Way Back When You Were Born

Tomorrow is Louisa's birthday, which means it's time to tell her birth story (according to the long-standing tradition begun on Bella's birthday all of two months ago, in these pages). But before I do, some thoughts on memories of today.

Today is the tenth anniversary of the start of the war in Iraq. I remember that time, a decade ago, very clearly. With a ten-week-old baby keeping me up and keeping me down (I was in the throes of breastfeeding mayhem right then), I had nary a moment to read the newspaper, electronically or otherwise. When I finally got it together to call a La Leche League leader for help and she told me that the next meeting was in April, I responded with frustration, "but that's months away!" To which she replied: "No, it's just over a week." I literally had no idea what day it was. (That winter was the only time in my life that I watched, baby on boob, an entire season of American Idol: an obvious sign of my compromised mental state. Ruben won, to remind you).

My head was comfortably in the sand, and whenever I heard mention of the war, I would look at my tiny baby's face and just think: peace.

Becoming a parent can unsettle your relationship with world events, with your spouse, with your friends, and with yourself. Forever after, time is measured in the ages of your kids. I've been known to forget how old I am (seriously), but I could never forget how old they are.

Two years ago today, I woke up in the morning, put on a maternity frock and makeup, adjusted my daughters' hair and dresses, and set out for nephew's bar mitzvah across state lines. It was one day before my due date, and for months there had been speculation in my family about whether I would make it to the simcha. I made it, all right, even though I knew even before I left my apartment that morning that I was in early labor. However, I missed the desserts.

To read the rest of the story of how life began for our littlest, who will turn two tomorrow, click here. (The story was originally published in The Journal of Perinatal Education, Fall 2011, Volume 20 Number 4. If you have comments, please put them here, not on Scribd. Thanks.)

On Weaning My Ten-Year-Old

Good. I got your attention. I knew I'd get this title-writing-thang down.

No, I'm not talking about Game-of-Thrones-style breastfeeding until the kid is in middle school. My two oldest were weaned from the breast at a relatively normal age (depending on whom you ask, of course), while still toddlers. And as I mentioned yesterday, my 22-month-old is on the verge of being done.

I'm thinking about a different kind of weaning, but one that is arguably more important: weaning a child from needing his/her parents to do everything for and with him/her. Weaning her from needing to be watched while she's walking down the street, or riding the subway, or using a public bathroom. I'm talking about giving kids freedom and trust, and teaching them independence and self-reliance.

Starting from when Bella and Ruby were about 7 and 5, I would sometimes leave them in front of the television while I popped across the road for some ingredients for dinner. We were living in London at the time, and directly across the street from our terraced house (that's Brit-speak for townhouse, see photo), there was a small grocery shop and a vegetable shop. I told them that their tushies were glued to the couch. Don't move, I said. I'll be right back. I was never gone for more than 5-8 minutes.

Did I assess the risks involved in leaving such young kids alone for a few minutes? I certainly didn't spreadsheet it. I used my gut, as I do every day as a parent. I just felt it would be infinitely easier to go pick up the needed broccoli myself, than to coat, shoe, and shlep the kids across the street to the shops with me (where they would undoubtedly beg for biscuits or lollies).

When we moved back to New York, a friend told me that it is illegal to leave a child at home alone until they are 10. I was not able to find evidence that it is illegal, but the New York State Office of Children and Family Services has this to say on the topic: Some children are responsible, intelligent, and independent enough to be left alone at 12 or 13 years of age. 

What?! Starting in middle school, the NYC Board of Education expects my kids to take the subway or public bus to school--they age out of eligibility for yellow bus service. Kids are expected to be able to move around the city on their own at the exact same age when they can be first left in their own homes? This doesn't make sense to me.

It's true that all kids and situations are different, but I would posit that weaning any child from their parents' constant supervision is akin to weaning a child from breastfeeding. It should be done slowly, and with sensitivity to the child's needs. Louisa started weaning from breastfeeding the day she started eating food, when she was six months old. A year and a half later, she is almost ready to give up the breast altogether. Similarly, kids need to gain independence gradually. At first my girls only stayed alone for a few minutes, and by now this has progressed to an hour or two, in the daytime only. It is always the girls' choice to stay or come with me. They know not to cook or bathe while I'm out. And they're pretty smart.

Bella also has been going out on her own, very locally, for the past few months. We send her on errands to the coffee shop across the street (how nice to have a young eager soul who's willing to go buy her parents coffee when we're out of beans!), and to the deli around the corner. On the latter errand, I followed her a half block behind the first time she went, mainly because I wanted to make sure she knew where to go, not because I was worried for her safety. She's also gone a block away (across Third Avenue!), to meet a friend.

Bella has plenty of intelligence and awareness, and I'm hoping that by taking small steps now, her increasing independence, when it comes, will be natural and pain-free.

Night night. Waffle.

Louisa is weaning. I knew the time would come, and in fact it's been coming for some time. It's been months since she's nursed for hunger, and even longer since I've noticed a let-down. The fact that she was still nursing was a blessing in December when she had a double ear infection; it's always nice to have a way to calm a miserable child. But now she's healthy, and she's become a miniature foodie with Wu-wu (her favorite stuffed puppy) perpetually in her chubby hands (she likes to give him tastes of her food).

A few months ago after some disruptive night waking, we were working on getting her to stay in bed. Part of the plan was telling her that she had to sleep until morning. But how would she know when it's morning? We get up most days before 6:30 in our house, and it is still dark out. So we said, "You need to sleep until it's time for waffles."

So she began to go to bed at night saying, "Night night. Waffle." And lately she wakes up saying, "I hungry. Waffle."

Bella weaned with our help when she was 16ish months, because I was pregnant with Ruby and I simply wasn't up for nursing two. Josh would retrieve her and feed her breakfast every morning (not a bad deal for a tired and pregnant mom). For years to come, Bella would wake up wanting to eat immediately, which I think was from the memory of her morning nursing, followed by her early breakfasts with Daddy.

Ruby weaned at about 20 months. The truth is that I don't remember exactly when it was or how it happened, because it happened on its own and I didn't really keep track. She weaned so slowly that it wasn't traumatic or difficult.

I'm often surprised by how fearful some mothers are about weaning. They worry that if they don't actively wean their baby by their first birthday, the child will nurse forever. They worry that their nursing toddler won't gain independence, or won't eat real food, or won't...what is it? Why do so many husbands and grandparents and doctors and friends hassle moms about weaning?

None of these worries came to pass for us. My babies nursed when they wanted, and weaned when they wanted (except Bella, who had some help). They all eat vegetables, and they all separated when it was time to go to school (Louisa will, too). Gradually, my toddlers were able to get the comfort and calories they need from other sources. That doesn't make it any less sad for me that Louisa is weaning. The connection between a mom and her nursing babe is unique and lasts such a short time. And she's my third and last child. Sniffle.

I know that Louisa appreciates what I've given her, because she told me. When she was 20 months old, she was nursing when she stopped and said, "Tank you mommy nursie sides." (In her parlance "ah side" meant "other side"). It was, at the time, the longest sentence she'd ever spoken.

Last night at bedtime, I sat in the glider in Louisa's room and pulled her onto my lap to read her a book. When we finished reading, she leaned toward me and said, "nursie," so I offered her my breast, as I always do when she asks. She put my nipple in her mouth for about five seconds and then let out a big giggle and said, "Night night. Waffle."

Nursing break on a family bike trip, August 2012

Waffle time (with serious bedhead)