle bars or the seat within seconds; it came with a bassinet and a seat that could take the weight of a child up to a limit beyond my pushing abilities; it can take a carseat adapter that was compatible with our carseat (okay, so we bought the carseat based on available adapters, I'm a bit ashamed of that too); it folded flat and had a gorgeous minimalist design; and it came in many pretty colors. It maneuvers like a dream and has all-terrain tires and I felt like an incognito movie star when I pushed it around the neighborhood. I may not have showered in three days, my hair may permanently be in that ponytail/bun style, and I may be wearing yoga clothes nonstop, but nothing was more ego boosting and having that stroller as the perfect accessory to draw random eyes away from how unkempt I was behind the wheels. Now, there are actually strollers that are more expensive on the market (yes, husband, believe it or not!), but for the design quality, this was my convertible, European sports car, thank you very much.

Reality check (almost 2 years later): our baby hasn't been IN a stroller since she turned one and started to walk and then to run. So this great investment which was to sustain us through five years of her life has a much lower time-to-cost ratio than I had suggested to my husband . . . and my family . . . and close friends. It now occupies a very nice looking space in our front closet.

Oh, and despite my vehement arguments that we would never buy another stroller or ever need another transportation device if we had this stroller . . . I had to pick up a second hand Silver Cross stroller that I found online because it was the other stroller I desperately wanted. That stroller, although very smart looking and incredibly sturdy, is now languishing in our basement. I keep telling myself someday my grandchild will look absolutely precious and adorable in that stroller (or either since it looks like our stroller days are behind us).

Keepin' Up with the Joneses

. . . takes a lot of extra storage space and a sociopathic disregard for your checking account balance. There is no shortage of items to acquire when you first find out that you are expecting. There are chains of warehouse sized stores out there to cater to your every whim, and plenty of awe-inspiring boutique stores, not to mention the shoppers-paradise known as the internet. And with all of that mind blowing merchandise comes an impressive array of blogs and critiques and lists and guidelines as to what you will need and more importantly, what you will want. But there are the basics: crib, stroller, carseat, highchair, rocking chair, feeding equipment (e.g. bottles or pump or whatever), and diapers. Everything else is lovely, but again, auxiliary. And having free reign to search and find and acquire all of these wonderful items is every pregnant woman's dream (and secret obsession - I swear this is how I wore out my trusty laptop, not with the hours I spent actually working on it).

Growing up in a yuppie, upper middle class city near a major metropolitan city imbued in me a certain set of morals and a certain level of taste which I'm not always proud to admit to having to others. But there it is - I like nice things. Let me qualify that though: I like nice things that are (1) functional, (2) practical, (3) aesthetically pleasing, and (4) adorable. Unfortunately, we have found in the course of our baby equipment buying experience (and registering for our wedding and furniture shopping and life in general) that all of those criteria have one trait in common: they are expensive. So it's probably no surprise, certainly none to anyone who knows me well, that we went for some of the most expensive items out there. Some I admit, were less practical than my justifications of their cost would like to suggest, while others are real lifesavers (well, at least timesavers, which is synonymous when you're a busy parent).

The fancy stroller (and less fancy, but just as desired back up stroller) that was supposed to last five years (see "Getting Baby from A to B") are both in storage. The Scandinavian, solid wood Svan brand high chair that blew away the competition and that I had to have has been taking up valuable kitchen floor space ever since we started eating at counter height and the chair was made for table height. The Baby Bjorn travel crib (which is really something, given it's five pound weight and the five second set-up) and the rolling carseat (to combine stroller and carseat into one neat package and to avoid disassembling our day-to-day fancy carseat from the car) are both real timesavers while traveling. But having a child who is not the world's best sleeper (to put it mildly) has kept our travels to a minimum. So both of those are also in storage.

That beautiful, organic crib set and blankets that I couldn't pass up? Well, turns out that (a) blankets are not safe for infants and (2) our baby turns sleeping into a decathalon, so keeping a blanket on would be laughable and (3) if you cosleep with your baby until she is 8 months old, the lowest crib setting that you have to use negates the ability to use the crib skirt and apparently (4) crib bumpers are also a safety hazard. Regardless, those monkey sheets are adorable and she loves to use the monkey blankets to tuck her baby dolls in to sleep.

Also, that must-have, new age, hippy baby hammock that helps lower SIDS and soothe colic and helps newborns sleep better? Not so great for a baby who prefers to sleep on her stomach (yes, she was placed on her back in her bed, but we swear she learned to roll over early expressly in order to sleep on her tummy). It worked great as a night time swing, but then, the mechanical swing that plugs in and requires no human effort worked just as well. Oh, and said mechanical swing was also the snazziest on the market - also used for a grand total of two months before our not-so-petite baby tried to crab walk and houdini herself out of it.

Other baby must-haves had greater staying power. The cosleeper lasted longer - mostly because it became a home for her stuffed animal collection and toy bin. The Inglesina portable high chair we bring with us to every restaurant, although she rarely stays strapped in for an entire meal. Her Britax Advocate carseat is a real monster in size, but works like a dream. And her Haiku diaper bag keeps me organized and curtails my over-packing tendencies with its modest size. And although this is not technically baby gear, we have become psychologically dependent upon our minivan. It is a member of the family (with a name and everything) and makes parenting really just that much easier. And on days when you are running solely on fumes, that makes a difference.

So after all of those hours of research and bargain hunting and installation, parenting has been stripped to the necessary minimum of accessories: carseat, diaper bag, portable high chair, minivan. And in all honesty, it's quite freeing and lovely to lighten up. So the Joneses can have their plethora of baby gear - we're going to the park!

Language - A Mixed Bag

Now, we've all heard the phrase, "little pitchers have big ears," and my husband and I have tried very hard to curb our language since having a baby. We were pretty good the first week (honestly, we were so tired that our language resembled that of a toddler: bed, food, bed, water, bed, bathroom, bed, ick - what the hell is that?!?). But we relaxed a bit when we realized it would be weeks, months even, before she would start copying what we say. Unfortunately, it's a subtle, gentle slope into mimicry, and you seem to realize overnight that you now have a copy cat on your hands.

We had started her on sign language, and luckily the few key signs we knew didn't include anything embarrasing. But as is often the case, one day I dropped something heavy on my foot (or she might have thrown something heavy on my foot, both of which are equally likely) and I started to say "oh shhhh . . . oot!" For someone who's not into sports, this was a game-winning save. And seconds later, she could be heard going around saying "oh shoot!" Of course, then she also tried to say "sit!" which sounds a lot like the same four-letter word I had just avoided saying, so it's a bit of a wash on that one. And she happily continues to repeat phrases, with or without prompting.

Discipline becomes more difficult when they start to vocalize as well. Much as I try to correct certain behaviors, it's much harder when you are trying not to laugh. For instance, she likes to get water from the refrigerator door for her cup, take a couple of sips, then deliberately dump the rest on the floor, look at me smiling, and utter "oh Charlotte!" and sometimes an "oh shoot!" or an "uh-oh" as well. Or we'll try to teach her moderation and tell her she can only have "one" and hold up one finger, to which she will repeat "one" and hold up a finger, accept the treat, and then come back for another morsel a minute later. When you say "no, you've had your one piece" (and yes, it's usually chocolate here), she'll look at you winningly and say "one" and hold up her little finger and then say (and sign) "peas?" (please) and "took-oo" (thank you) unprompted. It's hard to hold out against that kind of blatant manipulation. And there's nothing more endearing than hearing that little voice ask for a "cup-a-tea?"

One of the more endearing side-effects of living with a little parrot however is that you also learn more about yourself. Little idiosyncrasies you may never have realized you possess are repeated often and eventually you realize where they learned all of these funny little actions. For instance, she went through a phase where she would hold her arms and hands out in a "I don't know" kind of expression and would answer questions with this cute little stance. This puzzled me for days until I finally asked my husband, "that's so cute, but I don't know where she picked that up" and then proceeded to do the exact same hand/arm motion. Or when she started to say "sorry" as she shoved past us to get somewhere - apparently I do this too in lieu of "excuse me."

For now, her vocabulary at 18 months was just over 200 words and none of them included words above a PG rating. So we'll just sit back and enjoy the ride and if every once in a while, we have some fun with it and teach her to repeat "fruit, peasant!" while pointing at her father and then her snack cabinet, or teach her to say "silly daddy" in response to anything her father states, well, that's just the perk of raising a child. Next up, the lyrics to "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-A-Lot.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

When you think about it, babies and toddlers are amazing. They are born with just the basics - the ability to "communicate" distress (hunger, pain, discomfort) and to bond (nothing expands your heart like those first, mutually mesmerizing stares). But within just a couple of years, their skills and abilities broaden exponentially to create the foundation of independence to serve them for a lifetime. And one of the key elements to this skill building is mimicry. Unfortunately, mimicry is indiscriminate in both positive and negative behaviors.

At first, they were cute little things. We went on a long trip together, and by the end of the first day, she had figured out how to use the room phone (mostly to annoy the front desk), use the remote control to turn the tv on and off and change channels and volume, and would desperately jab the key card she had lifted from daddy's wallet at the door in hopes of a quick escape. She had also learned to throw towels on the ground and unroll all of the toilet paper in each roll on the wall; slightly less useful skills, but kinda cute since we didn't have to clean it up.

Some skills are adorable and universally photo-worthy. Having her walk around in my 3" wedge slides or drinking from a ceramic mug the size of her head or "talk" on our cell phones or try to pay at the cashier's with our wallets . . . very cute. Asking for a tissue to "blow" her nose or pushing up her long sleeves, 80's-style, because mummy does it, or carrying around mummy's purse while holding a cell phone to her ear, or helping mummy make bread and patting the bottom of the measuring cup because mummy does it, all make lovely memories.

Other skills are a bit harder to come by and more worrying. Playing doctor apparently is more fun than going to the doctor, and she loves nothing more than to take her own temperature (temporal, ear, and under arm only) or use the nasal aspirator (and almost poke her eyes out) or try to give herself "white fairy juice" (acetaminophen). Apparently step stools are a little person's best tool and when coupled with a water fountain, can provide unlimited amusement (and a completely drenched outfit).

Trying to eat lasagna or pasta with her baby fork is something else to behold, and learning how to undress herself when you are desperately trying to dress her in the morning is just downright futile. Far cuter to watch her put her own jacket or socks or shoes on, then to constantly take them off while you are trying to get out the door. And then there's her complete refusal to learn to crawl up and down the stairs and stubborn insistence in walking up and down just like mummy and daddy. Not to mention her worrying habit of examining baby gates and safety harnesses and door locks and zippers (and increasing ability to manipulate said devices).

I personally like to blame my husband, mostly because (1) he has not yet read this blog and will probably not notice my finger pointing and (2) my parents cannot seem to remember my childhood in the same level of detail that his mother remember's his childhood. My husband was also a precocious child. When he was around 10 or so, a pharmacist showed his mother how to open a child-proof medicine container. She said "oh great, now you've shown him exactly how to do it" and the pharmacist laughed it off and said "he's only a child and it's child-proof." In response, she handed my husband the container and he opened it right up. Yup, these are the very genes at work in our daughter.

If you do something once in front of her, not only will this inspire further exploration and curiosity, but in all likelihood, she will now know how to do something else (often dangerous). So far, we have lucked out that she's both shorter and weaker than us. But this will only last so long seeing as she's in the 95th percentile for height and has been able to drag incredibly heavy (for her) items around for months. And we're pretty sure it's just downright weird that she exercises throughout the day and has done since she was tiny (bicep curls, squats, etc.). That's just not normal, right?? Anyway, we now toe that line between needing to live a normal life, and trying to hide certain actions from her (e.g. opening wine and beer bottles - you just never know).

But these exercises in patience and tolerance and a certain amount of blind faith in the survival of the species and our young are just the initiation rights to parenthood. Early tests for the big things to come like teaching them to ride a bike and therefore have access to a much bigger world or letting them drive for the first time on their own or go off to college thousands of miles away. For today, we'll stick with encouraging her to use a napkin instead of her shirt and holding that big ceramic mug with two hands, and enjoy this relative peace while she is still young.

One, Two, Many

The members of the Pirahã tribe have a counting system that consists of "one," "two," and "many." Here in the US, we can boast such media darlings as the Duggars or the OctoMom family or the Gosselins, or for that matter the Jolie-Pitts. There seems to be an explosion of pregnancies and babies everywhere. Statistically, the birth rate has actually started to increase for the first time in years. The babies of the baby boomers are now having babies themselves.

Just in the last two weeks, there have been 7 announcements from our close circle of friends of imminent babies that will arrive this summer. This is just to add to the other dozen or so friends and acquaintances who have made announcements in the last three months. Aside from being thrilled for our friends and wishing them the best, this also inspires in us (a) great anxiety about what's in the water, (b) the desire to buy stock in Babies R Us, and (c) a little betting game of "who's next" that makes complex NCAA championship office bets look like child's play (I hope that made sense seeing as neither of us knows anything about sports or works in an office). But a greater fear also arises - are we dooming our child to a life of solitude and strange-kid-status being a singleton? Should we have another child? Preferably in the next five minutes??

Many of the announcements these last few months have been from friends who are having their second or third child, and the number of only-child families in our playgroup dwindles daily (although the number of families intending on only having one child is minute, like one, like us). As it is, we try to remain diplomatic and open-minded about the possibility of another child, if only to maintain these new friendships and not get booted out as the strange, large-family-phobics that we may seem to be to others. But deep down, we are still quite committed about our one child policy. There are many reasons we have cited in the past about this policy when further questioned by family and friends.

College is expensive and will only become more expensive. Children who receive lots of time and attention early on thrive with one-on-one interaction. My husband was raised an only and I have a dicey relationship with my siblings at the best of times (also, they are much younger and therefore I was raised as an only for many years). We are enthralled with our toddler and can't imagine loving another child as much or taking any time or attention away from her. We really like sleep, I mean, really, really like sleep and we will only be older the next time around and less equipped to deal with chronic sleep deprivation. What if we end up with a psychotic sociopathic child? Okay, maybe that last one was a bit facetious of an argument.

Unfortunately for me, my biological clock is a heavy hitter (and therefore we were among the first of our friends to have a child) and I really adore babies, in the way that others might adore puppies or hot fudge sundaes. And the recent abundance of cuddly newborns and beaming, beatific pregnant friends inspire new feelings of envy and outright need in me that are harder to quash than before. I love cuddling other babies, dandling them from under their arms and admiring their tiny, perfect toes. I love the very smell of them and the way they snuggle into your arms. But, they are not mine and these moments are borrowed.

What I love more is my own baby, even if at 21 months she is very much a toddler and many steps out of the realm of infancy. But after years of cuddling delicious newborns, she was the first that they allowed me to keep. And despite all of the sleepness nights and the bone-crushing tiredness of chasing her around, she is the cuddliest and loveliest little creature that I have ever had the privilege to know. So in the end, what I realize that I really want is this: a time traveling device that will let me step back into those moments throughout her infancy and just relive every little sensation and then come back to the present to admire the bright, lively, happy, gorgeous little girl that we get to parent. Because I don't just want another newborn, I want MY baby, and I wouldn't mind if time stood still now and then and she could stop growing up quite so fast. But we are happy with the one, because she's this one, our one, and luckily we have many friends who are still willing to let me get my fix from cuddling their little ones. They can have their twos and many's, we still cherish and adore our one and only.

You could eat off of this floor - oh wait, you already did?

I was a bit of a hypochondriac in college - my medical file when I left was a healthy two inches thick. I should feel embarrassed or at least sheepish, but mostly I still feel a bit proud and that is sick and twisted (no pun intended). So you can imagine the hyperdrive that started as soon as I became pregnant. A good number of hard working, very nice waitresses have sustained the third degree from me about the contents of dishes and the menu and any microscopic trace of unpasteurized cheese or mercury-laced-fish or heaven-forbid-deli-meat. It didn't get much better when the baby was finally born and I was -that- parent that went around sanitizing everything she might touch in public. The edge of that restaurant table that she might chew, that disgustingly sticky high chair that was brought around (very infrequently as we bought a portable high chair almost immediately after she learned to sit upright), that infernal petri dish of germs that is the baby swing at the park, etc. And the octaves that my voice attained when I warned her away from the sandbox were both operatic and comical. But then, life happened.

She dropped her fruit bar on the grass at a picnic and well, it was her last fruit bar and she really loved it and had polished off the "emergency fruit bar" the day before. She decided that eating cheerios was much more fun when dumped on the carpet at home and picking them up one at a time. Some other kid at a playgroup decided that her fruit puree was interesting and wanted a sip before giving it back, or she decided that some other kid's sippy cup was more colorful and therefore worth trying out . . . and then she learned to kiss me with her lips. All of these things facilitate the passage of icky germs (and yes, "icky" is the technical, scientific term I am using here).

But over time, I relaxed and basically just gave up on many of these types of situations. I still wash my hands over twenty times of day (and therefore have doomed my hands and knuckles to a dry, leathery, blood-stained crackling finish, but that's another topic for a different blog), but rather than be the parent who freaks out and alienates everyone else, we deal with the occasional cold and "ick" factor that is parenting and childhood. Perhaps it was the time that we went out for the family-matinee showing of Mama Mia and I realized that she had a blow-out dirty diaper that had exploded all over both of us, or Christmas Eve morning when she threw up for the first and only time all of the spinach and pear puree (it's better than it sounds) over both of us or the time that projectile newborn-poop came flying in arc in front of my face and landed on everything within a three foot radius . . . Fear Factor has nothing up on parenthood. Bring it.

Sleep "Training"

We have discovered many new things as parents, some comical, some depressing, and some just outright nonsensical. Both of us love sleep. If you were to present us with a Vegas style buffet and a really comfortable bed, there would be no contest. The perfect weekend used to be a fun-filled Saturday followed by a good party that evening followed by the inevitable hangover on Sunday and a day of lounging in bed. There would of course be much sleeping in and napping throughout said days. So it came as an outright shock that we would give birth to a baby that seems downright offended by the idea of sleep.

It used to be funny when we were pregnant and she would rumble around at all hours of the day, giving a very accurate impression of an earthquake in the belly. It was less amusing when she was born and decided that life was far more interesting than sleep, even at the age of 1 week when her motor skills consisted of kicking her foot in and out or at 3 months when she practiced rolling over (and then complained about being on her stomach) or at 6 months when she rocked back and forth to prepare for crawling, etc. A hamster in its wheel had nothing up on our baby.

So like all sleep-obsessed parents, we fell into the usual traps: pacifier, swaddling, rocking, and holding. We had read "The Happiest Baby on the Block" and the "No Cry Sleep Solution" like any self-respecting hippy-liberal-treehugger, and thanks to all of that wonderful advice, our baby was swaddled and pacified and rocked for months while cosleeping for the hour at a time that she deemed necessary for sleep. These crutches, and our unwillingness to let her cry, resulted in a baby that didn't and couldn't sleep through the night on her own until she turned 1.

That was the day her father had had enough (luckily he's made of far sterner stuff than I, coming from a brutal, war-hardened place like England . . . ). He popped her in her crib, kissed her goodnight, told her he loved her, and then closed the door. And didn't go back in until morning. The first night, she cried for almost four hours nonstop, and then fell into an exhausted sleep. The second night, she cried for 45 minutes, and the third night 30 minutes. It was torturous, I would hate to relive it, but after three days of crying, she slept. And she has slept ever since.

There was the one anxiety-inducing day a few months back when we realized during an enforced nap, when she was not in her sleepsac that she was capable of climbing out of the crib. One moment she was complaining about her nap, the next she was over the rails, across the room, up on her rocker and sitting there looking petulant and unrepentant when we raced in. So we learned many things that day: (1) she can't be left in her crib without her sleepsac (custom made on Etsy because kiddopotamus sizes are too small for a toddler!), (2) she knows how to manipulate the zipper on her sleepsac so now she goes in with the zip up the back, and (3) she will only sleep if given no other option.

And then yesterday at 21 months old, she spiked a fever of 105 and was miserable. So we regressed to our namby-pamby ways and cuddled her and nursed her and gave her tylennol and decided she could fall asleep in our arms again until she drifted off. Well, she didn't drift off. She doesn't "just" drift off. So eventually, she was kissed and cuddled and told she was loved and then placed in her crib and left alone. After the requisite 30-second yelps of complaint, she was fast asleep. The same thing occurred again at midnight when the tylennol wore off and she needed another dose. So for all of the cynics who believe poor sleeping may be a phase, an age-related issue, our baby at least seems to defy such definitions. So we continue to abandon our baby, night after night, and she continues to complain for the typical minute, and then all is quiet. It's not what every parents dreams of, but I'm no longer losing sleep over it.

If Women Ran the World . . .

We've been hearing about these "mommy wars" for sometime. The battle lines are drawn many different ways: stay-at-home moms versus working moms versus hybrid moms (who apparently run on electricity alone rather than coffee? :); "traditional" moms versus hippy-liberal-cloth-diapering moms; trendy moms versus super-couponing moms; and so forth and so on. Now, I'm not suggesting that dads do not also have their allegiances and alliances and there are just as many categories dividing up the spectrum of modern-would-breastfeed-if-he-could-dad to the deadbeat-sperm-donor-dad, but having only ever been a mom, I'll try to stick with what I know (at least other moms will just lambaste me with evil eyes and critical comments - dads may very well come out of their minivans at me with baseball bats and dusty beer bongs).

This is a difficult country for a mom. We were raised in the post-feminist world in an academic environment that encouraged autonomy and ambition for girls equal, or greater, than boys. But we were also raised with the expectation of the whole package - job, husband, baby, house, car, pets, hobbies, etc. Unfortunately, as any woman who has tried to attain this "work-life" balance will tell you, the day is about 18 hours too short to make all of that possible. And there are major stresses for all types of moms today: the working mom goes off every day with a significant guilty chip worried about losing her job and worried about losing her child's affections; the stay-at-home mom worries about family finances and the burden of juggling multiple responsibilities at alleviate the tasks for their working spouses; the hybrid moms get both the benefits and burdens of both types of moms; and the single moms have stresses both unique and common to all of the other types of moms. Each case is different, every mom unique, and yet the struggle to have it all, to be it all, remains universal.

Part of the problem remains that we have "evolved" into a different society and community over the last century and with it comes a subtle, subconscious break down of the family. In the past, households were intergenerational. Grandparents would help to raise grandchildren while the parents were off to work. Even in households where multiple generations did not coexist, most families remained local to the regions where they were born and raised. This meant a large support network of grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. It indeed used to take a village to raise the next generation of children . . . today, apparently it takes abundant coffee and a calendar that would make airport transit schedules look simple and a well-stocked minivan. Oh, and a healthy nest egg wouldn't hurt . . .

We live in times where a single, high-income family or a double middle-income family household will still struggle for the assets that supported the lifestyles of our grandparents or even our parents. The ability to buy a house and two cars and put your 2-4 children through college is difficult for many middle-class families and will become increasingly more difficult over time. The current estimates suggest that a child born in 2010 will require at least $125,000 at birth, invested over 18 years, or $1,300 per month, every year over 18 years, to afford the $600,000 college bill that will be required for four years of private or out-of-state education. These numbers assume unregulated tuition hikes that are consistent to current trends without increased rates of inflation.

Recent articles have suggested that women now make up a greater proportion of the population, not just in the general community, but in college and post-college education. However, the numbers continue to be grim for comparisons of salary and rank within companies and professions. Of all of the many causes that have been examined, one of the more disturbing remains the "mommy-track." Among the industrialized nations, the USA falls last with regards to maternity leave (and in fact, shares rankings with such illustrious countries as Swaziland, Lesotho, and Botswana. Maternity leave in the USA is unpaid, and may be up to 12 weeks, but only for employees of middle to large corporations. Small corporations and businesses with less than 50 employees are not obligated to follow these guidelines.

What does it say about a country to places so little investment in the future of its children? Many double-income households are double-income due to economic necessity. However, even after the maternity leave period, child care is rarely provided or subsidized by companies, and not at all by governments, state or federal. The average median female income barely pays for the cost of daycare for one child, let alone multiple children. Is it any surprise then that there exists a "brain drain" of female talent among many industries at the age where women should be most valued. The career of the thirty-something woman is a pivotal point. She has completed her education for the most part and early training opportunities. This is the decade where she can begin to produce real products and establish her trajectory for the rest of her career. What do we say as an industrialized nation when we present her with the unenviable position of choosing between a long sabbatical from her career or the guilt-ridden hours at a job where the take-home salary just covers childcare?

These are difficult times . . . maybe it would be nice to reach across the aisles of the "mommy wars" and address some of these common concerns and worry less about the cloth vs disposable battle or the formula vs breastfeeding debate or the numerous "sleep training" methodologies out there. It should not be the American Dream to be able to afford to house, clothe, and educate your child. Perhaps it is naive, but it would be nice if this was the inalienable right of all children living in the wealthiest nation on Earth: a place to learn, a doctor to keep you well, healthy foods to help you grow, and a place to call home.

Brain Rot

We had the best of intentions when we set about having a baby and planning how to raise said baby. One of those absolutes was "we're not going to have a couch-potato-baby who watches television nonstop." Well, we made it six months before breaking that particular ideal. It was a subtle, gentle slide into temptation . . .

At first, we told ourselves that it was educational. We were one of those families that shelled out the big bucks for the entire "Your Baby Can Read" series of DVDs and books. This may have been helped by lack of sleep and those last few remaining brain cells being susceptible to power of suggestion from successful telemarketing approaches, but we're pretty sure deep down we just wanted to impress our friends who are also parents with a 11-month old whiz who could order her own kid's meal off the menu. So we sent away for the set and promptly began showing Charlotte the 30-minute videos.

Next up was the DVD player in the car. Yes, you may very well question why we bought the new car with a DVD system in it post-baby if we were intending on a tv-abstinent childhood. There was definitely some subliminal programming going on at the car dealership - somehow the minivan just seemed not quite complete without the DVD system. But I digress . . . so next, it was "Your Baby Can Read" in the car. And I have to say, for all of the naysayers out there, I much prefer the sound of a baby chuckling and repeating words back to the DVD system than the previous environment of screaming, crying, wriggling and writhing, and launching of toys and sippy cups at my head while driving. Sure, tv may rot the brain, but I can attest to hard objects hitting my head being pretty harmful to MY brain.

And then, it was Veggie Tales, which were a baby shower gift, and then Classical Baby on recommendation from a friend, and finally . . . Sesame Street. Now, if "Your Baby Can Read" is like juice, then Veggies Tales was like coffee, Classical Baby equivalent to a good martini, and I swear, Elmo and friends are just pure crack cocaine to our child. It started innocently enough at home - she enjoyed them in the car, maybe she would like to watch a video now and then on the flat screen at home so that we could accomplish minor tasks like cook or clean or get a drink of water or use the restroom, you know, the luxuries of parenthood. Innocent enough, we thought.

But then one weekend we all had the same cold, and the lingering side effect of allowing your toddler to watch non-stop Sesame Street so that you can lay on the sofa and wish you were dead . . . is that now your toddler runs for that tv every day demanding "Elmo! Elmo! ELMO!!!" and you sit on the sofa watching endless Sesame street episodes, wishing you were dead. Upside of her learning to talk is that you can finally get real feed back, "honey, which Elmo do you want to watch," followed by "Doctor Elmo!" and instantly, you have your answer and peace reigns once again. The downside of someone who is just learning to talk without the years of decision-making skills behind her language development is that (1) she sometimes forgets words she knows and strings together sounds while looking at you hopefully, then with frustration, and then pure annoyance and rage; and (2) she's apt to change her mind, within seconds of preferred program being started, to another program that is almost identical, and then change it back again.

Now, if we were better parents, or at least more stalwart and far more deaf, we would figure out a way to turn off that darn tv once and for all and sit down to spend some quality time with our child and maybe teach her some really useful life skills like how to count or the alphabet or how to make mommy a really strong espresso. On the other hand, Sesame Street is doing a pretty good job at the first two, and that nifty DVD player in the car allows mommy to do the third at her friendly, neighborhood crack house (e.g. Starbucks) just fine. So for now, this blog was brought to you by a desperate and sheepish mom and the letter F and the number 10.