second child anxiety

No baby yet. Still holding.

Yesterday I took RB with me to my doctor's appointment and she thought it was really exciting. She talked to the doctor the whole time we were there, telling her all about her baby sister and what she was like when she was a baby and asking her what she was doing to Mommy. She has been telling us all about what she "remembers" about being a baby. After that we went to the hospital for a special sibling tour, which included about fifteen three-year-olds and their pregnant mothers. Quite an experience! But it was surprisingly hard for me. I fought tears the whole time, and I feel like crying again thinking about it. It's hard for me to think of RB as a big sister. I'm not worried about my ability to care for the baby. I am concerned about RB and how she will feel. I don't want her to feel displaced or less important. But also it's hard to see how mature and independent she is, a feeling that is intensified by the fact that her days as the baby of the house are almost over. As she has grown up, I have not missed the stage that passed. I've never looked back at her days as an infant wistfully because the toddler stages have been so exciting and, for me, much more fun. But now that there will be a new baby and RB is taking on the role of big sister, I do feel some sadness and anxiety over her growing up.

One thing I have thought about since she was a baby was how I would care for a second baby--I realized right away that it would have to be different. There have been so many times when RB and I have been the only people in the whole world, snuggled up together, sometimes all day long when she was small enough to stay in one place for more than ten minutes. Back then my worry was how I would care for the baby; I knew that I couldn't just rely on how my experience with RB but that I would have to learn a whole new way of parenting for that child. Even though that is still true, I'm not worried about it. I'm confident that I will do just fine with the baby. I worry about how I will have to change the way I care for RB. I know I will take care of her and give her attention and show her plenty of love, but it will have to be different in some ways.

And I'm extremely pregnant and hormonal, so I'll spend the day crying over it now.

more insights from the child

Yesterday, RB said to me, "You're my mommy-baby-sister." Even though she talks to her unborn sister and even tells her, "Stop kicking Mommy, Annabelle," she still thinks of us as a package deal. It made me think of the concept of maternal-fetal conflict and how before ultrasounds could project images of fetuses separate from mothers, the mother and the unborn child could not really be imagined as separate individuals. I do love the technology available to me to let me hear my baby's heart and even see her face before she's born. But I also prefer to think of us still as one unit. We share a body, blood, nutrients, everything. One day she'll be a separate person, but for now we are "mommy-baby-sister" all in one.

And I love when my toddler gives me such wonderful insight into how she understands the world.

how do you do it?

One of the most frequent questions I get in person and via Google referrals is probably, how do you raise a child while going to school? (I don't know how punctuation is supposed to work in that sentence--it always bugs me. If anyone has a definitive answer on that, I am open to it.) I don't really believe that raising a child in grad school is any harder than raising a child with any career, but one thing that is usually part of being in grad school is living far from family. I often fantasize about being able to call my mom when I need help with RB or if an emergency comes up, especially when I call and she's taking care of my brother's kids. Wouldn't it be nice? But that's just not possible for me or for most people in this line of work. But I have friends. (Here's where things are going to get a little mushy.)

I've been thinking about what's going to happen when AB is born and remembering how things were when RB was a baby. I couldn't have gotten through it without a few people (you know who you are!) who cared for my baby at various, often random times while I took a full course load and taught a class with a really inconvenient schedule that had me on campus at 9:00 a.m. and 5:15 p.m., not to mention night classes. And for several months there, she was a sickly baby who screamed the whole time I was out of her sight. My situation is much different now, but I don't know what I would have done without them. And I am grateful, too, for a friendship that grew out of my offer to help out a fellow student-mom whom I barely knew at the time because I knew what it was like to need help and not know where that help was going to come from. Now she and her family are very important to me and to my daughter.

I don't have an active social life. I never have "Mommy's night out." I hardly even go out with my husband. I pretty much work and hang out with my kid. But I do know that there are people around who will help me when I need it. And I hope they think of me when they need help. It's crucial to have a network of support. I don't know anybody who could truly do it alone.

This post brought to you by sappy, pregnant, emotional Sarah.

fathering

Supadiscomama has a nice post on fatherhood, which has inspired yet another post on work-family conflict. I certainly do not disagree with Supadiscomama. Yes, I think that we need to change our assumption that mothers are better at parenting than fathers in order to get away from the expectation that women are the primary caregivers. Something revolutionary needs to happen in the realm of men's work before this can be possible.

My friends can attest to an equitable division of home labor in their families, but they are lucky women, indeed. Such is not the case in my home, and it is not because my husband and I ascribe to old ideals about gendered work. It is because the world around us still holds those ideals. Men, including fathers, are expected to perform as ideal workers more than women. There is much less tolerance for men taking paternity leave or going home early to be with family or taking off work to care for sick children. My husband has one of those jobs that depends on my availability to do most of the work at home, including child care. He's not a high-powered executive chasing the almighty dollar. He's a restaurant manager. At all income levels, those jobs are the norm, not the exception.

Here is where choice rhetoric comes in--he has chosen that career and he could choose one that is more family friendly. But, of course, it's not nearly so simple to drop everything and start over in a new career with no experience. And he has paid a "daddy tax" by acting out of that ideal worker norm. When he chose to relocate so I could go to school, he lost a promotion and all his seniority, which means he has been in the same position for years and has lost some long-term income potential. And it will happen again after I graduate and ask him, once again, to quit his job in favor of mine.

My husband wants to care for our child, and I have left her alone with him while I have gone to conferences (but admittedly, I am nervous when I do). He is a good father, and he is involved with our child's life. And he cleans the house and does the dishes from time to time (someone has to--I am not a good housekeeper). But I am the one in charge of managing our home, making sure all the bills are paid and the clothes are washed and the groceries are bought. And I am RB's primary caregiver. It's not the way we would choose it to be if it were really our choice. It's the way that his job demands his time and mine allows for much more flexibility.

academics with children

Bitch, Ph.D. recently responded to a reader’s question about the feasibility of getting a Ph.D. while raising three children—LOTS of discussion there. Academom and Geeky Mom have also responded on their own blogs.

To add my two cents, of course it’s hard to get a graduate degree and raise children. It’s hard to have any career and raise children. Some people will succeed as if they don’t even have children while others will not finish their degrees. That happens among people who don’t have children, too. I do think that in some places women can be taken less seriously if they have children, but I have not experienced that in my department.

The problem is not just with academia but with the general expectation in most careers that employees will be ideal workers who can devote almost unlimited time to their jobs without interference from family responsibilities (read Joan Williams’s Unbending Gender: Why Family and Work Conflict and What to do About It). If you’re a mother who performs as an ideal worker, then you must be neglecting your children. If your family responsibilities interfere with your work because you have to take off when kids are sick or you can’t work after five because you have to be home, then you are not committed to your career and you don’t deserve rewards like promotions or fellowships. Some of these considerations come into play in grad school, with course work and deadlines, others come up in the job search (who has time to publish when you’re doing all you can to meet your degree requirements?), but I think it is even more intensified on the tenure track (but I can’t personally attest to this yet).

I think that I have done well raising one child while in grad school—we’ll soon see how I do with two. It is doable. But I expect that my responsibilities as a mother will effect my career in the long-term. I am on a race to finish my dissertation before my funding runs out, hopefully publishing something along the way. But I’m certain that I will take a year longer than I would have without kids. And when I look for a job, I am not hoping to end up at a major research university, especially if that means moving multiple times to get there. I don’t want to the intense pressure of two books for tenure because I don’t want to put in the hours for it. I want to be with my family and I want to be happy when I’m with them, not worried about my job. That is my choice, you say? Well, maybe, but what kind of choice is that? My career OR my kids? I have adapted my notion of success in this career to something that allows me to teach and do my work and have plenty of time for my family. I don’t believe I can find this ideal at an elite university, so I do not aspire to work at an elite university. I know that you can probably name me some people who have done it all, but I don’t see that in my life. So I intend to accept the glass-mommy-ceiling, but that doesn’t mean I’m always happy about it.

For more on the effect of motherhood on academic careers, see Mary Ann Mason’s Do Babies Matter? project.

So what does Focus on the Family say about work-family conflict?

I gave a teaser of my paper earlier this week, and some people have expressed interest. Of course, I won't post my paper here, but I have selected the most representative statement from the FOF website about work-family conflict (which is, apparently, only a woman's problem).

I'm too tired tonight to offer commentary. Let me know what you think.

another blogger on "balance"

In this week's spirit of lazy posting, here's a link to Mom and Much More's "On Balancing." She expresses what I know many working mothers feel.

The issue of work-family conflict has been at the front of my mind for several weeks now, and I have a post simmering. I haven't gotten to it because I don't want it to be totally abstract and I am a bit too emotional when it becomes about me. I tried to talk to my husband about it this week and ended up in tears. That is not to say that I am unhappy in my life--I think that I have figured out how to make being a student and being a mother mesh pretty well, which was not the case in my daughter's first year. But there are long term concerns because my responsibilities will change dramatically once I am on a tenure track (or struggling as an adjunct, whatever my fate may be). Things will change then, and I will pay a mommy tax in the long run.

We're having a girl!

Little Bit is a girl, and her name is Annabelle (middle name pending). She is due April 12. Happy happy joy joy.

Since RB has a code-name, then I guess Annabelle should be AB. But I still like to call her Little Bit. I think it's a Southern thing.

positive birth experience CAN happen in a hospital

I just read Anne Drapkin Lyerly's "Shame, Gender, Birth" (Hypatia 21:3 (2006): 101-18), and it is the best piece on feminist childbirth I have ever read. I definitely think that feminists need to take on issues of childbirth and that frequently the medicalization of pregnancy and childbirth has caused anxiety, physical and emotional pain, and even trauma in some women. But I am not comfortable with most of the articles I've read proposing solutions to these problems because they all seem to want to reject technology and take birth totally out of the hospital. That's fine for some women, but not for everyone. I feel a sense of security in a hospital setting, and I would feel frightened and anxious giving birth in any other place. So clearly it is not a good solution for me. As Lyerly points out, the emotional life of each women needs to be taken into account to help make her birth experience positive. And she says that technology is not all bad--finally! The real key is the sensitive use of technology--sensitive to the desires and emotions of the birthing woman. And that all comes down to the support around her.

I had a highly medicated birth--pitocin to induce contractions because my water was leaking, then Stadol for the pain (I actually didn't like that and will choose not to use it again), and then (hooray!) the epidural. And episiotomy. Lots of medical intervention. And it was actually a pretty great experience because the people around me were sensitive to my needs and desires and cared for me in the way that I personally needed. My nurse was fantastic--very nurturing and reassuring. They allowed my parents to come into the labor room so that in the long waiting period, I was relaxed and happy with my family around me. Then I could choose who got to stay and who had to leave when I started pushing. I am also very appreciative of my anesthesiologist--she gave me an epidural that ensured that I felt no pain but that I did feel all of the contractions and even the baby moving down and out. At all times I felt like I had control of the situation and that my caregivers respected me. And because the epidural was applied with what I consider a great deal of sensitivity, I never felt a distance from the experience of birth that might come with total numbness. I always knew what was going on. I strongly believe that this is the key to a positive birth experience--not more or less technology, not in or out of hospital, but caregivers who earnestly listen to the birthing woman and try to provide the care that makes her comfortable, secure, and happy.

the g-word

A few months ago, I started to realize that my daughter is verbally advanced far beyond many children her age. She has a large vocabulary, constructs complex sentence structures, and articulates emotions. I was a bit startled when all of this came together right before her second birthday, partly because I had not really been comparing her to other children her age until then. And I was frustrated because talking about it with other people was difficult.

Of course, I am pleased to see her doing so well, but I was also worried because I wasn't sure what my responsibility should be at that point. How do I respond to this? Does this mean she is gifted? If so, how do I nurture that? When I posted on the blog about it, I used the word gifted. Little did I know how loaded that word is!

I began a web search and started browsing some books on advanced toddlers, and what I found made me very uncomfortable. So much of the information I got began with talk of testing children to see if they are really gifted or just very bright. I am sure that there is a purpose to this distinction and a purpose to academic testing of toddlers, but I can't see what it is. Even the suggestion of it shocked me. I found tons of teaching materials for very young children and information about schools with special curricula, but it all smacked of pressure and pushing and competition, which I think has no place in the life of a two-year-old.

I have worked with RB at home on some academic skills--learning ABCs, numbers, shapes, colors, etc. But in her first two years, I did not rely on books or websites to tell me what to teach her. I watched her. Early on I tried to talk to her about colors, and she clearly had no interest, so I assumed she was too young and dropped it. Later I brought it up again and she was enthusiastic about it, so I thought she must be ready. That's how everything went. If she paid attention to it and enjoyed it, we did it. If not, I just took for granted that it was too soon and left it alone. And it has all been in the context of fun and games and play. RB goes to preschool with a curriculum and lesson plans and all that, but the way it actually happens is more like play time with a theme. One week, it's family members. One week it's food. One week it's the color red. This kind of play-learning, I believe (and I am not an expert on child development, of course), is the only kind appropriate for young children, and it also allows children of many developmental stages to be in the same class, doing activities together, learning at the individual pace of each child.

So the big question I had over the summer was do I teach her to read? I have decided that, no, I will not impose a strutured approach to teaching reading before she goes to kindergarten (but I am not criticizing those who do--this is a very personal choice). She is interested in reading and she loves books, and I am just going to keep reading to her, reading my own books in front of her, singing songs and playing games, and she will show me what she wants to learn. A good friend of mine has a son who is four and reads quite well without a formal curriculum of phonics exercises. He just picked it up by playing games and reading with his mom. Maybe RB will do that. Maybe she will learn to read in kindergarten. And that's totally okay! I learned to read in kindergarten, and I was six years old when I started. And I'm getting a Ph.D. in literature. Clearly, my reading life has gone well.

I think that too many people look at childhood as a race to be the first and the best, and that puts stress and pressure on parents and children alike. It also creates barriers to parents sharing the joyful (and painful) experiences of raising children because of the anxiety of competition among them. I have decided not to worry about that anymore. I will tell my cute kid stories, I will even brag sometimes, and I will happily listen to other parents brag about all of their cute kid stories. And I will not use the word "gifted" anymore. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

the craziest mixed metaphor I have ever read

I'm reading Elizabeth M. Armstrong's Concieving Risk, Bearing Responsibility, and I just read the craziest mixed metaphor ever. Armstrong quotes extensively from interviews with physicians, and one describes the way that pregnancy "used to be" thought of, in contrast to a focus on risk avoidance now:

"I think pregnancy used to be considered, you know, like a parasitic growth. I don't mean that people really thought of it that way, but their perception was, 'This is something on autopilot. And I am just holding onto it and then I am going to return it to the library.'"

So is the fetus a parasite or an airplane or a library book? Spectacular.

Update on how I feel about pregnancy

Before I was pregnant--or maybe when I was already pregnant and didn't know it--hard to tell--I posted that I had lost the sense of confidence that I wanted to feel with a second pregnancy. Yesterday, chatting with a woman who is pregnant for the first time, I found myself describing precisely that feeling--I am not afraid in the same way that I was during my first pregnancy. I am not gaining all knowledge from books (really dreadful, frightening books!) but rather relying on my experience and faith. I am not obsessive. I am happier and less tense than I was during my first pregnancy.

A few months ago I predicted that this feeling would not come because my miscarriage had scared me back to the obsessive first-pregnancy craziness. I was also disturbed by my own attitude toward this pregnancy--considering it a pregnancy, a medical condition, not a baby. I didn't like feeling that way. I didn't like my almost indifferent reaction to the positive pregnancy test. That feeling, I think, was a result of being pregnant again so quickly after a miscarriage. And it has passed.

I am now really quite happy about my baby and I look frequently at my ultrasound pictures, which are posted on the fridge and not hidden in a drawer. And I am not obsessive or afraid. Everything is pretty good. But I don't think that means that I have "gotten over" the miscarriage--that I am no longer affected by it.

In the post linked above, I stated that I will always be aware that I have had more pregnancies than children. This is not my second pregnancy, but my third. But I think that the understanding I gained through the experience of loss has freed me to relax and take things as they come right now. It is all about that sense of control that I felt so strongly and lost so suddenly when I lost the baby. There was nothing I did and nothing I could do to change it. So I don't have the sense now that I can control what is happening in my body or to my baby. I can make healthy and responsible choices, of course, but I do not have to drive myself crazy over every minute detail of my life. Because it really doesn't matter. It's not in my hands. And, finally, I'm okay with that.

(Well, look at me being all stable and healthy--so uncharacteristic.)