How NOT to Raise Bébé

When a friend recently told me that there is a big hoopla in America about a new book (Bringing Up Bébé: One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting, by Pamela Druckerman) that praises French parenting, I couldn't believe my ears.

I can understand how someone might praise the French for many things, including an efficient health care system, many helpful social services, and we mustn't forget their great cheese, to name just a few, but parenting? Non. Non. Non. At least, mostly non. I was raised by a French mother (and a German father) on a tropical island, have lived in France for 11 years, am married to a Frenchman, and am a stay-at-home mom raising our five-year-old son.

I love living in France, but one of the things that makes me cringe, is the way many parents raise their children. The way they hem them in so much that they have no room to breathe.

France is the land of the philosopher Descartes of "I think, therefore I am" fame. France is a country filled with thinkers; people living mostly in their heads. And because this is a land of thinkers, it has been decided (by whom, I don't know), that children are supposed to be adults, albeit tiny ones, no matter their age nor their developmental capacities. They are supposed to act and behave according to the same rules and regulations that are in place for the grown-ups.

And just as the children follow a set of rules and regulations, so do the mothers. Most French mothers follow a well-worn path. You go to work (feminists fought for you to have this right and being a stay-at-home mom is medieval), you have a baby, nurse for a proud two months (if at all), at which time you stop nursing, put your child in daycare or with a nanny and you go back to work, with a lot of your income going to childcare, since it is not only not entirely free as is often claimed, but sometimes quite expensive. In the evening, you pick up your child, feed it, bathe it, put it to bed, often as quickly as you can, so that you can have your adult time. And as early as six months (some even three months), you go away for a weekend with your husband (or partner - many French couples are unwed) to rekindle the flame, while the child stays with a grandparent.

It is normal to follow this path, and most French women I know, don't even consider questioning how it's done (Those who do, cringe as much as I). These women are simply built this way. And I can see why the author of the book, an American living in Paris, might envy that.

But what the envy seems to miss -- or perhaps chooses to ignore -- is that even French moms and dads get frazzled. Even French children have tantrums. And big ones, in the equally big supermarkets à la Walmart. Even French parents yell at their children. And a lot. And loudly. And by yelling things such as, "You are mean" or "You are evil" (yes EVIL) for the slightest disturbances, such as at a toddler who doesn't want to share his new birthday present.

The parent rules in France with an iron fist. If the child speaks her needs or desires, she is systematically dismissed. I've seen it again and again and again. As a matter of fact, the child generally has no say, period, regardless of whether she is four or 14.

A lot of French parenting is fear-based and what-other-people-think-based. During a recent visit to the pharmacy, my five-year-old tried to climb up on a low ledge next to the counter.

The pharmacist looked at him and said, "Get down from there." I thought she was asking him to get down, because she was worried about my son breaking the ledge, which in my book is a perfectly valid request, but instead, she added, "You are going to fall." Sigh.

Going to fall. I hear that one a lot. Don't do that, you are going to fall. Don't climb up that tiny step, you are going to fall. Don't try to follow your dreams, you are going to fall. Going to fall. Going to fall.

Instead of showing a child how to do it safely, within his capacities, French parenting is almost always about, "DON'T!" And not just "don't" to keep the child safe, but "don't" because "I am worried about what other people are thinking of me," because you know that they are judging you harshly.

Just yesterday, while my husband, my son, his friend Leo, Leo's mom, and I were at a local park, a toddler came over and touched Leo's bicycle. The small, wooden bike fell over gently, and didn't get damaged. Because I knew what was coming, before the toddler's mother had a chance to say anything, I told her the bike was fine, that it was nothing to worry about and that her child was welcome to touch the bike if he wanted to.

Unfortunately, my words and my smile didn't have the desired effect. The mother simultaneously apologized profusely to me, almost genuflecting, as she scolded her child rather harshly. Probably with reason, because someone else would have harrumphed and glared at her for letting her child toddle over to touch the bike. What stress! I know. I live it often.

Another aspect of "DON'T" is, 'I don't want to be bothered." That is the flip-side of French parenting. On one hand, the child is systematically micro-managed, stifled and suffocated, and on the other hand, the child is pushed to play by himself...certainly not for the sake of the child, but because the parents want their adult-time. And not just a little time. A lot of time. As much of their own time as they possibly can.

It is almost as if parents and children live side-by-side, not with each other. Yes they spend time together. Yes they eat together, and rather tasty morsels at that. Yes they go on vacation together (the French have at least five weeks a year). And yet, somehow, looking from the outside in, there seems to be a distance between the adult and the child.

I wonder where this comes from. I ask around me and I don't get any answers. But I do sometimes see cracks in the veneer. On occasion, I hear mothers saying that they wish they could stay at home with their kids, but they don't, because they need to earn money or because a woman has earned the right to work. When I tell these women that they do have a choice, that we have made that choice, they reject the idea.

They have decided they don't have a choice and so they must grin, bear it, and put it out of their minds. They leave their two-month-olds in daycare and proceed to live their adult lives alongside their child or children. They shut off their emotions and do it the way it is supposed to be done.

Hmmm...I wonder where they learned that from?

Even author Pamela Druckerman has her concerns, "...I'm not even sure that I like living [in France]. I certainly don't want my kids growing up to become sniffy Parisians."

If you are a somewhat logical person, wouldn't you deduce that French adults become this way because of French parenting?

Love Letter to my Childless Friends Who are yearning for Children

This is a love letter to all my childless friends who are yearning desperately for children. I love you and I understand this yearning. And while you wait for the day when your children arrive (if they arrive), here something to ponder:

Having children can be the most wonderful, heart-opening experience (at least it has been for me), and it can also be the most difficult, hair-raising, hair-yanking-out, going-bald challenges you will ever face.

Before I became a mother, I had often heard it said that, Your life will never be the same and Your life will never be your own anymore. When I heard those things, I thought, No problem, I can handle that.

But there are days were I couldn't and where I didn't, because I had no concept of what I was getting myself into.

It was the deep, dark secret that no one told you about before you crossed over to the other side; after it was too late to turn back.

§ I had no idea how exhausted I would be.

§ I had no idea that teething could be so painful...for me.

§ I had no idea the worry I would feel when our child got sick,
especially with a "new" sort of illness that we had no experience with.

§ I had no idea how much my buttons would and could get pushed and how crazy it would make me.

§ I had no idea that I would get hit, bitten, spit on, scratched, and kicked so much, by this little person I love so much.

§ I had no idea that -- even though I swore high and low that I wouldn't -- I would spank our child (though that really didn't help matters).

§ I had no idea how much I would scream.

§ I had no idea how angry I would get.

§ I had no idea what a lunatic I could become.

§ I had no idea how much I would beat myself up for all the ways I thought I messed up as a mother and for all the ways I thought I could do better.

§ I had no idea that a child could make such a scene in public.

§ I had no idea how much pressure people would put on me to spank our kid, when he acted up in public (at least in France).

§ I had no idea how much others would meddle in my parenting style, increasing the pressure and the self-doubt.

§ I had no idea that I would feel like I was the only mother who didn't have a grip on her child.
(Not true. Other mothers lose their minds just as much as I do).

§ I had no idea how stressful it could be to feed your child, when suddenly all the foods he loved, he now refuses.

§ I had no idea how difficult it could be when your child is sick and refuses even the sugary homeopathic granules that dissolve under the tongue.

§ I had no idea how difficult it could be to get your child to put on his pajama bottoms, or his sweater, or his shoes, or his socks, or his gloves, or his bonnet, or his hat, or his shirt, or a clean shirt, for that matter. Or to brush his teeth, or to use the toilet before going to sleep. Or to get in his car seat.

§ I had no idea how difficult it would be to have a normal conversation on the phone.

§ I had no idea how much work it would be to get the things done that I wanted to get done.

§ I had no idea how much mess could be made, and how much cleaning I would be doing for this mess that I didn't create.

§I had no idea how little I knew about child-rearing and how much trouble it would cause me.

§ I had no idea that a vacation with a child is not a vacation.

And on and on.

I am not complaining. I am just saying it as it is for me, and for many mothers I see around me.

I love our son more than I ever imagined I could love him. I am growing as a human being in ways that I never thought I could or would. (Yogi Bhajan says there are two ways to reach enlightenment, one is to get up early in the morning and do yoga, and the other is, to become a mother.) I am gaining more and better tools that help me stay more centered. And yet, there are days were we -- son and mother --have those meltdowns that seem insurmountable.

And so, while you wait for the day that you yourself become a mother, ENJOY your time. Enjoy each precious moment you have to lounge and linger in any way that you choose. Enjoy your quiet time. Enjoy the freedom you have. Enjoy this very moment for exactly how it is.

I do. It's just different.

Break those Rules

I grew up with a lot of rules. They were so seamlessly put into place, that I didn't even notice that they were there. I lived by them and only rarely ventured outside of their perimeters. And this tendency lives in me right into adulthood.

I've had an inkling of the way I operate for a while, but it is only now, that I have a four-year-old, that I truly realize how hampered so many of my actions are as an adult, because of all those rules that were placed on me when I was a little girl.

Because so much of my life has been ruled by fear, insecurity and limitations, I try to give our son as much freedom to discover and create as is possible, safe and reasonable.

I try to stifle the gasps when he dumps 20 hazelnuts in his grape juice (knowing full well that he will eat only a few of them and that the rest will be wasted) and try to remind myself that he is learning about mass, weight and flotation.

I gaze in awe when he stuffs a heap of raisins into a tea infuser shaped like a little house.

I marvel when he takes his marbles and lets them roll down the spiral road of his parking structure, all over the floor.

I succeed often at giving him the space to discover.

And then there are days where those rules from the past just clash with the way I would like to parent our child. Today, was one of those days.

When I saw the Little Man bustling intently over to the shelves in the kitchen, I wondered what project he had come up with for himself. He reached out for the aluminum foil and my first thought was, aha, it's road-building time.

This was followed by a slew of self-dialogue along the lines of:

If he puts the foil on the floor, it will get dirty and then I can't reuse it.
Yes, but, he's already used this roll before, see how it's all crinkled.
Well, maybe I should tell him to put it on the rug, instead of on the tile floor.
Like the rug is cleaner than the tile?
Well, that's true.

And so after some more back and forth, all in the span of a few seconds, the two voices came to the same conclusion.

Give him the freedom to experiment. It's just one (recyclable) roll of aluminum foil.

I looked at my husband, sensing that he was going to say something about putting the aluminum foil back on the shelf, and gently shook my head.

He understood and instead of making him put it back on the shelf, he joined our son in building a fancy aluminum foil road that ran across the rug and then up over a chair, creating a ramp that was then used for much joyful play, which involved rolling cars down it, and later the rim of a cake pan.

Who knew cake pans could roll so beautifully!

How We look at Our Children

Today, once again, I heard a woman yelling in the street below our window, "Viens ici maintenant!" ("Come over here right now!). So, of course, I just had to stick my head out the window to see what was going on.

I saw a woman frozen in place like a hunting dog pointing his snout towards his prey. She was waiting for her, I would say, eight-year-old, son to come stand next to her. After a few squawks, he finally sidled up to her. She glared at him with so much hatred in her eyes and then reached out and twisted his eyebrow.

He raised his arm in anger, growled, she glared harder, and he dropped his arm.

I'm grateful to what I witnessed today, because it reconfirmed something I'd noticed in our own family structure.

Recently I noticed my husband, who is very loving to our child, glare at the Little Man. There was so much anger in that look. It made me realize how careful I have to be not to look at my son that way when I'm mad at him, especially when my anger stems mostly from my own fatigue.

And watching that woman today, made me even more committed to always be loving to my son, or as much as is humanly possible, even in the most challenging of moments.

Finding the "Yes"

I always wanted to be the kind of parent that gives my child confidence; I definitely didn't want to be the parent who is always saying "no" and scaring him into behaving.

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Now at almost two years of age, the Little Man has noticed that he can look out into the street much more easily if he climbs up on the window ledge. Even though there is a good-sized railing, my husband and I have implement a new family ground rule: the Little Man is not allowed to stand up without us being there.

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This has caused him some distress because we don't always feel like spotting him. So, periodically, he's turned to see if we were watching, broadened his smile into a Chesire cat grin, and quickly climbed up to a standing.

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In these moments I stay calm (so as not to startle him into a fall), slowly walk over to him, reach for him, put his feet on the ground and gently say, "Honey, one of our ground rules is that you keep your feet on the ground. If you want to climb up and stand, then you ask us to be there with you. If you want to climb on your own anyway, then I will close the window. I know that's frustrating for you, but we want you to be safe. Thank you very much."

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Sometimes he cries as I speak my parenting lines...but I know he always listens because at a later time he'll do something to surprise me in direct response to our "talk".

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A few days ago, I saw him pull himself up by the railing, then slide his feet along the ledge, placing his buttocks as firmly as possible against it. It was an awkward position for him, but he stayed there.

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I was proud of him for finding a compromise that I would not have thought of.

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Now, don't get me wrong, he still tests me from time to time to see if he can bend the "no-standing-on-your-own rule," so I still watch him like a hawk when he climbs on the ledge. In the process though, more than anything, I want to teach him how to do what he wants to do, in the safest way possible.

Happy Mothers

I just found this quote in my German page-a-day calender and thought it appropriate for this blog:

"Glueckliche Frauen lieben ihre Kinder;
unglueckliche haengen gerade verzweifelt an ihnen"

by Henry de Montherlant

That is to say:

"Happy women love their children;
unhappy ones hang on to them desperately."

I try to be a happy mother so that my child doesn't have to behave in any specific way to snap me out of my funk. Or at least, when I do have some challenging moments, I don't expect my child to help me get out of it.

His job is to grow and play and run and learn. Mine is to give him the confidence to walk on his own two feet.

New Year's Eve

This year, the Hubby and I decided to stay home to bring in the new year. We didn't want to go to the trouble of trying to find a babysitter (probably an impossibility anyway), and I didn't want to tire myself out any more than I needed to after months of on-again, off-again illnesses doing the rounds of our little family.

And so on the stroke of midnight, the Hubby and I smooched for a while. We then snuck into the bedroom to kiss the Little Man and stare at him for a while. I looked at the Hubby and I know I had the same goofy grin on my face as he did.

We were in peace and bliss as the sounds of celebration erupted in the street.

Sometimes you miss out on things as parents, but often, you are enriched beyond imagination with the simplest of things.

Do you have a story to share where you gained by "missing out?"

What were They Thinking?

Today, as I was bustling to an appointment -- with baby in tow in the baby carrier --in a part of Paris we've never been to, we passed in front of a kindergarten just as school was letting out.

One little guy, who must have been not much older than three, scrunched up his cute round face under a brown mop of hair and whined his displeasure to a woman I presume was his mother.

She turned towards him and said:

If you don't be quiet, I'm going to give you a spanking as big as a house.

He instantly stopped whining...and started crying.

I would have too, if I were in his shoes.

How about you?

Listen to the Silence

Baby was playing with two yellow plastic funnels that he had dug out of the bottom drawer I left open for him in the kitchen. He was so happy, he toddled over to me, gave me a slobbery kiss and cooed as he chewed on the plastic.

Suddenly, we heard the garbage trucks coming down the street, as they do every day at around this time. I was busy amusing myself by looking at The Sartorialist's blog, when underneath the clatter of the garbage being dumped into the truck, there was silence.

The Chinese put little bracelets with bells on them on their babies' ankles, so they know where their children are; I have one that was given to us as a gift. But I don't need it. I know that when the Babe is silent, that I need to pay attention.

So even though I was totally submerged in what I was doing, I heard the quiet underneath the noise. I knew that I had to check to see where baby was.

For a moment, I couldn't find him. Then, through the white curtain, I saw the cute bug. He had climbed up the one step and was looking out the window, checking out what was going on in the street.



I guess he takes after his mother!

Feeling Better

I think what was so difficult for me last week when I had my meltdown -- along with lack of sleep -- was that I felt alone. There is no reason for me to feel that way because I have a wonderful husband and terrific friends; but I did.

And then I posted on the blog, sent out some e-mails, and I was so supported by friends from all around the world. Thank you all for your kindness and thoughtfulness, and most importantly, for reminding me what kind of mother I am and want to be. Along the way, I had forgotten. I had forgotten to use sense of humor when the Babe was upset, as well as when I was upset. I had also forgotten to go into that deep place of love in my heart.

And all of this while the Babe was sick for the first time in his life.

I'm still a sleepless mom, but I'm back to my center, and so grateful for this beautiful child in our lives.

Walking Alone

My friend, Jai Hari from Los Angeles, wrote this comment and I find it so interesting that, with her permission, I am posting it in the main part of the blog:

I was once in a room where [healer] Guru Dev Singh said that learning to walk is one of the hardest things we will ever do in the human experience & that parents should never put their child into a "walker" or any type of training-wheels-for-learning-to-walk type vehicle during this critical developmental phase.

He said a child who learns to walk on his own without the aid of one of these gadgets is left with immense self esteem & the experience of serious self accomplishment which will serve & motivate him all of his life.

Lessons learned From the Babe

Sleep isn't always easy to come by when you have a baby; not for the little one and not for the Mommy one. And when we are tired and cranky, life just seems harder and more bleak.

But as soon as we are rested, what was challenging when we were tired, is now easy as peachy pie.

Dressing a Boy...Oh Boy!

Today the Babe and I were waiting in line to pay in a children's clothing store. I lay the items I was purchasing on the counter and was startled by a woman behind me cooing loudly at the stroller.

I turned to her quickly to make sure she wasn't the umpteenth person trying to touch the Bub. She wasn't, she kept her distance, while she held some cute baby outfits in her hands.

Being female, I couldn't help saying, "Cute clothes."

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The woman looked at me with surprise, nodded and cooed some more at the Babe.

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After I paid and was about to leave the store, the woman became chatty.

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"Do you have a hard time dressing your boy?"

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Huh? I assumed she was referring to the dire lack of happy colors in the mini-male clothing collections, beige being quite popular in many stores.

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"Oh, no. I find lots of colors for him in this store."

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"Yes, but don't you wish you had a girl?"

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"Uh...no." I wasn't sure what she was getting at.

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"But a girl you can dress up, you know, really cute."

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Ah, now I got it. There are mothers out there who think their babes are dolls. Right. I'd forgotten about that.

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Clothes are to me, albeit as cute as they can be, a practical matter. I dress the Babe in warm clothes when it's cold. I take the very same clothes off him, when he's too hot (which is often, therefore he usual sports the nickname Tarzan Boy).

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I also try to choose clothes that match his personality: serene with great bouts of griggles and laughter.

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And to answer the question, no, I wouldn't trade my beautiful firstborn who happens to be a boy, for a girl, just so I can dress him up.

It's not a Miracle!

I've been criticized for:

1. Holding my baby too much
2. Wearing him in a sling
3. Not letting him cry (Watch out, you'll be manipulated)
4. Resigning from my job to be a stay-at-home mom
5. Having him with me too much
6. Letting him suck his thumb (he's actually rubbing his gums as the teeth come down)
7. Not giving him a pacifier
8. Not having him sleep in a separate room
9. Having him sleep in our bed

And I've been complimented for:

1. How secure he is
2. How much he smiles
3. How happy he is
4. How tranquil and peaceful he is
5. How joyful he is
6. How interested and curious he is in everything around him
7. How alert and aware he is
8. How little he cries
9. How easy-going he is (we went on a 10-hour flight and he didn't cry)

Hmmm...seems pretty obvious to me.

The Volume You Put In...

Years ago I went to Golden Bridge, a yoga studio in Los Angeles, to hear H.H. Pujya Swami Chidanand Saraswatiji, aka Muniji speak. He said many thought provoking things (You want peace, but you are all in pieces), but the one moment that stuck with me the most was at the end of the evening when Muniji took a few questions from the audience.

A tired-looking woman stood up. She straightened out her sagging shoulders and asked him what she should do with her son who was always yelling.

Muniji looked at her, paused, and then very gently said:

The volume you put in, is the volume that comes out.

It took a while for his comment to sink in, and when the woman realized that he was putting the responsibility back on her, she wanted to argue with him, but sat down instead.

Now that I am a mother I have compassion for the woman; I can see why she might be turning up the volume, possibly just out of sheer fatigue and frustration. Because I've had a number of years to contemplate Muniji's comment, and to see it in action all around me, I make the effort to stay calm so that I can always speak in a respectful tone to my child.

And when I can't because I'm just too tired, then I give the babe to the hubby for a little while.

Especially because I've noticed it's even more grave than what Muniji predicted. I believe it's:

The volume you put in, is the volume that comes out...tenfold.