Bitchitorial
(The view from the Editor's Chair)
July 20th, 2003
Nobody ever said being a parent was easy. But if they'd told me that I
would be woken up at 2 am by an 18-month-old with a mass of worms
wriggling out of his ass, I would have seriously reconsidered the whole
parenthood thing. I mean, let's face it. They never told us about stuff
like THAT in prenatal classes. (When I called the daycare the next day,
the supervisor told me it was no big deal - she had one mom who dewormed
the kids with the dogs twice a year, whether they need it or not.)
Bleah.
Those pre-natal classes are sorely lacking, let me tell you. The HELL
with childbirth - despite a forcep delivery (which of course, they never
really talked about, lest they "scare" us), the episiotomy-from-hell and
the massive blood-loss, childbirth was the EASY part. They should have
PREPARED me for when my 3-year-old would ask, (at the top of his lungs)
in the middle of a busy grocery checkout lineup, (and OUT OF THE BLUE),
"Mom, How DOES the sperm get to the egg?"
"Um... let's not talk about sperms right now, okay?", I said in a hushed voice.
Well that was a BIG mistake. He sensed fear, like a horse that knows the rider
is inexperienced...
"BUT WHY MOM!? WHY CAN'T WE TALK ABOUT *SPERM* RIGHT NOW?"
Egad.
They should have told us that sometimes kids totally forget how to walk
and fall and hit their heads. I swear there was one point where one of
the kids was around 2 years old and he had an egg on his forehead for
about four months off and on. Every time it would finally heal, he'd be
running to do something, or just stumble and fall. There was always
something inopportunistically there to stop him, like a cupboard, or a
chair leg... You wouldn't believe the LOOKS I got when I took him out in
public. I wanted to put a sign on him that said, "I fell and hit my
head. REALLY."
Before it all began, I thought I had it all figured out. Before I'd spent countless
sleepless nights breast feeding (or kicking the husband out of bed to
bottle feed them so I could please, for once god, SLEEP), before I'd
dealt with cleaning a child and car of vomit in the
middle of the mountains when it's -25C, before I tried to teach a
three-year-old that biting ISN'T FUN for anyone else... well, before I'd
gone through all that, I thought I knew ALL about parenting. I think it's human
nature. We see other
people fumbling about and we figure WE could do better than that. And
I'm not saying we can't, but I know that I had a serious reset when I
actually BECAME a parent.
It took a while to figure the first kid out, but after we stopped
letting him run the household things seemed to go MUCH better. A
physiotherapist I knew worked at a center for children with neurological
disorders. She told me that they would often have parents bring in young
"problem children". In some cases, after assessing the child (and
surreptitiously, the parents), they would label the child "Hyper Alert".
That was their code phrase for "The kid is smarter than his/her parents
and is running the household." My kids probably ARE smarter than I am
(I certainly hope so!), but I'm not letting on.
So, I figured I had this whole parenting thing worked out with the first
one. It took a bit of trial and error, but we seemed to get past the "twos" and they
weren't so "terrible"... Then the second one came along, and NOTHING, I repeat NOTHING that
worked with the first one, worked with the second. The first went to bed
and stayed there till morning. The second got up every 5 minutes,
refused to fall asleep before midnight, and called me a "Stupid,
idiot-bum, fart-brain" when I followed through on locking him in his
room one night. (He was three. Those were the WORST words he had learned
to use in the day-care. Some part of my tired brain actually thought his
command of expletives was quite advanced for his age. Of course, I had a
hard time not letting him hear me laughing).
The first REFUSED to climb
out of his crib when he got old enough to do so - even when we gave him
a safe way down. He didn't want the side of the crib down AT ALL. He
wouldn't get out in the morning (he'd call for someone to come
get him), until we put him in a bed. The second climbed out of a crib
whose sides were at the MAXIMUM height setting, when he was just 9
months old. The kid couldn't even walk yet, but he could climb like spider-man.
In desperation, I put the crib against the wall and used those stretch
baby-tights to keep him in. I tied one leg of the tights to one of his ankles and one
to the side of the crib - he could move around but he couldn't get his
leg up high enough to propel himself over the side. He was REALLY not
impressed with that. My non-parent friends thought it was cruel and
unusual, but he was still too small for a bed, and I didn't want him
cracking his head on the floor again. I'm sure some therapist is going to have
field day with that one someday...
I used to look with such disdain when I saw people treating their
children differently. Now I know why. What motivates one, has absolutely
NO effect on the other. With one, a threat is sufficient. With the
other, not only the threat, but several follow-throughs are necessary to
get the point across, and even then, you will be challenged again at
some later date, just to see if you are on your toes. One wants to blend
in, the other wants to be the center of attention. One can't sit still,
the other has a hard time getting moving.
I tried reading all the books (Penelope Leach, etc), I tried various
forms of motivation and punishment. In desperation once, I turned to a
friend who had older children who seemed to have turned out ok -
scholarships to university, popular, happy... If anyone could take
credit for being a great parent, it would be her. And what did
she say? "I'm convinced it's 5% parenting and 95% the personality of the
child."
Great. I guess *I'M* off the hook then. But then, I didn't have to wait
until they were teenagers to realize I was in trouble.
When my oldest was about 4 years old, there was a day when we saw the
cat outside, tormenting a mouse. I waited for a strategic moment, when
the cat had released the mouse, and I grabbed the cat and threw him in
the house. We all went inside, and I closed the door and said to
everyone, "Don't let the cat out. I want to give the mouse a chance to
escape", and I went upstairs. (Not terribly Heartless of me, I know.)
Not one minute later, I heard the front door open and close. I went down to
the door, to find my 4-year old standing at the door.
"Did you just let the cat out?" I asked.
"Mom," he said, very earnestly and slowly, like he was talking to a simpleton,
"He's a CAT, mom. You gotta let him do what cat's DO. Cat's catch mice mom."
It was at that moment, that I knew I had lost not only the battle but the whole damn war.
My kids are now teenagers, and facing all the requisite trials and
tribulations of teenagehood, and in some cases, suffering from the
indolence of youth. My kids periodically try to guilt me with various
things, but it doesn't wash. For instance, the other day my oldest tried
to tell me that I had emasculated him because he finds it more
comfortable to sit on the toilet to pee than stand up. Apparently
standing up to pee is at the very foundation of being male. I "robbed"
my son of this pillar of masculinity because when he was small, I gave
him two choices: Sit and go pee, OR stand up to pee - but then you have
to wash the toilet and the surrounding floor every time to clean up the
urine that went everywhere else but the toilet. It is clear that the
laws of the universe also apply to my children - Newton was right, "an
object at rest tends to stay at rest", and so, too, do my kids (when
given the choice). My sons each chose to sit rather than do the work of
wiping down the toilet and floor each time they went to the bathroom.
Personally, I think I have done a great service to some number of women
out there who will never have to sit on a cold porcelain ring in the
middle of the night, or deal with a sticky seat.
Part of being a Heartless Bitch mother, means that I refuse to be a hypocrite when it comes to my past. I won't hold
my kids to some standard I *wished* I'd lived up to. I'm straight up
with my kids about partying, sex, and the stupid things we do that
we regret later. Therapists will tell you there are the "Three I's" of
Teenagehood: identity, independence and interdependence. In reality, the
three I's that cause the most problems are that most teens think
they are Immune, Immortal, and Infertile.
I talk to my kids and their friends about drinking responsibly, drugs
and safe sex without threatening. If they are going to experiment (as all
normal people do at some point in their lives), I'd rather they understand
the risks and feel comfortable to talk to me about it without fear of lectures
or punishment. Which doesn't mean that I won't tell them or their friends that I think certain behaviors
are apt to get one removed from the gene-pool... it just means that I'm not
going to play the "holier-than-thou" act with them.
Being raised as children of a Heartless Bitch, my kids also know what the game
is after high school graduation: I will support their educational efforts to the
best of my abilities if they attend college or university, regardless of
discipline - they just have to be really sure what it is they want to
do, and they have to FINISH what they start. If they want to "find" themselves,
however, they can do that on their OWN nickel.
If they complete a degree or diploma program within a reasonable time frame, they will owe me nothing. If they drop out, or
change majors so many times that it extends beyond and agreed-to time, they pay me
back. If they don't want to go to college and want to live at home
with me, that's fine too - as long as they pay me rent and kick in for
food and utilities. If they are unemployed, they have one month to find
work (they are NOT above flipping burgers), or they will find their
stuff in boxes on the front step, and they can figure it out from there. The
bottom line is that if they want to be treated like adults, they have to
shoulder all of the responsibilities of an adult - including paying your
own way. If they are going to college they can live at home rent free,
because I know how hard it is to get decent grades AND have to hold down
a job, and I'd rather give them every opportunity to succeed. They don't
have to get straight A's. They don't have to be doctor's or lawyers -
they just have to do something they love and really put some effort into
finding and achieving their potential.
I think that so far, they've turned out pretty damn great.
But when it comes right down to it, though I love 'em dearly, I am
resigned to the fact that no matter what I do, they will undoubtedly be
in therapy when they are 30, blaming me. It's just the way things are these days.
heartlessly,
-Natalie
(Next Bitchitorial: Is celebrating Male Stupidity the latest "Cool Trend"?)
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