So I’m pregnant with my first child, and I’ve been kind of surprised about the importance of this crossroad. Every other momentous occasion of my short life hasn’t really been the big impetus for change that I thought it would be—even getting married wasn’t such a drastic change when it came down to it. I still spent time with the same people, did the same things as before. This is a different circumstance completely as unlike coming home from my honeymoon, coming home from the hospital will radically change the demands on my time, rearrange priorities for school, and commandeer my goals. When I looked at this transition as an adolescent I thought it sounded a lot like hell. Being never-endingly responsible, ever vigilant, expected to sacrifice talents and interests, and worst of all— it was going to be mundane. Maturity has brought everything on that list into perspective, and I’m still terrified but also thrilled to have my child. I can handle cutting up food into unchokable proportions, putting covers on outlets, and waking up in the middle of the night. It’s a privilege to pay such a small price to raise a kid.
However, I still have rather cold feelings towards describing any large chunk of my life as mundane. Tedious things must be tolerated—sometimes the same five measures have to be played over and over again, a stretch of asphalt must be traversed many times while training…you have to read an entire treatise by Rousseau, but the results are a great performance, a race run well, one fabulous essay. And I realize that the obvious retort is “And the result of watching Dora one-billion times is a well-adjusted, decent human being, what other endeavor yields that kind of dividend.” True, the price of a kind, good person is surely worth decades of monotony—but decades of monotony… and the results are tenuous. Attentive parents have still raised self-centered jerks, lazy bums, manipulative users, and lawyers (that’s a joke). No, I can handle tedium, but I can’t handle dullness. I can’t handle accepting mediocrity. I will do what I must for my child, but it will be hell if that’s the finishline I’m aiming for. I want to like my life, (and to be socially-awkward-level honest, I want other people to want my life too…. I might be more mature than my 15-year-old self, but I’m certainly not any more saintly).
So as a seventh-month pregnant lady I have some expectations. Experienced moms will look at this list and roll their eyes—I know because I’ve experienced their skepticism first-hand. I’m sure that this is the rose-colored glasses of ignorance that makes me feel like this possible, and I even accept that these expectations will be challenged and modified in short order in the messiness of reality. However, if I want to live an extraordinary life, if I want to make Mom a job-description, I’m not content with being an average entry-level employee in this thing. So I want to set the bar high—and I’m rather resilient to being disabused of my idealism because while I’m sure that there’s almost a better chance that Morgan Freeman will star in the next Barbie movie than I will achieve every item on this list and to the extent I want to, I know that every item is achievable. I’m a pretty committed woman. There isn’t much that I feel uncomfortable reaching for after I know it’s possible, e.g.: competitive ice-skating, auditioning for Cirque de Soleil, preparing baseball statistics, etc.
Quick disclaimer: to be clear, I don’t think doing the opposite of these things makes you a bad mom. I don’t even think doing these things makes you a better mom. I know and love many fabulous mothers who watch Elmo every day at 10am and carefully prevent their children from reaching the pantry and the box of goldfish crackers. I think being a good mom means being intentional, of weighing the options and choosing what’s right for you and your kids rather than just doing what’s easy. For me at this time in my life, I think the following list is a good place to start for me and my baby, no proscriptions meant for anyone else.
- I want to use cloth diapers, maybe not exclusively, but as much as possible. Because I want my kid to know I walk the walk on what’s important to me (this instance being a good steward of the earth), and because personally there is almost nothing less comfortable than wearing a paper pad, I figure he’ll prefer cloth undies.
- No TV for two years because that’s what the APA suggests. Plus it allows me to protect my kids just a little bit longer from the consumerism that will dominate the rest of their lives.
- Doing stuff on purpose aka having a schedule. I want to have a game plan for everyday.
- I want to be a professional mom. I want to set up pre-planned learning activities where we explore colors and light, sort shapes, look at the life-cycle of frogs. (Heavily inspired by Montessori and Reggio Emilia learning theories).
- Have my son as independent as developmentally possible—keep cabinets unlocked with food low enough for him to reach on his own, have the patience to let him dress himself painfully slow as soon as possible, keep toys organized in such a way that he knows where to they are always found and when he’s old enough where to put them back. (Another Montessori principle)
- I want to have a “recital” once a year where I have a dinner party and perform for my friends, because I want to model my love of music to my son and I want to keep my talents from dying.
- I want to go running regularly because fit people are happy and slightly more sane.
And perhaps most ridiculous of my goals, I want to deliver my baby without an epidural. This one is much more personal than most of my goals. While many of my other goals are consistent with my own philosophy on human nature and development and early-childhood research that I’ve been exposed to, the no-epidural thing just feels right. There is a body of peer-reviewed research that supports claims that epidurals lead to more c-sections, less satisfaction with the entire experience of birth for the mother, and more trouble establishing breastfeeding… the percentages are also pretty small. Meaning, it really doesn’t matter whether you choose an epidural or not. But what does matter is my personal perceptions. One of the biggest indicators for birth complications is maternal fear. If I’m freaking out, my body is much more likely to stall out in labor (I mean evolutionarily it makes sense—it’s not a good idea to introduce a newborn while being attacked by wolves). I freak out about paralysis. I’ve been incapable of moving my body before, and it’s definitely the most scared I’ve ever been. I’d rather be able to move my legs.
Additionally, I want to feel it. I know some women with epidurals do and some don’t. Sometimes they just feel the urge to push, but can’t really feel the baby. I dunno, I guess this experience is about as feminine a thing as it gets. From Eve to Abigail Adams, this is one experience you share with the entire history of womankind and it’s unique just to us, and I want to feel it. I don’t want to die, I know maternal mortality was also a lot higher when Abigail Adams had her children—hence, I’m having my baby in a hospital. But if it’s possible (my baby isn’t upside-down and backwards, and my body cooperates), I want to run the marathon on my own legs. This is a case though where either way you get the prize, so I’m planning on one way, but I won’t be disappointed with another. I may decide that an epidural is worth it after 25 hours of labor, I might end up with a puckered scar on my belly, or I might be one of those obnoxious mothers who talks about the transcendent aligning of the universe that allowed me to deliver naturally, but all I really care about is a healthy baby.
