Today it occurred to me that my usual posture as a mother is a defensive crouch. That realization sent shivers down my spine. When I am in public with my children, or around people who don’t know me all that well, I assume a position of defense. I instantly thought about what effect this general attitude of defensiveness would have on my kids. I go about every day cagey, waiting for the next backhanded compliment, judgmental sneer, outright admonishment, like a boxer waits for his opponent’s next punch. Yikes! Is this what my life has come to?
It all happened in the grocery store, of course. (Imagine that primitive television special effect of the wavey lines to signify a trip back in time). My little guy has some kind of nasty virus and ear infection and it just so happened that we also ran out of diapers. I had to make a bank deposit to buy the diapers. So we stood there making a deposit at our in-store bank, while my little guy, sick and nearing nap time, began to pitch a fit. The twentysomething bank teller looked at my son’s red, tear-streaked, snotty face with disgust and proceeded to ask me inane procedural questions that, no doubt, she’s required to ask. Nonetheless, with a screaming and sick toddler, I was understandably irritated with the teller’s tedious questions and lack of sympathy. We then proceeded on into into the grocery store, attracting the judgmental and derisive eyes of the other customers, all of whom seemed to accuse me of beating my child into a crying fit, and through the check-out line where the checker, also a twentysomething, was so concerned with my obvious neglect of my own child (you can read some sarcasm in there), that she offered me a Kleenex to wipe his teary and snotty face (actually, can you hold my son?), while I struggled to get cash from my wallet, to pay as quickly as possible, in order to get home. And while this may merely seem like a nice, friendly gesture on the part of a sympathetic and sweet young woman, the attitude with which the Kleenex was offered implied the following sentiment: “You housewives can’t get it together enough to pay for your groceries and wipe your kids’ noses? If I have kids someday, I won’t be like you, you slacking loser.” My god, I thought, is there no safe haven for the sweat-suited, errand-laden, sleep-deprived, make-up-less mothers of the world if not the grocery store? I mean, isn’t the store supposed to be my second home? That was an emotional war zone! As soon as we left the store, my son calmed down (of course!) and I was the one nearly in tears. I felt like a disorganized, lazy, unfeeling mother who was traumatizing and abusing my son. What a crock!
Truthfully, that wasn’t the first time I’ve felt besieged by a chorus of mothering critics. Shocked by the realities of motherhood with my first son, I was initiated into the raucous, intensely judgmental and harsh world of motherhood when I decided to breastfeed my son. It seemed no matter where I turned, my simple decision to breastfeed my son was a public and controversial act, making me the target and receptacle of admonishment, judgment and disdain, not only from old-fashioned family members, but also perfect strangers! And it wasn’t just childless strangers who seemed to enjoy sending me laserbeam eyes, it was other mothers too. As I struggled to demurely remove my breast from my shirt under a tiny receiving blanket once during a park play date (in order to feed my three month old baby boy), some of the mothers, my friends, winced and looked away, and then found some excuse to remove themselves from my company.
It isn’t just breastfeeding mothers who catch flack. It seems, these days, no matter what you decide for your children, no matter whether you are in public or in the privacy of your home, there is a large contingent of people ready to speak to you in person, from the newspapers and internet, in chat rooms, at the park, in the grocery store, at home, over the phone, to tell you exactly what is wrong with your mothering skills. If you breastfeed, you’re a pervert. If you don’t, you don’t love your child enough to invest in their future. If you cloth diaper, you are an old-fashioned, liberal curmudgeon, going to extremes to prove a point. If you use disposables, you are creating a tainted Earth for your child to inherit. Punish your child in public and you are an unfair, abusive tyrant who enjoys the power you have over your child. Allow your kid to run, skip and scream through the grocery store without a word and you are too lenient; your child will become the scourge of society as a result of your inability to discipline your spawn in public. The Mommy Wars have been written about (perpetuated) in daily columns, books, magazines. Oprah hosted a show with Elizabeth Vargas about the ways in which mothers seemed to be locked in fruitless debate over whether to work or stay at home with their children. When Babytalk magazine featured a baby breastfeeding on its cover, droves of people (not just mothers) wrote in to complain about the obscenity. Mothers just can’t win. In fact, I’m sure someone will read this and claim that I’m whining. You know that old cliche about everyone having an opinion? I won’t repeat it here.
I realize that mothers are raising the generations of the future that will someday run the world. It would seem that this perception makes many people feel entitled to have a say about the way I raise my child. However, it’s overly simple to blame a generation for the way the world is going. Does George W. Bush represent baby boomers? Do all of his decisions directly reflect the choices his mother made in raising him? I mean, let’s take a look at this issue from the reverse position. Let me ask, how close is the correlation between the Iraq war and whether or not G.W. was spanked? Did Barbara Bush hover over her children so much that her son George’s sense of insecurity caused him to overcompensate by insuring that he’d go down in history…even if in infamy? Was his addiction to alcohol caused by his daddy’s choice to rub a little whiskey on the baby’s gums (and old, and laughable bit of home remedy for teething)? The questions get more and more preposterous. Of course a mother has an impact on her children. Of course the way we choose to raise our kids influences who they become. But there are many other institutions and cultural practices that more directly shape the world we live in as a whole. In the meantime, the world has focused it’s microscope on the fact that you have chosen non-organic baby food for your kid, and how that will cause a nuclear holocaust someday in the future.
Maybe this all relates to the culture of fear that Michael Moore talks about in his film Bowling for Columbine. The advertising industry spends a great deal of money targeting parents of young children. Look through any magazine dedicated to babies, mothers or small children and you’ll find a large number of the pages dedicated to advertising all kinds of products…from new designs in sippy cups to diaper cream. Businesses need to sell their products. What makes Americans buy goods? Well, if we answer this question based on what ads reflect, we’d have to conclude that fear and, by relation, guilt sells. You want the best for your child….wholesome, healthy goodness…without toxins or pesticides…the most natural way for your child to ride in comfort…made with real, made with 100%, organically grown…proven to improve development, to stimulate brain development…designed by a pediatrician, psychologist, teacher… Not that products that are 100% organic, designed by pediatricians or proven to increase brain development are bad (I’ve bought into the marketing myself…making all of my first son’s baby food, and buying all organic produce to do so), but it seems to me that the focus of advertising to parents these days exploits (in the same way that advertising always exploits to some extent, not by evil intent necessarily) a fundamental lack of confidence prevalent today. For fear of making an inferior, or even, wrong choice, we must have the best. Our way of doing things must be the right way, in order to protect ourselves from the only alternative…that we are hurting our children. If our way is not the right way, then we are doing something wrong. It’s these kinds of abstractions, labeling non-life threatening parenting choices as right and wrong, that I find problematic.
Of course there is a right and a wrong. But where is that line drawn when it comes to cloth diapers, baby food and teething remedies? Can we extend morality to bedtimes? To appropriate morning snacks? To types of toys? Am I a bad person if my daughter plays with a Bratz doll? I mean, really. All complexity when it comes to defining right and wrong in parenting is often lost in this case. If I refuse to let my child play with water guns, then I am making a statement to the world about my commitment to a violence-free household…and if you let your kids play with water guns, well, then we all know what that means…
My question is this: when did we become so intolerant of the parenting choices of others? I’m talking within reason here. Obviously beating, sexually abusing…breaking the law with regard to your children…is NOT okay. Let me use a juvenile phrase here: duh. But it is not a crime to give your ten month old undiluted apple juice! Nor is it a crime to opt out of breastfeeding! Or to opt into breastfeeding! I’m so sick of hearing women get uppity about their own parenting choices, as though the differing parenting choices of others are inferior. While we may see it that way, who are we to say how others should raise their kids? I don’t know what is right for my neighbor’s children. I know what is right for my own kids, for our family. Having a kid doesn’t make you an expert on the children of others.
So, today, at our Creative Play class…when I was offered unsolicited advice about weaning my sixteen month old son, I kept my mouth shut. There’s no need for debate. I don’t have to demonize another parent in our Parks and Rec class merely because, with good intention, she offered her way as the better way. I don’t mind discussion, especially with those who I differ with. It was actually a relief to let it go, to not feel embattled in the middle of a fun hour hanging with my son. We adults managed to find something else to talk about anyway.
