I'd Focus on My Breath if Only I Could Catch It...: December 2012

I've been humbled. I checked out Brinigng Up Bebe at the library, I read exactly one article about it (which happened to be rather unbalanced), and immediately dismissed the book. I planned to return it the next day.

Then, a friend - who happens to be a wonderful, loving mama - said she actually likes a lot of what the book says, though some of it is a bit harsh. What she says about the book, and about parenting, makes me want to give it a go. After all, this is the same friend who changed my life by casually mentioning to me when I was 9 weeks pregnant that I should consider a home birth. She was right about that, and she's right about this.

I think it's important as parents to know who we are, and who we are not. The approach to parenting that resonates with me and works for our family is Attachment Parenting, so that's what we do. (I don't know, maybe we're frauds because we use Huggies and don't grow our own food, but we try.)

So then I read this article about Bringing Up Bebe that, in a grand dismissive gesture, sums up French parenting as the polar opposite of everything I believe in and practice. Basically, the article left me assuming the following:

Birth in France is highly medicalized, and anyway what's the point of a natural birth?
French babies are left to cry-it-out from day one
French parents interact with their children more like we expect people to interact with their dogs - barking orders, administering a kick here and there, and merely "observing" them as they play, but never truly engaging with them. Smacking a bit of the "to be seen and not heard" era that my parents grew up in.
French mothers are selfish, vain, snooty bitches
Breastfeeding is pointless. And if you nurse a toddler, you're a "crazed hippie."

So I'm listening to the book on CD while I commute to and from work each day this week. As it turns out, birth in France is indeed highly medicalized. It sounds like the ideal birth starts with a narcotic drip when you arrive at the hospital. You doze off, and when it's time, you get an epidural. Then you do what the doctor tells you - you lay on your back with your legs up, and you push your baby out "like everybody else." (Read with harsh French accent for full effect.) The New York Times was not exaggerating this point when talking about the book. 4 days in the hospital includes wine service in your room (okay, that part sounds awesome), and lots of handing your baby over to the nursing staff so you can chill. Birth plans are scoffed at. Dad is to stay away from the "business end" during the birth, and he is not to cut the umbilical cord, lest his wife lose her "feminine mystique." A step up from Don Draper smoking a cigarette in the waiting room while Betty birthed their third child in a drugged stupor, I suppose.

I am utterly mystified by the French prescription for baby sleep, referred to as "Le Pause" throughout the book. I am in no position to offer sleep advice to anyone - I got kicked in the face so hard by my 2-year-old this morning as I woke up that I was momentarily certain I had either a concussion or a broken nose. So it goes like this: from birth, French parents don't rush to a crying baby instantly, they give them a moment to "sort it out on their own." Sounds ridiculous to me, but I guess they really are talking about a max of a few minutes. The book claims that it obviates the need for Ferberization and such later. I dunno. That ship has sailed for us. But I will say, it's not nearly as severe as I thought.

My impression is that everyone who does not live under a rock knows that "Breast is Best." Right? Not in France. It seems that most mothers view it as a nuisance that is hard on their bodies and puts them on a leash. There was zero talk in that chapter about how nursing bonds mother and child, and all of the social-emotional benefits. "Formula is just fine" seems to be the prevailing attitude - and if a woman nurses, she doesn't very frequently do it past 3 months. Alien concept to me, obviously. A large part of the reason is that French society doesn't want to reduce breasts to a merely utilitarian function. Even though, biologically, that is clearly why they exist. But okay. To each his or her own.

So there are some pretty significant points of disagreement between myself and your average French mother. What surprised me, however, are the many ways in which I'm already doing a lot of what the book talks about, and how my mother did it before me. The heart of the French approach to parenting seems to be in raising confidently independent, respectful, considerate little humans. Oh, and mom's that aren't losing their shit. Amen to that. So here's where I totally resonate with French parenting.

Children should be taught patience, and that they are not the center of the universe. I am surrounded daily by people with a sense of entitlement and self-absorption. And not just in my high school classroom, but everywhere in society. We will teach Hannah that she matters, but so does everyone else.

Children should have clear, reliable boundaries about non-negotiable things that parents decide on, and lots of freedom within those boundaries to discover their world. Sort of like not micro-managing, I suppose. I have noticed lately that if I present something to Hannah as a choice, I immediately prevent a power struggle. "Do you want to take your shirt off, or do you want mommy to do it?" So, the shirt is coming off, because we're getting ready for bed. But there are multiple ways to get there.

Children do not need a bunch of blinking plastic shit, flashcards and other baby-genius gadgets to learn. My new favorite thing to do with Hannah is bake. It's amazing - she can crack eggs, measure flour, WAIT, stir, preheat the oven, and listen on pins and needles to directions. Everything we create, even if it flops, she is so proud of. Another benefit is that I am my most tuned in to her when we bake together, out of necessity. I am forced to be present, which is good for me, and for her. At the risk of melodrama, it feels as if we are making memories that will shape her life. No toys needed. Embedded in this is the idea that children are rational, smart, and capable. We should treat them as such.

Children are happier and calmer (read: better behaved, but I hate the word "behave" - I guess that's part of the crazed hippie side of my parenting style) when their caregivers are tuned in to them and can more accurately understand what they need. Something we in America seem to getting worse and worse at is paying attention. We are pathetically distracted and overstimulated. I constantly see parents pretty much ignoring their kids, and then they are mystified when the kid goes agro on them.

The mom formerly known as ______________ is still a person. Say, WHAT?! I will give mad props to the French on this front, from what I've learned in this book. It is expected that women will return to their careers when they have children because a) daycare is free AND of exceptional quality and b) women, too, enjoy the careers they built before they became mothers and c) relying on the income of your spouse might backfire. (I realize c is a loaded statement - don't shoot the messenger.) Society is set up to support women and families, so both spouses working and shelling out a grand or more every month for daycare isn't an issue. Aside from that, French mothers are encouraged, albeit largely by societal pressure to look sexy, to take care of themselves. And yes, get their bodies back. But I prefer to set the focus on taking care of ourselves without feeling guilty for it. I'm paraphrasing, but as the book puts it, a woman should be able to continue as an important member of society, and she deserves to feel good. I've groaned on here before about how I feel mothers in the U.S. have no real place in society. What each mom and each family chooses is a decision they should make without judgement. Wouldn't it be nice if we lived in society where we were supported for having children, though? For real.

This post is a bit premature, as I haven't actually finished the book (okay, CD). If it already bears reflecting on, I'm sure there will be a part deux.

And for your viewing pleasure, we documented our making of the Gateau Yaourt, "yogurt cake" that is included in the book.

Cracking Eggs