What you’ll find in this newsletter:
(use ctrl+f to search for what you want)
Omicron Cometh: An Introduction of Sorts
Facebook Memories: If Men Could Get Pregnant
On Living Just a Little Bit Better: 5 Ways to Be Happier This New Year
Feminist Advice Friday: On Making Attachment Parenting More Egalitarian
A Roundup of My Work
What I’m Reading This Week
Omicron Cometh: An Introduction of Sorts
COVID came for my family this week. And no, you’re not about to read another essay from someone who asserts that they just can’t figure out how they got COVID, then tells you about all the restaurants and parties they went to. Before I talk about COVID, though, I need you to understand my dad.
I was raised by this man.
Who also happens to be this man.
He’s a rare breed in the U.S.: a liberal progressive who collects guns and armor and ammo like they’re going out of style. The man has spent his entire life preparing for a disaster that seemed like it would never come. Every time it snows, he puts chains on his tires, dresses up in his snowpocalypse costume, and drives around looking for people in trouble (my mother might have shortened that to “He drives around looking for trouble.”) When his house caught fire, he waited for the blaze to simmer down. Then he calmly told the firefighters that nothing on God’s green Earth would stop him from watching the Lady Vols in a championship basketball game, so they could kindly take their admonitions to evacuate for the night and leave. The man fears nothing and no one because he knows everything is something he can either shoot, eat, or hide from in a bunker.
And then…COVID. His apocalyptic moment to shine. He stockpiled food and water, gathered his masks, and encouraged his family to fully quarantine. As everyone else learned about N95 masks for the first time, my dad dug into his well-organized collection of masks so he could educate us all.
As the daughter of a prepper, I’m primed to recognize an apocalyptic moment when it presents itself. Also, I got my daughter’s custom urn on the same day that the first COVID case hit my state. I couldn’t bear the thought of risking losing another child, no matter how remote that chance might be. And I knew we had to fully quarantine.
We’ve been living our lives in 2 week intervals of uncertainty and waiting ever since. I got pregnant, gave birth, adjusted to new motherhood in total isolation, desperately afraid of what COVID might mean for my baby.
But one slip up was all it took for us to get sick. So far, we are all doing well—testament to vaccines, to privilege, to luck, to youth, to all of the above and more. But it has been a wild ride this week.
This week, I downed more of my favorite drink than I ever have before. Biolyte. I’m not naive enough to believe that it saved me, but as a salt lover, I can’t get enough. If you want an electrolyte drink, you’ll be hard pressed to find something tastier. Get the citrus version. I don’t know what they were thinking with the other flavor.
This seems a fine week to share with you a sliver of wisdom from my dad, he of gun stockpiles and fantasies of punching as many Nazis as he can catch: “So much of life is just treading water until help arrives.”
Hopefully by the time you read this we will no longer be treading in the waters of COVID.
Facebook Memories: If Men Could Get Pregnant
Not sure if I’ll keep this feature or not, so let me know if you like it. Since most of you found me through my Facebook page, I thought I’d share favorite Facebook posts from this time in previous years. This is from January 2021.
On Living Just a Little Bit Better
4 Ways to Be Happier This New Year
It’s the season of New Year’s resolutions, which means it is the season of me railing against the weight loss and self improvement industrial complexes. Everything in your life is not your fault. You do not owe anyone thinness, or health, or a commitment to someone else’s notion of doing better. Most importantly, the things that matter most will almost never involve a resolution, since real meaning in life is all about how we love and are loved.
If you absolutely insist on making a resolution this year, might I suggest these four, which will make you happier and perhaps a bit more fulfilled?
Compliment people more (in more meaningful ways)
I am not a people person. I quickly notice annoying qualities, and am hyper-aware when others judge me. So for most of my life, I’ve found social interactions really trying. Until I started complimenting everyone I met. Suddenly people were really nice to me. And I started liking people more, too. It’s the interpersonal equivalent of a gratitude journal. Note the things you like about other people and suddenly everyone becomes more likable.
Importantly, this works best when you focus on things other than physical appearance. We’re too obsessed with looks, and comments about appearance can fall flat and be hurtful. Consider how “You’ve lost weight” carries the stigma of fatphobia, and implies that you thought a person needed to lose weight. Instead, challenge yourself to identify something non-appearance-based you really like, every time you interact with someone.
“I love the way you talk to your kids.”
“Thank you for always modeling patience.”
“I’m in awe of how much you give to others.”
Life-changing. Seriously. Try it.
Assume everyone you meet is an expert on something (and then learn from them)
Being human is such an indignity. Most of us want to be liked, admired, feel important. It’s exhausting and undignified. And it often causes us to act badly—talking over others, assuming we are the only thoughtful person in the room, missing out on the many interesting things other people could teach us if only we would listen.
So listen more. Assume that everyone you meet is an expert on something. Then work to find out what it is. You’ll be amazed at what you learn, and how much easier it is to get along with others.
Decide on trivial ways to make your life better, and then never apologize for defending these needs again
It took me 5 years of motherhood to realize that I need the time in between my shower and starting my morning shift to myself. Having a child jumping on the bed or singing or showing me a million things while I’m getting dressed and brushing my teeth absolutely undoes me. I didn’t even realize this was happening, because it is so deeply ingrained in all of us that we must love every single moment with our children or else we are monsters.
This week, I told my husband to keep the kids out of the bedroom while I get ready. My life is so much better for it. I emerge from the bedroom every day ready to mother them better. And I’m not sorry.
Other things I’m not sorry for include that I will drink my coffee every day or I will not be functional, that there must be seltzer water in the house at all times, and that for the duration of the time I am breastfeeding, my husband will have a smoothie ready for me every morning when I get up.
Self-care matters. You matter. The small things you need add up to a better life. Figure out what they are, then make sure you have them.
Lie more (no, seriously)
I don’t know how we collectively decided that honesty is one of the highest values, but
I do know this: the obligation to be honest has trapped many of us into defending our choices when we’d be better of protecting our boundaries (with a wall of lies, if necessary). You owe the truth to people who love you, to safe people to whom you have promised honesty. You do not owe your truth to people who won’t honor and respect it.
What does this reduced commitment to honesty look like in real life?
It looks like deferring to authority that might not exist. “Oh mom, our doctor actually said the baby shouldn’t be around any unmasked relatives until she’s six months old.” “Sorry, mother-in-law, the doctor said the baby is safest if her bassinet is in our bedroom.”
It looks like not telling people things that aren’t their business. You don’t have to tell anyone where your baby sleeps or what she eats or how you gave birth. And if they ask, you have every right to refuse to answer—or to lie.
It looks like shutting down abusive behavior with a well-timed lie. That man who criticizes you for drinking coffee while you’re pregnant? Maybe he needs to hear about your abdominal tumor.
It looks like lies of convenience that either don’t hurt anyone or that protect people’s feelings.
The truth is not an absolute moral obligation. We have many higher obligations, and we are not under any obligation to reveal truths that subject us to abuse.
Feminist Advice Friday
“Is feminist attachment parenting possible?”
Photo by Larry Crayton on Unsplash
A reader asks…
I’m pregnant with my first child, and have done a lot of work and a lot of thinking about how to make things more equal between my husband and me. I’ve basically forced him to have weekly conversations about this, and I do believe we’re heading in the right direction.
Except that I hope to breastfeed, and plan to do other attachment-based practices like always responding to cries, prioritizing the baby’s needs, not sleep training, room-sharing, etc. I can’t help but wonder if I’m setting myself up for the sort of parenting that my husband will one day dismiss as unnecessary, and if it’s possible to breastfeed and do all of this other stuff and still have equality?
I have seen several posts where you’ve mentioned attachment parenting and breastfeeding, so I got the impression this is what you’re doing. Do you have any words of wisdom?
My Answer:
I love attachment parenting. I hate how it has been weaponized against women.
On one side of the equation, you have the extreme attachment parenting advocates, who insist that mothers must do EVERYTHING. For them, attachment parenting is really a cudgel to wield against mothers, to keep them in the home, to prevent them from pursuing anything outside of motherhood. And God forbid they ever question the role of the man.
That, friend, is bullshit. Take it from this fairly selfish and ambitious mother who also exclusively breastfed, weaned at a very late age, and did all the other attachment stuff: it’s not easy, but you can practice attachment parenting and have a life.
Then on the other side of things, you have people deriding mothers who practice attachment parenting. We’re silly and trivial and doing something that doesn’t matter, and probably unserious at work, too. It’s just the same old notion that mothers are incompetent masquerading as a particularly aggressive brand of feminism.
That is also bullshit. There are legitimate feminist and personal reasons to practice attachment parenting.
It is normal and expected for caregivers to form strong attachment bonds with their children. It is normal to respond to their cries.
I want to be clear: There are lots of ways to be a good parent, and if you choose a different way, that is fine and great and lovely! You’ll get no judgment here. I will say, though, that I think people often are forced to choose a different way because exhaustion, the push to return to work, and unhelpful spouses push them in that direction. That part is really enraging—how demands that don’t really matter (or that shouldn’t really matter) force us to ignore our instincts.
But again: Just a reminder that there are lots of good ways to be a parent. If attachment parenting isn’t for you, then it’s not for you, and there’s no need to read any further.
On to your question:
Attachment parenting can absolutely be feminist. Indeed, because it is a particularly demanding style of parenting that requires significant thought and planning, I think it is highly amenable to equitable parenting. Because if you’re already thinking a lot about your parenting choices, it makes sense that you would talk a lot about them—and that you would then devise ways to divvy up parenting roles.
The fundamental error most people make is that they think it is the mother, and only the mother, to whom the baby should be attached.
My infant lights up when my husband walks into the room, and often prefers him over me. He is just as capable of soothing her as me. And critically, he does nighttime parenting just as frequently and competently as me. This is a great bargain for all of us. It means our child has two people she can trust. It means if I ever get sick, she still gets a quality caregiver. And it means that I’m only doing half of the work, so I’m happier, healthier, more fulfilled, all without sacrificing my baby’s needs.
So how does one do feminist attachment parenting?
It starts with recognizing one biological reality: you are the only one who can breastfeed your baby (in most circumstances, anyway). So you’ll need to figure out a way to make that more equitable. Since you’re a first-time mom, you need to know that breastfeeding is more intense than you probably imagine. You will spend almost all of your time during the first few weeks nursing. Forget about 8-12 times a day. You’re looking at more like 8-12 hours. But it’s a worthy investment because this initial commitment gets your supply going.
Please know that it gets easier, and that if you want help, a lactation consultant can be amazing.
Anyway, you need to find ways to make breastfeeding fairer, especially since you’re also going to be coping with recovering from birth. This means that your partner needs to be doing something baby or family-related when you are nursing. And that likely means he’s going to need to take over all other household chores, including:
all cleaning
preparing nourishing food for you
cleaning up after the baby
getting breastfeeding supplies ready (sterilizing the pump, washing bottles, etc)
offering reassurance (never undermining your choices)
managing visitors
scheduling pediatrician appointments, lactation consultant appointments, and generally helping to connect you with the services you need
bringing the baby to you (this is doubly important if you have birth injuries and don’t need to be lifting and bending)
talking to you. This, to me, is one of the most important roles. The early days of motherhood can be so isolating. You need and deserve to process your birth experience. And if your partner has done everything else, and/or you need him, having him sit with you through those early nursing sessions is one of the most meaningful things you two may ever do together.
I also strongly encourage you to pump milk so that your baby will take a bottle and your partner can feed them. This is so important because it may be the only way you will be able to be away from your baby. And time away from your baby can be very important for your well-being.
Beyond this, there is no reason you cannot split all other parenting duties. And if you start getting resistance from him about doing so, you need to call it like you see it. The pattern often goes like this: dad doesn’t do something, so he becomes less good at it, so the baby eventually becomes more rejecting of him, so then dad can make an argument for why he shouldn’t do it.
Don’t let this happen. You’re about to put your body on the line to call forth life into the world.
He should be in awe of this sacrifice, willing to do whatever is necessary to support you, and eager to participate equally in the life he helped to make.
You do not owe him praise or support for doing the bare minimum. The person who has just given birth is the one in need of support. Don’t let those roles get reverse early on, or they will stay that way forever.
Congratulations.
A Roundup of My Work
Omicron Comes for Everyone: My Vaccinated Experience With COVID
I’m a fan of data. But the data on COVID is surprisingly lacking, and often contradictory and unspecific, with scientists using terms like “mild” to mean things that don’t seem at all mild to me. I’ve wanted to see a detailed firsthand account of Omicron’s evolution in a family over days and weeks for a long time. I have been unable to find it, so I wrote it myself.
What I’m Reading This Week
Why is it so Hard to Believe in Other People’s Pain?
So much oppression is built on the notion that others are lying about their pain. One recent study found that half of medical residents believe racist myths about Black people’s pain, and research consistently finds that doctors disregard women in pain. Blaming the victim makes the rest of us feel safe, noble, and distanced from profound suffering. This is an amazing piece that may help you respond better to people in pain—or better understand how and why people disregard your pain.
The Sentence by Louise Erdrich
I learned about Louise Erdrich when my mom died and I started snooping through her drawers. I found a list of books my mom had recently read in one of her notebooks. The Painted Drum was the last one on the list. I devoured and loved it, and have since been reading Erdrich’s entire canon. The Sentence tells the tale of a haunted bookshop, a single sentence in a single book that may have killed a woman, and the uprising against the murderers of George Floyd. It’s so much more, though—a tale of family and belonging, of the horrors of our criminal justice system, of all of the things that matter so much to so many of us. You have to read it.