The Writing Mamas Daily Blog
Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Listening to Children's View of Love
And quickly tune in to what my daughter was saying to her friend.
“Diana and Jeff are in love. I saw the love at the party.” My daughter’s very serious tone drew my attention like a laser to the back seat. I slowed down and angled my head so I could hear more clearly.
“Yeah, sure,” Her friend said in an equally serious tone. “They’re boyfriend and girlfriend. I saw the love too.”
“But, he doesn’t love me.” My daughter sounded puzzled at that.
“No. But he likes you.” Her friend sounded reassuring.
“The grownups say they’ll get married.” My daughter said this as if she was planning what to wear to the event.
Her friend said, “Sure.”
My daughter then asked her friend “Are you still girlfriend to Dave?”
“No,” said her friend. “That’s gross. We broke up.”
Silence in the back seat until my daughter changed the subject. “I’ll be the princess and you’ll be the baby and I’ll find the palace.”
I sat forward and switched on the radio again, but kept the sound low. I wanted to laugh and cry. The conversation sounded like 16-year-olds, but these girls are only six.
Yet they can see the “love.” They already know what “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” mean. So, my new resolution is to keep the radio down, a friend in the back seat as often as possible, and listen carefully to get the critical information I need.
For when I ask how things are, already I’m getting the much-used word: “fine.” Followed by silence.
Note: Names have been changed to protect friends.
By Georgie Craig
Labels: boyfriend, camping, Georgie Craig, girlfriend, NPR
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Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Breastfeeding at Starbucks
What got me out of the house for the first time after giving birth was an overwhelming desire for a latte.
I headed to Starbucks, proudly wearing my four-week-old baby Scarlett on my chest. When the teenage barista brought over my coffee, she frowned at the squawking in my shirt. I was trying to feed Scarlett, furtively and awkwardly, but Scarlett had unlatched – and, boy, was she mad. When I lifted my shirt to quiet her, revealing a newborn whose head was smaller than the heavy, blue-veined breast she nursed from, the barista ran away.
Embarrassed and apologetic, I ran, too, taking my baby and my latte for a nursing session in the back seat of my car.
Breastfeeding was new to me. You could tell by my self-consciousness and all my gear: nursing bras with circles cut out, capes for hiding behind, support pillows worn like foam tutus. But as my confidence grew, I went au natural, just baby and me and the elements. I breastfed everywhere – the woods, the beach, the farmers' market, BART stops and barbecues, museums and malls. Even in the presence of my in-laws.
But the fact is that I was proud. I was entirely sustaining another human being, and she was getting fat and rosy off mother's milk. Breastfeeding is a privilege. And I confess I liked confronting the world with this small act of intimacy, the private in the midst of the public. Plus, the baby's hungry.
To the new nursing mother, breasts are about as sexual as elbows. Birth reinterprets her body as little more than an internal bed and breakfast. In a culture of cleavage, breasts that actually do their job feel radical. Perhaps the nursing mother has become a political figure.
These days, I see so many mothers, pregnant ones, others behind Ergos and strollers. If you see one of us nursing in public – and we are, everywhere, all the time – realize that for her, it's nothing special. It's simply life. Don't be afraid to offer an encouraging smile. Or better yet, a latte.
Labels: KQED, Mary Wang, NPR, Perspectives
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