Feminist Suggests I’m a Child Abuser. Are You?

No, I didn’t make my first substantial blog post in about two weeks to put up adorable pictures of my kid on Thanksgiving because I got a load of those, don’t worry. I came back from my blog-neglect hiatus to address some issues in this world that are just beyond my control. Issues that show there are truly disturbed people that think they know it all about everything they know nothing about. I have encountered one so idiotic that an unmarried (assuming) and childless (God willing) woman is spewing off on the dangers of co-sleeping. Wait, there’s more! She goes on to diagnose bed-sharing as abuse for unwilling children! If only my breastfed baby could only say, “Mother, I hate sleeping next to you and my father. I am afraid you will get sexually excited therefore you must call CPS once we are up in the morning.” Here is her attempt for advocating for my child because he “digs” bed-sharing:

Co-Sleeping as a Form of Child Abuse

November 16, 2011

I want to warn everybody that this is a sensitive topic for me. So I kindly ask people not to be jerks in their comments. If you have a burning need to share the story of how you sleep in the same bed with your child and that child totally digs it, I ask you to take this story elsewhere. Here, it will bring you no applause.

Every form of emotional abuse of children comes out of the parental incapacity to see children as separate human beings. There is nothing more dangerous to a child’s psyche than a parent who sees that child as an extension of him or herself. Parents often invade the personal space of their children in ways they would have never allowed themselves to employ in respect to other adults. Putting children to sleep in the same bed with themselves is one of the most egregious invasions of a child’s personal space that a parent can come up with.

Children start exploring their bodies and masturbating early in life. Obviously, it cannot be very healthy for a person’s developing sexuality to experience his or her first instances of sexual arousal in the same bed with the parents.

At the same time, adults normally have erotic dreams. (Whether you remember them or not is, of course, completely immaterial.) It is also hardly a good thing for a child to wake up and observe a parent who is orgasming in his or her sleep.

One of the greatest challenges on the road to a healthy sexuality for both men and women is to learn to select partners exclusively on the basis of their own sexual desire. Parents who drag children into bed with them exercise their authority over the children in order to service their own tactile needs. Later on in life, such children have absolutely no idea how to reject unwanted tactile contacts.

There is a mile-long list of justifications parents who practice the so-called co-sleeping have come up with to excuse their invasion of the personal space of their miserable children. I read such lists a couple of times and they made my hair stand on end. There are people who seriously say that sleeping with children is acceptable because it allows them to save on heating. Truly, the hypocrisy of child abusers knows no bounds.

The only real reason why adults drag children into bed with them is because they are incapable of developing a relationship with another adult(s) to satisfy their tactile needs. To put it bluntly, they can’t persuade anybody to touch them as much as they need and to share personal space with them, so they use the only people who cannot refuse them, their unfortunate children. And if those children then have to spend the rest of their lives trying to deal with the emotional and sexual problems they develop as a result, who cares?

I know that this post will make many people very angry. But as long as there is a tiniest chance that I might persuade at least one person to get out of his or her child’s bed, I have to use it.

If you thought that was idiotic, please continue on to the Best of Idiotic Feminist Comments shared here. Obviously she thinks every natural basic need is just plain damaging. How, I wonder, did babies survive and thrive in the time before bottles and cribs?

She's also a psychological expert on breastfeeding weaning!

Breastfeeding makes me a total perv.

Being the intimacy expert that she is, she may need some tips and pointers from a Mama who gets laid. We bed-share and we have an active sex life. How lame is she for only doing it in bed and insinuating that parents use co-sleeping as a crutch for no sexy time? Again, disturbed.

No sexy time for Mama and Dada!

I was raised Buddhist and was taught that talking ill of other people is very, very bad. I hope my grandmother understands that I just can’t let this idiot go unseen. I can redeem myself with that she will be in my thoughts to live and let live. I didn’t want to link her post because I do not want to give her the pleasure of gleaming at her computer with hits on such uninformed writing. If you feel the need to read all 234 comments, I will gladly lead you in that direction.

Do you see any valid point she is making? Do you know of messed-up children who were breastfed and co-slept? If so, could it be possible that there were other environmental factors to be “messed-up”?

Wordless Wednesday – Back Scratching on Thanksgiving 2010

My dad is quite possibly the most entertaining 50-something Asian guy I know. My husband always makes sure my dad is in town when we go to visit my parents for the entertainment value. His broken English and words of wisdom make for great comedic effect in family visits. I found some old pictures from last year when I was still pregnant that I took of my Dad with a back scratcher. If you know anything about Asians, we love wooden back scratchers for obvious reasons but I could never bring myself to use one. I’m a germ o-phobe of sorts and — well, you’ll see for yourself.

How Jeopardy is a Part of Bedtime

You know how I know this kid is mine? He loves watching Jeopardy just as much as I do! He gets pretty cranky when we try to clothe him after bath time and the only thing that calms him down is hearing Alex Trebek’s wise voice. I am a self-proclaimed trivia know-it-all and I rock at Jeopardy at home. Jeopardy drinking game, anyone? The Husband promised me we would figure a way to fly me out to the nearest audition city if I were to ever make it through the audition process! The adult online test is in January and I am going to register. Nerd Alert: My all-time dream would be to appear on Jeopardy! That. Would. Be. AWESOME.

I’m starting Humnoy early so he can be eligible/smart enough to try out for the Kid/Teen Tournament then onto the College and so on and so forth. So far, Mama like what she see.

In addition to being BFFs with Alex, he loves to rock out to the famous Final Jeopardy tune:

11/11/11 and a Love Note to My Forever Baby

Here’s what the kid did on 11/11/11 at 11:11 pm and how I creepily captured the moment:

Here’s a little something-something for 11/14/11 at 11:07 pm. What? That’s still a significant time in history.

Dear Humnoy,

You are 8 months and a whole day old today! I cried after breakfast because I knew today would be the longest time away from each other (10 hours). Mama took a part-time job, you see.

I called on my way home, and I heard how amazing you were. I was afraid you’d be very sad/worried/scared that Mama wasn’t there for your favorite noon-time nap. I’m so proud of you and how you didn’t need Mama like you did when you were brand new. Daddy finally can take you without Mama! Now that you don’t need Mama as much, it makes me sad/worried/scared because you’re growing up.

I’m proud of you every day even when I want to run outside and scream. I’m also proud of you when you love on mama so good when you don’t see her for 10 hours. I’m most proud of you for making me the best mother I was destined, but never thought, to be for you.

Good night, my forever baby.

Sharing Shrimp Chips is Caring

My favorite Asian snack chips is, hands down, baked shrimp chips. They are salty, shrimpy, and crunchy. Humnoy is a son of mine because he loves them just as much as I do. I should also note that this is the same kid who loves chewing on paper so he is not a picky eater.

I like to think of myself as the best Mama I can be for this kid and I’m proud of the things he’s learned and expresses. This next thing is something I don’t recall researching or even attempting to teach him. Folks, here is my son showing that sharing is caring.

Five Reasons Why I’m Not a Teacher

I often wonder the results if I had taken a career- and personality-match test in college before declaring my major. Well, let’s see: at that point in my life, I was in an unhealthy relationship, I loved to party, and I enjoyed writing. A career drinker or a blogger? With a little nudge from my best friend, I declared a special education major in community college and transferred to a university. I went through the courses with amazing instructors and shlepped through a less-than-enjoyable student teaching internship. I did it though – I got that silly diploma, bought that ugly gown, and have a teaching certificate! Who knew that a surprise pregnancy would change my mind completely about how I wanted to live the rest of my life?

There were signs all along that journey telling me this is not what I want to do.

Doing it all for the wrong reasons
In school, they say that you should possess certain characteristics in order to be a successful teacher. I thought that my compassion, comfort, and patience around people with special needs would make me a great special education teacher but I’ve come to find out that I’m just a compassionate, comfortable, and patient person. People always said, “Oh wow, it takes a special person to go into that” or “You’ll get a job right away; good for you!” I’ll admit – I vainly chose special education because everyone said there is a high demand for special education and I was glad because I have loans to pay off and I wanted to give back to my parents. Of course there are desperate demands for public school teachers. I’m just not willing to move to Alaska or podunk trailer town in Texas to nab one, signing bonuses or not!

I was ill-prepared for the bureaucracy
I met with plenty of teacher mentors for observations and meetings. You know what they all said? There is too much paperwork in special education. That is the one thing they hate about teaching because it takes away from teaching, time for prep, and the students. I thought my excellent cramming skills perfected in college would totally shine on my OCD-like tendencies. In a certain district where I reside, there’s this huge binder with pre-written goals and objectives so you wouldn’t have to come up with any on your own. While I understand that is a huge help, I don’t see how personalization fits in when an IEP stands for “individualized education program.”

Anybody can be a teacher, ANYBODY
If you’re the grammar police like I am, you want to de-friend that one friend who misspells too much, misuses “their” and “there,” or has the personality of a wet dish rag. My master teacher had such poor articulation on paper and in person that I was more than sure that teaching certification programs will certify ANYBODY. Maybe I chose the wrong age group or agreed to work in the wrong school, but her personality was so anti-me that I was uncomfortable. I’m not so vain that I hate all who have poor personalities but when someone talks behind someone’s back and gangs up on a classroom aide because of their personal or political beliefs, I’m definitely not your fan. I still stand by my radical belief that teaching programs and military recruitment should implement a character test. I wouldn’t want an illiterate or a moral-less personality teaching or serving our country, respectively.

Getting a job sucks
I know landing a job in general isn’t fun but even with a special education degree, it’s not fairies and unicorns. They don’t hire you because of lack of experience but you can’t gain experience if you’re not hired. It’s a vicious cycle, man. Or maybe I think I’m a better educator than I really am. It probably was the less-than-stellar letter of recommendation from my master teacher because I gave up halfway through my stint. It was discouraging and depressing. The only interviews I was offered were due to the fact that I name-dropped or I attended school there many years ago. It was never because I graduated magna cum laude and had a conditional scholarship, but who I knew or how I was associated.

Schedule and pay doesn’t work for me
I can’t be the mother I want to be if I am away from my son Monday through Friday from 7:00 am until 3:00 pm. The traditional schedule of a school has been set in their ways since the dawn of, uh, education and it doesn’t look like they’re going to accommodate a mama’s schedule anytime soon. Sure there are plenty of breaks that will coincide with your child(ren)’s school breaks so you “can spend more time with them” but that still doesn’t make me all giddy about a teacher’s salary.

Those are the five reasons why I am willing to work two part-time jobs far from a teacher salary and NO benefits. Five opportunities to share the Lao language in our home. Five times I can watch him walk in front of me.

He is the reason I can be the best Mama I can be.

Why would I miss this sweaty little head on my arms?

 

Santa On a One Horse… Frozen Meat Vehicle?

I try to write about a variety of topics going on in my life but I always end up writing about being a Mom. It’s who I am now in addition to my idea of being an all-around rad person. WordPress tracks all of the traffic for the bloggers to see what their reading audience is looking for or how they’ve been led to here. It’s neat that I can draw upon inspiration from my blog statistics and see what people are interested in and, in turn, lead them back to my blog.

I enjoy sharing about my culture, family, and funny stories and I seem to get good feedback from you, my readers. I’ve noticed that the search referrals have been a bit wonky lately since I’m writing about different hot topics like my Santa post. Although there are some that just make me go, “WTF.”

Ever heard of a frozen meat vehicle? What’s the weirdest Internet search you have caught yourself typing or awkward Google results you have come across?

Yeah, I Said It: I Would Be a Wet Nurse

I had about two Humnoy-free hours this morning and Daddy brought him in to work until I came to wrangle him up. Humnoy is generally the shop entertainment because he crawls everywhere and sticks his fingers into the air vent. It’s a very good idea to always hold him to keep the kid out of trouble. The boss’ wife was in doing some work and held him for a good amount of time.

I show up right around his coveted mid-day nap where the shop is buzzing with lunch break traffic. He, of course, smells milk and fusses 10 times more than before my face shows up. I sit down to nurse on the lounge couch and he latches on feverishly and zonks out even faster. A woman customer that had been in the shop before I arrived notices me with Humnoy on the boob. She makes the “Oh, that’s strange” face. I hope, for her sake, that she wasn’t bothered by the fact I was nursing in public because I have my lactivist supporters that will quickly defend my boob honor. They include my husband, the boss, and his wife who has a breastfed baby herself!

Since my kid looks very Caucasian and he’s held by a woman, the woman customer thought that I was breastfeeding the wife’s baby! In the normal flow of the going-ons of the all-male bike shop, there are some snickers and giggles at the thought of someone else breastfeeding someone else’s baby. I was surprised that the word “wet nurse” was brought up in the conversation with the boys because it’s an awkward topic for our society.

My husband questions the idea that Humnoy would latch on to anybody else other than me because he is always shirtless and Humnoy has never showed the slightest interest in Daddy nipples. My husband then riddles me with if, for whatever reason, the shop owners’ baby girl had issues with breastfeeding with her mother and they wanted to keep her on breastmilk and if I could, would I nurse their baby girl? I answer, “Yes, if they wanted me to.” I quickly defend myself with cultural norms in other cultures where it’s tradition for another nursing mom in the village/tribe to nurse the newborn baby until the new mother’s milk “came in” or for the mother to rest after childbirth.

I would totally be a wet nurse because a baby is a baby is a baby. I am such a boob(breastfeeding)-snob that I will go to those lengths to provide the perfect nourishment for a child. In those cultures, it’s not seen as an extreme task at all. Isn’t it strange how America loves breasts (sex sells!) until a baby is attached to them, then it is seen as obscene? I was never great on pumping and had donated the last of my frozen stash just recently to a local mom, all of the hefty 19 ounces of it! 😉 Now before you think I am going off on one of my crazy hippie-wannabe tangents, please consider the hierarchy of infant feeding choices set forth by the World Health Organization (WHO) and taken from Chronicles of a Nursing Mom:

As summarized by IBCLC Diane Wiessinger, the hierarchy is (1) breastfeeding; (2) mother’s own milk expressed and given to her child in some other way; (3) milk of another human mother; and (4) artificial milk feed.

If there were an incident where Humnoy and our breastfeeding/milk relationship were compromised, I would very much appreciate any offer of wet nursing my baby boy. It is a beautiful gift that I am providing my child and any child would benefit from the amazing body of a mother.

Have you ever heard of wet nurses? What are your thoughts on the hierarchy?

Doc, I Swear I’m Not SIDS-ing My Kid.

This morning was Humnoy’s twice-rescheduled “6-month well checkup” appointment with his pediatrician. The first rescheduling was because I wasn’t quite ready to go in as I was still researching vaccines and copped out by saying “I had to drive my husband to work.” The second reschedule was because I had an opportunity to work some more hours – true story!

I matter-of-factly noted to the nurse that we are no longer vaccinating and she noted that for the doctor. I was so proud of how I said it because I was so nervous that I would break down and have to be super-defensive about my decision. The pretend scenario in my head went like this because I can be a little mousey:

Nurse: “Do you have any questions or concerns for Dr. _____ to answer?”
Me: “… No. WELL. *tsk* Uh, yeah. Um , we’re not doing vaccines anymore???”

Oh, what a smart marketing coy with the adorable choo-choo train!

I totally didn’t flake or come off as self-conscious! As the nurse leaves and as Humnoy pees all over the exam table, I’m having a super-proud Mommy moment as I dawdle around getting a diaper on. I still have my defense mode button turned on but only on idle. The doctor comes in and greets us like usual and is very supportive of us not vaccinating at the appointment. Sweet– defense mode button turned completely off! He goes through the medical-school-pounded checkup sayings like Humnoy should be able to eat three solid meals a day now, rice cereal should be iron-fortified, and he can have meat at nine months. I’m pretty sad he totally didn’t remember that we are doing baby-led solids. Humnoy enjoys chicken and beef, he eats bananas, pears, and sweet potatoes, and has never had mashed-up baby food like the doctor suggested. I forgive his outdated information and just listen and politely nod. He’s not being offensive so I’m not being defensive!

Doctor: “If you’re wanting to get [vaccines] later on down the road, you can just do ________ rather than ______ because I think it was ______ that caused that reaction.”

Oh, hell naw. I guess I wasn’t clear that “anymore” means to not ever. I really should brush up on geographical use of terms because I guess here that doesn’t mean what it’s supposed to mean. Anyway, I just smile and thank him for the information and say nothing more. Defense mode switched back to idle now.

Doctor: “Does he sleep through the night now?”
Me: “Well, we co-sleep so yes and no? It’s hard for me to remember because I get such good sleep.” *bragging smile*
Doctor: *checking Humnoy’s baby testicles* “Those look great— Well, as a medical professional, I will tell you that co-sleeping is not recommended because of the risk of SIDS.”
Me: *Uh, WTF?*
Doctor: *inaudible as I’m still processing* “…. co-sleeping…. for birth to 6 months… not good … he’s fine now….”

"What, really?! No needles this time, Ma?"

Oh, hell to the no! Defense mode ON, ON, ON. I shut my mouth because, after all, he went to medical school and I’m sure he nursed and co-slept with all his children. Oh, wait, he didn’t so what is he talking about? He goes on to say a SIDS death of a patient was due to the fact that the baby rolled over into a soft spot and suffocated. Since Humnoy has slept in our queen-sized bed, there has yet to be an incident near anything like the risk of SIDS. Plus, I am not shitfaced wasted when going to bed either. By this point, I’m just done with trying to “school” my pediatrician on all the research I’ve done for this child of mine and how “recommendations” are outdated and unnecessary so defense mode is just shut down to save energy.

Doctor: “He should be crawling in about a month or so. Get ready to baby-proof your house.”
Me: *giggle* “He’s been crawling for a good two months now.”
Doctor: “Oh, great. He’s such a smart boy. You have a beautiful child. Very healthy.”

Phew! Gosh, at least I’m doing something right with this 17-lb and 27-inch-long boy! 😉

Yeah, I Said It: I Hate Cloth Diapering

I hate cloth diapering right now. It sucks. It grosses me out. Et cetera, et cetera! On top of us living in an apartment building with coin-operated laundry and spending approximately *$40 $28 on washing cloth diapers alone, Humnoy has been having some mean ol’ poops. As most of us everyday folk are unaware, solid fecal matter is “supposed” to be tossed and flushed in the toilet, recommended for both cloth and disposables. Yeah, you don’t see that in your Trivial Pursuit. Breastmilk poop is water-soluble so that wasn’t a problem until he had grabby hands and hungry eyes on big people food. I’ve been implementing what is known as the “dunk and swish” method, where I take a poopy diaper and swirl it in the toilet bowl until the chunky gunk comes off. You say, “Well, buy a diaper sprayer! It’s a cloth diapering girl’s best friend!” Girlfriend, I wish I could if I wasn’t already dishing out *half a month’s a week’s worth of gas money. (Plus, I’m ranting so let me finish).

Dunk and swish (i.e., gross and nasty) from http://naturalfeelsright.blogspot.com

Now, I love that we are not contributing to landfills, extra trash bags, and the like. I also love that I have “cloth diapering” added to my list of mom bragging on your top right column there! But c’mon, I thought I was ballsy enough to withstand this noise until he potty trained but now I’m not so sure.

Here are two scenarios I foresee if I were to make a choice on what I’ll do to keep myself sane:

Scenario One
I don’t offer my 7-month-old any solid food whatsoever. We go cold turkey and ignore his raving banshee screams for some toast. When we’re out and the Husband and I enjoy a meal cooked by someone else, we don’t look Humnoy in the eye so we don’t see that desperate look to try out what Mama and Daddy are eating. Results: Sad and hungry baby; sad Mama and Daddy.

Scenario Two
Keep doing what we’ve been doing, which is baby-led solids, and just live with a soggy pail liner and stewing diapers every three days. Results: Normal, happy Humnoy; crazy, frazzled, lazy Mama (this is normal for me though).

Three months old, before solids 'reared' its ugly head

I know I could just spend the laundry money on disposables every month and that would be the end-all. I’ve come this far and fought tooth and nail with the unsupportive nay-sayers and justifying why I would put up with it. My grandmother would surely show her disappointment, I’m guessing, since I’m trying my best to be a third-world Lao mom. I’ve done a lot of things that others have said I couldn’t from getting fat during pregnancy, to having a natural birth, and practicing attachment parenting. I’ve heard it all, but if it’s at the cost of doing what is natural and best for my baby, then I’ll dunk and swish the shit (no pun intended) out of it. Here’s to eating more pears, Humnoy!

*I’m Asian and I can’t do math apparently.