I’m thankful that my circumstances allow me to be a stay-at-home mom, and because Germany makes it quite easy, most of the mothers I know are in the same situation.  And apart from me, all of them put their children into day care several times a week to have time for themselves.

I do sometimes feel like I’d like some time for myself, but it’s not really a pressing need.  Many moms say it’s so their kids get socialized, but I don’t find my son lacking in social skills.  He’s a very friendly, very outgoing, almost 2 year old (a very typical Leo).  The other moms in my local mother-toddler group have given me the name and number of the woman who runs the local day care.  They tell me that it’s important that Oliver get contact with other kids, but he gets along fine with all the kids in the group and with all the children of my friends.  I’ve even been told it’s not healthy for us to be together so much, but I haven’t seen any signs of it.

Can we really be too attached?

I look at history, and think that for most of history, in most human groups, children stayed with their mother continuously through early childhood.  There was no day care, there wasn’t the idea that the child needed time apart from the parent.  I also look at myself and my child.  I don’t feel the need for time apart, so why do people want to pressure me into it?  Oliver, while independent, also prefers to have one-on-one time with his caretakers.  Something he won’t get in a day care situation.

My gut tells me I’m doing the right thing, and I’m a strong believer in listening to your instincts.  So what do I tell the naysayers?

Christina blogs about life at An American Expat in Deutschland and about parenting at Mamas Worldwide.

While I was doing my grocery shopping the other day with Sweet Pea snuggled on my chest in the wrap, I passed another momma with a child who was probably about three.  When we first crossed paths, she was telling him, “No, you can’t have cookies.”  When he pushed the issue, she said, “There’s cookies at home!”  Our families ran into each other (once literally, since my cart had a broken wheel) about four times over the next hour as we stocked up on yummy things to eat.  Three out of those four times, she was telling her son “no” about something.

My intention isn’t to criticize her parenting, or the use of the word “no” in general.  She was using it to set boundaries, some of which were specifically to keep her son safe (“No, you can’t ride on the side of the cart.”).  It did reinforce for me, though, how important I think it is to not overuse the word “no.”

See, I’m an avid reader, and right now there’s lots for me to read about parenting and particularly about discipline.  Before Sweet Pea was even born, we’d made the decision that hands are not for hitting and we would not be spanking our children.  I’m sure that it came out of left field for my husband when, one day, I announced that I didn’t want to use the word “no” in our everyday parenting, either.  DH seemed rather shocked; no doubt he was picturing the wildest kind of child imaginable, sticking fingers into electrical sockets while eating the cats’ food, totally without any guidance from his parents about the intelligence of those choices.  Seeing his look of panic, I explained that it wasn’t that I didn’t want to establish boundaries for our children; I just didn’t want to use the word “no” as our prime tool for doing it.

My original reason for wanting to avoid using “no” was safety. I would like “no” to remain somewhat startling and definitely out of our normal vocabulary.  To me, it follows that when we’re in situations that are also not normal (for example, if he takes off running towards a busy street), “no” is alarming enough to cause a reaction.  I don’t want it to become easy to ignore through repetition, because if his current leg strength is any indicator, he’s going to be a really fast runner.

Upon further thinking, though, what I really like about not using “no” is the way that it makes us think about what we’re saying.  Looking back at various childcare situations, such as when I worked at an AP-style daycare, I see myself responding with “no” for no good reason sometimes.  Saying “no” without qualifying it much became automatic, almost like saying “bless you” after a sneeze.  I’m not saying that I responded with it out of meanness or as a power high, but that I often wouldn’t consider a child’s request carefully before responding.  Saying “no” often was easier.  Knowing that I am actively working to override this instinct feels really good.  I feel confident now that as Sweet Pea grows older, his requests and opinion will be considered carefully, instead of responded to with a knee-jerk “no.”

At the moment, since he is six months old, not using “no” and focusing on positive redirection instead has been easy.  It just feels right to respond to a fistful of cat fur not with “don’t grab the kitty,” but rather saying “here’s how we stroke the kitty,” then holding hands and showing him.  I like responding to his disappointment when the kitty leaves, which he vocalizes with some truly Nazgul-esque shrieks, by giving him a soft stuffed animal to stroke and listening to the shrieks turn to giggles and coos.  Considering what he can do in a situation, rather than what I’d like him to stop doing, helps me to value these interactions as teaching experiences.  After all, the origin of our word “discipline” is the Latin word disciplina (teaching).

I know that the more experienced Mommas out there are smiling knowingly and shaking their heads.  I’ve had people tell me, “Just wait until he hits two…” in a dark tone.  DH and I aren’t perfect, and I’m sure that quite a few “no’s” will slip their way into our parenting vocabulary, just like the plastic toys that I swore up and down would have no place in our nursery while I was pregnant which are now sitting on Sweet Pea’s bookshelf.  My fervent hope, though, is that the “no’s” that do happen will be outweighed by the ones that don’t.  I hope that we will be able to consider our answer 9.5 times out of 10, rather than giving a knee-jerk response, and give our son a richer childhood because of our consideration.  I trust that knowing I considered his feelings will be enough in fifty years, when I ask myself if I regret the way we approached discipline, to make my answer “no.”

Did you miss out on the 15th Anniversary membership promotion that was running in the month of June? We’ve decided to continue to provide a membership special for you during the month of July as well. Buy one family, professional associate, or gift membership for a 15% discount. Don’t let this membership promotion pass you by! (Support groups will retain their $15 portion of the membership).

Last week Otter and I said goodbye to nursing. He was two months past his second birthday.

The decision to wean was not made lightly. He had been growing more independent for quite some time, blossoming the way breastfed babies do. Then suddenly he began to regress, demanding more and more milk, becoming less willing to eat solid foods and becoming violent and angry when I wouldn’t let him nurse. I started feeling as though keeping him on the breast was doing him more harm than good, a feeling that started inside me, and grew. One day he and I had a huge fight about nursing, and we decided, together, that it was time to stop. I told him, in one week, we say bye bye to Mama milk.

That week we snuggled a lot more, we nursed for longer periods, even though we stayed on our three times a day schedule, mornings, naptimes, and bedtime. When weaning day came, we woke up and I invited him to have as long a nurse as he wanted, because it was our bye bye to Mama milk nurse. It was a wonderful nurse. We nursed for a long time. We smiled at each other, patted each other’s cheeks, played with our hair, smiled. He would sit up and talk from time to time, and then settle back in to nurse some more. We snuggled close, took our time, really said goodbye.

Then we got up, got dressed, and went out to Target to get Otter his very first “Big Boy” toy. He picked out a plasmaglider, this very cool self propelled glider. He was very proud of it, rode it through the store, the checkout line, and under my very paranoid eye, even out to the car. He has ridden it around the house constantly ever since. He is thrilled with it, because sister even likes it, a sure sign that it is, in fact, a Big Boy toy.

This week has been surprisingly easy for my boy. We have had a few times when he has asked for milk, and then gotten sad when I have reminded him that we said goodbye to it, but for the most part he has not missed it. He has been co-sleeping again to make up for the lost closeness, and has been less willing to be away from me during the day. He has been needier. However, it seems the milk was more a comfort thing for him, than it was a source of food, as he doesn’t miss the nutrient as much as he does the snuggles.

As for me, I have found it very hard. I have not only said goodbye to nursing Otter, I have said goodbye to nursing. I have said goodbye to babyhood. I am no longer the mother of infants. All those silent moments of communication, spent staring deeply into my baby’s eyes while they greedily drink away, every swallow bringing satisfaction, knowing I am personally responsible for making them healthy and strong. All the soft, fuzzy head snuggled against my arm moments. All the hushed nursery moments. All the first balloons, and baby chortles. At thirty three years of age, that magical part of my life is behind me. Otter was my last baby.

I am on to the hustle and bustle of noisier children, busy children with questions and activities, and the certainty the Mommy doesn’t hold the world in her hand and certainly doesn’t always know what she is doing. I am on to PTO meetings and playdates, boyfriends and girlfriends, allowances and driving permits. I am on to children who don’t have time to snuggle me, and won’t want to spend an hour on Saturday morning cuddled in bed with me, just talking and playing with my hair.

Otter took well to weaning. Me, not so much.

My daughter is 2.5 years old and showing signs of weaning. At times when she would normally nurse, she is now telling me that my “na nas are broken” and is starting to nurse less and less.

She is completely ready. I, however, am not.

She is my youngest, my baby. When my oldest daughter weaned at 22 months old, it didn’t bother me as much; probably because I was pregnant and knew that another baby was coming to take her place at the breast.

This time, there is no baby. There was going to be a baby boy born in about two weeks to take her place at the breast, but we sadly lost him in the second trimester.  July 4th was my due date, and as that day looms closer and my youngest nurses less and less, I realize that for the first time in over five years I will have both an empty womb and empty breasts.

I don’t want to let go, I simply don’t. I want her to continue to be my baby, it is too hard for me. Then, last night, after my youngest told me that she didn’t want to nurse to sleep and I lay there with tears in my eyes, she suddenly turned towards me, threw her arms around my neck and said “I need you, Mommy” and asked me to stay with her until she fell asleep.

That’s when I realized that she still is my baby. So is my oldest. Weaning is not an end to them having needs that only their Mommy can fulfill; it’s just a step into the next stage of parenting, where I can meet her needs with lots of cuddles and hugs and attentiveness rather than comfort from the breast.

I need you, Mommy.

Maybe, just maybe, this won’t be as hard as I thought.

Shelly is a WAHM to two girls. You can find her daily at Adventures of a Breastfeeding Mother

We recently added a new event to our schedule: Stay at Home Mondays. The start of the week was being hard for us. Most often, we’d end up staying home anyway, but only after I felt like I’d failed to get us to the standing park playgroup Monday mornings with all our AP buddies, only after I’d imagined the grocery store trip we needed to make, and reviewed and been unable to accomplish anything on the errand and to-do list that had lengthened over the weekend.

I was feeling like maybe everyone else had figured out something I hadn’t; they had their weeks and time scheduled so they could get out of their homes more easily, keep a clean house and stocked fridge, manage their time and their things better than I could. That me vs. them thinking that inevitably leaves me coming up short while the rest of the world got some rule book I can’t seem to find. I posted on my blog asking for time management tips. I imagined setting up a routine for myself so that I would have a set menu-planning day, grocery day, cleaning day, etc. Then I started feeling hemmed in. I hate following schedules. I hadn’t even assigned days yet and already I wanted to tear up the calendar.

I took some deep breaths then asked myself what it was I was really wanting. It was a Monday. I wanted to not feel stuck at home with a son who was sad that his daddy had gone back to work after the weekend. I wanted to not be missing something out in the world with our friends, though when I was honest with myself, I could admit that my son runs from one thing to another at the park where the playgroup is held and I spend the whole time following him around between interrupted conversations. What did I really want to do on Mondays anyway? What did my son want?

With some reflection, I realized we wanted to relax. I wanted a more organic start to our week, one that honored how we were feeling. We’d played all weekend, messed up the house, eaten the food, and maybe even socialized. The transition back to our weekday schedule is always a little challenging and we needed room to ease into it, stay in our pajamas, give Cavanaugh a no-diaper morning, not pack snacks and rush out to meet people or do errands. Even on the Mondays when we’d go out to the library, I felt torn, unable to sit and be somewhere else because home needed attending.

So, we’ve had three intentional stay-at-home Mondays now. Instead of feeling like we’re home when we should be doing something else, I find that Cavanaugh and I are engaged in more creative play. We have time to reconnect and get back into a rhythm. This past Monday, we painted his IKEA wooden table that was stained with pen marks and food remnants. We wore our painting clothes and made up songs. We went into Cavanaugh’s mostly unoccupied room and did puzzles, had a tea party, and read books. I got to be with him without feeling like we should be or do anything else. It’s a great way to start the week and it’s given me room to stop feeling like I should be doing it better, whatever it is, and just hang out and enjoy the great blessing that being a stay-at-home mom to my son is–at least when I give myself the space to sit down and notice it.

How do you center yourself and find routines for your family? Do you do better with a set schedule or go where the day takes us mentality?

Sonya Fehér is a writer and mama in Austin, Texas. She blogs at http://mamatrue.com or you can visit her website at http://sonyafeher.com.

The special Attached at the Heart edition of The Attached Family Magazine (PDF) magazine is now available.

This edition features a preview of API’s 15th Anniversary Celebration, an interview with API co-founders and book authors Barbara Nicholson and Lysa Parker, information on a free drawing, details on the $15 API Membership Special, and so much more.

Principle Number One: Prepare for Pregnancy, Birth and Parenting

“Look at this,” I mumble out of the corner of my mouth as I shove the white and purple plastic stick in Sir Hubby’s direction. The two younger kids are nearby and it is too soon to clue them in yet.

“Uh. What exactly am I looking at?” he replies, his tone already rising an octave. He senses danger.

“C’mon. Really?” I hiss. I know he has seen a pregnancy test before.

“No, no. I know what it is. I just don’t know what it says,” he confesses.

“It says oops.”

And so begins our journey towards meeting Loin Fruit Number Five, or LF#5 as we like to call the little critter.

Of course our LF#5 is loved and wanted. LF#5 simply has shown up in our lives about three years too early for me and has forced me to confront some of my personal issues about responsibility and control. Our youngest, T-Bird, just turned one in March of this year…likely around the same time her little-sibling-to-be was undergoing some rapid cell division. This was, of course, right before I suddenly came down with a “mysterious flu-like illness” no one else seemed to have, which didn’t go away for about two months. Well, it hasn’t gone away even now that it is the middle of June. But at least now I know that I am not battling the flu.

All four of my children have a minimum of four years in between them. I, of course, have heard of (and even seen in person) women who have children closer in age. My cousin and his wife had their two girls close together and jokingly said that other people walk on fire…but that they decided to run through it instead. And I had friends growing up who were close in age to their siblings, and they did things like played together and subsequently grew up to be friends. Wait a second. My own mother had two children under two—me and my younger brother. So, okay actually, there are plenty of examples in my life. It just wasn’t for me.

I really loved having four selfish years with each of my babies and a fully-verbal, fully-potty trained, fully-weaned, fully-sleeping-through-the-night, preschooler to share in the joys of welcoming our new baby. I chose the spacing of my children to best match my particular style and comfort level with parenting. I have a tendency to become easily stressed, easily overwhelmed, and easily burnt out. All of my children have vastly different needs, and at vastly different times of day. They each tax their own particular set of mom resources in their own way. And clearly, telling two teenagers and a 6 year old to “hang on” or “ask later” when I am busy with the baby usually works pretty well since they have all reached (and hopefully mastered in the case of my teens) the appropriate developmental stage to do that, or even help out when required. Having one set of issues to deal with for each child made sense to me, rather than trying to spread similar resources between similarly aged children. I never planned to have more than one child under the age of four at the same time. And now I am going to have two under two.

So, that begs the question “How did we let this happen?” I have been pregnant before. The stork has never left anything in the cabbage patch for me. And, to top it all off, I am a doula, parent educator, and attend births as a midwifery assistant. You would think that I would understand how the whole thing works, and even recognize a few of the symptoms. So, did pregnancy even cross my mind? Not once. I’m not confused about the relationship between ovulation and breastfeeding. I know that even exclusive, full-time breastfeeding is not a reliable method of preventing pregnancy after the sixth month. I’m fully aware that ovulation can happen before your regular menstrual cycle returns. I am familiar with all methods of “birth control.” And to be frank (oversharing), with our busy lives, conflicting schedules, fatigue, full-time breastfeeding, and co-sleeping, abstinence is practiced around here more often than not. With all of this knowledge, I can’t help but feeling a little disappointed in myself. Surely, even if the signs of ovulation were very subtle, I should have been more responsible. If I wanted to prevent a pregnancy, then why was I not doing more to make sure that I didn’t get pregnant? Where does this attitude of feeling guilty come from? I am having a baby, not receiving a jail sentence! Why am I being so hard on myself for having a body that WORKS perfectly?

A local Fertility Awareness instructor, Kathryn Hamilton, includes this information on her website:

Women have gotten pregnant on every type of birth control out there, including tubal ligation. We need to change our mentality about fertility – our only healthy and natural option is to be AWARE of our bodies and of our fertility, and make intelligent choices accordingly.

Here is a passage from Lunaception by Louise Lacey (which Kathryn highly recommends):

“Today Western society …[has] a multibillion industry devoted to “birth control”. The term accurately reflects our characteristic attitude, which is to attack problems, try to control things. This is birth control we are talking about; women’s bodies, not street traffic. How it is possible to regulate or control a living body? Putting physical restraint upon a living thing sometimes means death and always raises the possibility of damage.

Our culture takes the attitude that the control of living things is both desirable and possible. The basic assumption is that we can run the show better than if we let the show happen by itself. We can do nature’s job better than nature – an amazingly presumptuous point of view. But we never do control anything. We only manipulate. And often destroy.

So, not surprisingly, in the name of birth control, we have more than a dozen ways to try to master nature. And because control doesn’t work, no matter how many people think it does, we have in more than a dozen different ways been unsuccessful at “controlling” birth.

If I follow in the footsteps of my mother, aunts and grandmother, it is likely that I only have a few more years of fertility remaining, and I would like to make some peace with my body before then. I would love to feel like we understand one another and have reached a place where we have a few moments of mutual respect before our relationship changes forever. Sir Hubby and I did want to have another baby…perhaps my plan of “controlling” it for another three years would have left me unable to have another baby at all. Perhaps I am just scared of not being in control. Perhaps the universe is sending me this new little critter at exactly the right time for our family. Perhaps I will discover all the joys that I have missed out on by having a large age difference in my children. Perhaps it will all be wonderful in ways that I have yet to imagine. Perhaps I can forgive myself for not being more vigilante about my own fertility cycle. Perhaps forgiving myself is a healthy place for my body and I to begin this journey together.

Preparing for pregnancy, birth, and parenting is a major part of my life. I teach it to other families. I preach it in the work that I do. I live and breath pregnancy and birth and parenting every single day. I didn’t think that I was prepared to be pregnant again so soon. But my body seems to think that we are doing just fine, or else it would not have had what it needed to become pregnant and continue providing milk for my T-Bird.

I’m growing a new life! In MY body! A baby! A real baby! Wow. Does that ever stop being miraculous?

I’m excited and scared and confused…all the things that expectant parents usually are. Having already had four children does not automatically prepare you for having a fifth. I wish I could feel confident and sure about every aspect of this, but this pregnancy is just as new to me as each one has been before it. Every pregnancy, like every child, brings with it unique challenges, and unparalleled joys. I hope to share those challenges and joys with you, API Reader, over the next few months. Will you please follow me as I reflect on each of the AP Principles as I prepare for LF#5? I’ll be counting on your insights, experiences and advice to get through things like preparing for tandem nursing, positive discipline for my toddler, co-sleeping tips for a bigger family, babywearing with a bigger belly (and a cranky back), responding sensitively to my family (and myself) when it all gets to be a bit much, providing consistency when so much is fluctuating, and of course finding some balance in all the chaos.

Justine

Of the many things that changed in my life after my children were born, one of the biggest was my attitude towards food.

Once my son started eating solids, I was careful to avoid artificial sweeteners, food dyes, certain types of fat, etc. One day, while peering into my refrigerator and seeing “his” organic ketchup on the shelf next to the non-organic ketchup I bought for my husband and myself, it struck me how silly it was to buy more than one kind of ketchup. I wondered why I was so careful with what I fed him, but not nearly as careful with myself. If organic ketchup was good enough for him, why wasn’t it good enough for me?

It was like a little cartoon light bulb appeared over my head. That realization, combined with a gift subscription from a friend to Prevention Magazine, and a desire to no longer feel fat and frumpy, changed my life and my outlook when it came to food.

Nutrition became a personal interest, and in addition to starting to exercise, I overhauled the way we eat.

That was over four years ago, and I feel like my health has steadily improved. While my older child is picky compared to his sister, who eats anything that doesn’t eat her first, I feel like both kids eat substantially better than a lot of kids their age.

Understandably, I also take a lot of criticism for the way I choose to feed my kids from friends and family, but I’ve mostly gotten used to it. It’s easy to brush off comments when I’m maintaining a healthy weight and feel great.

Easy, that is, except for a recent comment by an acquaintance that rubbed me the wrong way. It all started when I mentioned that I planned to use M&Ms as a reward for when my daughter potty trains, because she’d climb to the moon and back for a piece of chocolate. The girl has her mother’s sweet tooth, and I’m not above using chocolate as a bribe for toilet learning. This person implied that my daughter’s interest in candy was unusual and perhaps it meant that she wasn’t getting enough to eat. When I objected, she said, “But what do I know, I feed my kids Happy Meals and don’t read parenting books.”

So what’s wrong with parenting books? I’m assuming that she thinks that I read them, therefore I think I know everything, and here’s why it rubs me the wrong way. For one, I don’t regularly read parenting books, and even if I did, wouldn’t that imply that I DON’T know everything? Why would you read a book if you already knew how to do what it was about?

My college education was intense, but my degree is in a science field, not parenting, and I’m as new at this as every other parent. So what’s wrong with reading a book or two or fourteen for a little help along the way?

I do have the What To Expect series somewhere in the house. With child number one, I consulted it for guidelines on milestones, and with child number two, I was too tired to care about milestones and just wanted to know how to get her to sleep more. For that, I turned to Elizabeth Pantley’s No-Cry books to help fine tune our bedtime routines, and when my three-year-old son was giving me fits, I checked Your Three-Year-Old: Friend Or Enemy out of the library. I read the pertinent parts of each book, then used what I thought might help me become a better mother. Isn’t that what parenting books are for? To help us overcome problems and become the best parents we can be?

I never claimed to know everything, but I do know that my daughter eats plenty of healthy food and I do know that she gets plenty of treats too.  I also know that a lot of kids like candy and it’s not unusual for them to be motivated by it.  And I do know that our pediatrician, whom I respect and trust, thinks my daughter is healthy as a horse.  So I do know that the way I feed my family, which I learned from books and magazines, is working well for us.

What do you think? Do you read parenting books and do you find them helpful? Or am I being too sensitive?

My son, my oldest child, is 7 1/2 years old and a rising second grader.  For his entire life, he has always been the child who would never stray far from me, loves cuddles and physical contact.  And he has stopped holding my hand in public.

Since his toddler years, our rule has been that hands must be held while walking in parking lots, crossing streets, or at any other time there might be a danger.  There’s no doubt it provides a convenient way to keep track of my kids, but more than that, I simply enjoy holding my children’s hands.  I often reach for them just walking through stores, or in the zoo, or wherever we happen to be.  It gives a physical presence, which in turn creates a positive emotional atmosphere.  I’ve never spanked my kids, so there’s never been any instance of negative touch between our kids and their parents, but the hand-holding is a positive touch I particularly enjoy.  Not that I don’t enjoy the hugs and kisses and cuddles and bedtime snuggles, but hand-holding provides an intimate atmosphere in a place where other forms of physical parent-child intimacy is not feasible.

Nothing is changing at home; he still curls into my lap at all opportunities, gives me hugs, will happily snuggle with me on the couch, and loves our bedtime ritual of cuddles and a story in his bed.  But the public hand-holding is clear; I’ll habitually reach for his hand, and he’ll keep it to his side and make a tiny groan of protest.  I’ve begun putting my hand on his back or around his shoulders, and he seems to have no problem with that.  Oftentimes, he will go to younger sister’s other side and grab her free hand.  I’m sure he sees this not as holding hands for the mere pleasure of it, but rather as helping keep his sister safe.

I’m sure this objection is his first of many more to come as he gets older.  And while I will always respect his wishes, for the first time I find myself wondering if his cuddling little boy days are closer to the end then they are to the beginning, and reflecting on how parenting changes as the kids grow.

How do you ways to maintain contact as your kids grow up while not embarrassing them to death?