Brother
Thank you all for the kind and concerned comments about my little brother's situation! It turns out it is probably a benign cyst, which will need to be monitored frequently, but he is not in immediate danger. They are actually as concerned (if not moreso) with his chain smoking and his blood pressure. He's 35 and has way too many self destructive habits for anyone's good. We are praying this scare is a wake up call for him to start getting his act together...
Mother
In other news... Not that my life is newsworthy...
My mother is driving me crazy.
I love her dearly. She is one of my very best friends.
But.
This grandparent/parent dynamic is not something that is working real well.
She's a great gramma to Mikro-- don't get me wrong. But whoa is she critical of me as a mother, and I really am starting to not be able to be civil about it.
I have tried to make sure that we didn't get into this conflict. I have told her that the experts are singing a different song now than in the sixties, when she was in my position. I do not blame her for not breastfeeding-- the medical establishment was pushing formula as the nifty scientific and superior option. Crying it out was all the rage then too. I have no problem with the choices she made, based on the information available at the time. I really do not want her to feel defensive because I have chosen another path.
However, I have a major problem with forty year old parenting advice being held up as graven in stone wisdom from on high, and Doctor Spock as the be all and end all of any issue. No offense to Spock, especially since I haven't read him. I have read tons of more modern tomes, and not just the ones written from the hippy dippy crunchy granola perspective that I share. I have done my research, I talk to other parents, including my mom and MIL, and I have made my decisions based on what I believe to be best for me and my family.
Enough second guessing and criticism, subtle or otherwise! I get to live with the consequences, good or bad. I love my son more than anything in the world. I would do anything for him. I will never willingly put him in danger or hurt him in any way.
Why is that so hard to understand?
I do not mind advice, but I will not blindly follow orders. That has never been my nature, and it never will be.
First it was comments that I am starving her grandson, because his primary nutrition is still breastmilk. Since solids at this point are largely for teaching him to eat, and discovering any sensitivities he may have to particular foods, I occasionally will let a day go by where all the Boy gets is boobie. My mother thinks this is equivalent to abuse and starving him.
Then it was that I am retarding his development by only letting him crawl around on the futon, rather than the floor, in a room that was not yet baby proofed.
So we finally get it kidlet safe, and put down those rubber puzzle piece flooring tiles to make his falls less likely to injure, and give him the freedom and space she was complaining we were denying him. His crawling has improved dramatically, and he is already pulling up and creeping along while holding onto the furniture. (He has been doing it for almost ten days, and just turned eight months old today.)
Yesterday I put him down in the middle of the floor, in a baby gated rubber matted room, and walked ten feet away to answer the door and sign for a package, while on the phone with my mother. I could see the Boy at all times. He was sitting and chewing a rattle. I picked the phone back up and got screamed at that I can't just put him down like that, it's not safe, I should have put him in the exersaucer. Which is it? Does he need freedom to grow and explore, or to be wrapped in bubble wrap and duct taped to a wall for his safety (ok, so it's a gross exaggeration, but I am pissed at the implication that I put him at risk. He was perfectly safe where he was.)
Nothing I do is ever right.
I got him a flu shot. That was a major source of second guessing until babies started dying from influenza. Now that topic has mercifully been allowed to drop.
We co-sleep. So I am told I am raising a pervert, or that he will be a clingy, needy little wimp boy all his life.
So how come, every doctor, every stranger, every friend who meets Mikro comments on how happy, secure, responsive and developmentally advanced he is?
I will just keep messing him up with my weirdo hippy parenting ways, thank you! The proof of the pudding is in the eating, and my little pudding is as sweet, smart, special and good natured as anyone could ever wish a baby to be. It ain't broke, and I ain't fixin' it.
And if people don't like my tone of voice when I respond to criticism, they should quit pushing the parental guilt button, and I will be my sweet civil self. Goad me about how I am a rotten mother, and I will snark back. So I guess that makes me a rotten daughter too? So be it. I am sick of this particular conflict.
So she hung up on me yesterday, and hasn't called today, even though I called and left a message. All this is in perfect keeping with my family's sick need to manufacture drama and crises around the holidays.
It is predictable, but maddening nevertheless.
Enough of this rant, I am going to go warp the Boy's mind by hugging him and telling him I love him.
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