Category Archives: Feminist mothering

Still around

Yes, still around and trying to find some time to get back to blogging . In the meantime, these are the things I would like to write about:

-Why me? Different levels of tiredness when baby and toddler refuse to sleep and you need to find the courage to keep on going the whole day.

-An article from Anne-Marie Slaughter on why women still can’t have it all

Many women of my generation have found themselves, in the prime of their careers, saying no to opportunities they once would have jumped at and hoping those chances come around again later. Many others who have decided to step back for a while, taking on consultant positions or part-time work that lets them spend more time with their children (or aging parents), are worrying about how long they can “stay out” before they lose the competitive edge they worked so hard to acquire.

Given the way our work culture is oriented today, I recommend establishing yourself in your career first but still trying to have kids before you are 35—or else freeze your eggs, whether you are married or not. You may well be a more mature and less frustrated parent in your 30s or 40s; you are also more likely to have found a lasting life partner. But the truth is, neither sequence is optimal, and both involve trade-offs that men do not have to make.

You should be able to have a family if you want one—however and whenever your life circumstances allow—and still have the career you desire. If more women could strike this balance, more women would reach leadership positions. And if more women were in leadership positions, they could make it easier for more women to stay in the workforce. The rest of this essay details how.

- Commenting on two fantastic blogs I´ve found: Mama Nervosa  and First the egg

- I like Mothering as meditation practice from First the Egg and also this  from Zanna Yardas

I was a serious meditation practitioner before kids and I wasn’t going to let the having of kids get in the way of this precious link to self awareness and sanity. But how? Where? When? Like most mothers, it was quite natural for me to just sit with my baby while we gazed into each other’s eyes.  But I yearned for more connection and less mentation. Then I remembered the famous Zen saying: before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water.   So nursing could be become a time, a place and a way to meditate. Infusing this natural expression of mother-infant bonding with the practice of watching the breath, would ultimately serve to heighten my awareness and tune me into to my baby rather than to zone off or complete a bunch of mental lists that could wait.

As you can guess, I spend a lot of time thinking on how to find the time to meditate instead of just being present in the moment.

Currently in Bilbao, enjoying the sun,the company of my family, and adapting to the fact that people don’t respect a queue, don’t drink coffee while walking and never arrive on time.

 

Natalia

 

things I have been reading online…

I am trying to write a short review on new materialistic approaches in Geography and the politics of feeding, and as such, have been reading a few articles on this, which as it happens, seems to be a hot debate at the moment…

- blue milk, on the ways the message of breastfeeding is conveyed. I love that it particularly pins down the difficulties I find in the notion of ‘choice’, individualism and patricarchy…

- A guest post in PhD in parenting on the debate generated recently on breastfeeding in public.  

And then, something that relates to one of my daily struggles at the moment: to-do list vs being present with your child. Since I am mostly a full-time mom, I have to do things with r. around. I have always cooked and done some cleaning and ordering with her, but now it is also phonecall, fixing stuff in the house, clothes shopping (mainly for her!) and so on. We have recently moved houses and the house needs work, and I am in full nesting mode, so I want to do loads of things before the baby comes. So I find that I am itching to do things, to feel I have done ‘productive things’, and sometimes this means I see parenting as a chore more than something enjoyable, and on times like that, there is inevitably trouble, fights, and bad feelings. This post by Sew liberated on chucking the to-do list, really hit the spot for me.

Hope you enjoy these!

Lucila

links

As I haven’t finished my review of Orenstein next chapter – I promise to finish it first thing tomorrow morning, it is just that jet lag means that r. is going to bed at 10.30 at night, and I don’t have the energy to work after that! – I will point out some great blog posts on these matters:

one is blue milk’s on bratz and the sexualisation of children. there are many on this theme on her blog, but this one is a classic.

The other one is one by adventures in boogieville, where she talks about race and gender, and ends up with princesses. She points to the crucial thing here. That no matter what we add to princesses: introduce different races, activities, strenghts, the bottom line is that princesses are about being pretty. And this is problematic.

Lucila

What do feminist mothers fight with their partners about?

This post by blue milk came so at the right time – or wrong time -that it made me want to contribute my bit – or more honestly, rant.

First, I will say that we don’t fight much, and that we get along pretty nicely, mainly because my partner is very very patient and he is the kind that diffuses fights rather than escalates (like I do). But we do have our moments, obviously, especially when we are both tired and overwhelmed.

One of the most frequent fights is about sleep, which inevitably leads to discussions about how much we each do and contribute – both of us probably feeling and proclaiming we do more or that our work is not valued. And for me it ends up being about feminism too.

Here is why.

Let’s put it in context first. R. has always woken up several times a night until very recently – that is almost 2 1/2 years without proper sleep. The nights are my domain, mainly because I breastfed her, and because she would yell like she was being killed if my partner went, and even if I know that if we kept it up she would get used to it, I could never reach the point of letting the process happen. So it was and is mainly me. He wakes up, true, because he is a light sleeper, but stays in bed and can roll over and go to sleep again -unless it is the screaming type of wake up. My partner usually takes r. in the mornings, and I sleep in an hour or sometimes –pleasure of pleasures- two, which are very precious to me.

However, he expects loads of brownie points and brings it up at times when we discuss what we each do ‘you sleep in every morning’ type of thing. As I am a slacker for that. And I am grateful, and it is true in many ways. But so why is he then not grateful about my all night work? So my reply is as true (or truer– it’s my blog, ha!) ‘I let you sleep every night and that is much much harder’. put up the volume for the reply… and a rich description of what waking up every nigth implies. But it does not seem to get through, the message – for either of us- since we always come back to that. Of course then we go onto other niceties. Who needs to sleep more – he works, brings the money home. I work too, but not on well paid things –like my PhD, a few classes, consultancies, or even worse I spend time doing this blog, which does not bring any ‘profit’. So he needs more sleep, while my sleeping in is a luxury, a treat. He never actually says that, but for me, it is implied. so my reaction is not that afable, as you can expect. 

Another typical tipping point, which is related to the above, is the one described already in blue milk post and links, and in a much better  way too: the day the nanny gets ill. Not so much the day r. gets ill, because as in the nights, I seem to be the requested one, and it is ok, I also want to be there. But the day the nanny gets ill. And the discussions begin…because it seems obvious that I am the default person. But why is it me who is the default person to take care of r.? Why isn’t it what should we do, how should we split it –unless it is an emergency like the day before my viva? And the fight about what is valuable, what is not, what counts, what not, ensues.

Let me get this clear – I don’t want to get into too much trouble here – my partner does not stop doing tasks all day, just like me. But since r. is little, and since I work mostly from home, loads of things are on my domain, and most of them are those of the invisible kind. And it seems also that my work is more expendable, I am the one to tweak, to work evenings to catch up or weekends. I worry that despite everything, R., as others, see my work as ‘play work’ and her dad’s as ‘real’, and I am not sure how to make that clear, when the reality is that it certainly looks that way many times. Because this is wider than us, it is about how value is given to things that bring in money rather to those such as homemaking and mothering which are enablers of that, rather than bringing money in itself. And old but prevalent feminist fight. And the issue is my partner would not be able to work like he does, and have a daughter with the level of care that we both want for her, without having someone staying at home and doing all the things that I cover, or at least it would be quite expensive – or at least I hope so!

So the resurgence of fights are, I think, even though shit at the moment, quite good to keep tweaking, going over things, and reminding ourselves of not falling into patterns and defaults. And this is mainly brought up through these explosions – though they mostly comes out in one of my rages. But if I react so strongly, it is because these battles reach my core, it feels necessary for me. And I think they are very much part of my feminist work.  And I know it will go on and on, because we haven’t got round that one, nor I think has the world. But if you have, I accept tips!

Lucila

Starting point

Each week I will examine one chapter of Orenstein’s book. The first one basically states her starting point, and I put it out here so we can all start in the same page. For those of you who are new to here and wonder what I am talking about, the general review of her book is here.

So, how important is that girls play as princesses? Does it really matter if their clothes and toys are pink and if they have mainly flowers and butterflies? Orenstein thinks about this, and acknowledges the temptation to give this a pass, to think that ‘it is just a phase’, but ends up arguing that it matters, a lot.

In the first chapter of Orenstein’s book, she sets out her aim. She wants to understand the impact of images and ideas that girls absorb as to what they should be, and what roles should they play, and what made them girls, in this mainstream girlie-girl culture. And she asks, what is the first thing she learnt in her ventures into mainstream culture?

‘Not that she is competent, strong, creative, or smart but that every little girl wants  – or should want- to be the Fairest of them All’

She shows how studies done by the American Psychological Association show how

‘the emphasis on beauty and play sexiness can increase girls’ vulnerability to the pitfalls that most concern parents: depression, eating disorders, distorted body image, risky sexual behaviour’

Well, those are things I do fear.

She points out to some confusing signals: while there are more and more examples of girls’ successes, the push to make their appearance the centre of their identities , did not seem to have diminished, on the contrary, it seems to have intensified, and extended (to younger, and also older ages). And I have read many studies how teenage girls seem under so much pressure these days, much more than boys. Duties have piled up, and intensified.

(Does it not ring a bell with how the role of parents -and the invention of the verb to parent-, and especially mothers, has seemed to intensify in the last decades, just when women have more and more taken other roles?)

And this triggered in her questions about how to help our daughters navigate the contradictions they will inevitably face as girls. Her question is one I worry a lot about:

‘How do you instil pride and resilience in her?’

She gives examples of myriad moments in which we have to navigate the land of toys, clothes, of things. And she argues that answering this question, and navigating this world, is harder now, since the mid-1990s, than it was before. She explains that this is the moment where the Girl Power movement which celebrated ability over body, has its message turned around. Somehow, the body, the pursuit of physical perfection, became the source of empowerment.

This is her starting point. And in one way, much of mine too.

Lucila

Pink and pretty – how ‘innocent’ can harm

Orenstein, Peggy, 2011, Cinderella ate my daughter. Dispatches from the front lines of the new girlie-girl culture, New York:  HarperCollins Publishers

I explained before what moved me to grab this book. As the title of the book suggests, it studies and analyses the new incarnation of the girlie-girl culture.

I liked this book for several reasons.

First, because I could identify with the authors concerns for her daughter and the reasons she set out to study more in detail this phenomenon. She describes how she wants to encourage her daughter to be a healthy, happy, strong girl. The girlie-girl culture freaks her out, but at the same time she does not want to give her daughter the impression that feminine, or girly stuff is not good, that ‘boys’ things are better. She wants her daughter to find a way of exploring her sexuality in her own terms, and being able to understand her body, her desire, her needs. And thus, objects strongly to the early sexualisation of children, and to the models of coming of age that seem to follow the princes stage – that of modern human ‘princesses’ such as Hannah Montana or Britney, which ends up being about objectifying.  She wants her daughter to be strong and independent, to have a healthy body image and at the same time to fit in. She is worried about media, but also about social media. And more. 

And she is brave to tackle head on these difficult issues. To do so, she immerses in the girlie-girl culture, by talking and interviewing different people, such as the mind behind the Disney Princess phenomenon, by analysing different products and toys – from Barbie, American Girl to Bratz, and all the z phenomenon-, by talking to mothers and children –including toddler pageants’ mothers- , by reviewing studies, and also weaving in personal stories. This book is mainly targeted at the general public, more than an academic audience. It is journalistic. And it is well-done in this sense as I found it not only informative, but also funny, and very engaging. I read it very quickly.

A thing I really appreciated about this book is that it is not written from a smug ‘know-it-all’ perspective. She questions herself, backtracks, starts again, moves in different directions around the issues and shows her personal struggles. It is like reading a funny, honest, on-going conversation of the author with herself, and with others, around the tricky issues parents and children face in contemporary girlhood. It is the type of conversation I would have myself. So in a way, I am glad she has done so much work that I can use, and also work with. Beware, if you are looking for a more ‘parental advice’ book, this book shows her journey, not a clear cut ‘solution’.

For me, this made the book meaty and engaging, but also particularly difficult to review properly, to summarise. And for this reason, I have decided that it would be more interesting to describe here briefly the issues the book touches on, and to, in the following weeks follow up with the different themes this book raises.

So here it goes:

Orenstein starts this book by arguing the importance of thinking about the girlie-girl culture, even though we might be tempted – with so many other issues to worry about- to give it a pass. She states that the emphasis on beauty and play-sexiness can increase a girl’s vulnerability to the issues that most worry parents: depression, eating disorders, disordered body image, risky sexual behaviour, to name a few.

She argues that these issues don’t just magically appear during teenage years, but are slowly built throughout the years. And that these little decisions parents make all along, such as which toys, movies, clothes, children wear/use matter. Her aim is to understand ways in which we can help our daughters navigate the contradictions they will face as girls, and to show us how and what this culture has become and what has changed in the last years.

She deals with the question of why princesses appeal, not only to children and businesses, but to parents. And shows how these are appealing to parents many times for their ‘safety’, but that this is done through a consumer culture that encourages the opposite. In addition, she scrutinises the boom of ‘pink and pretty’ for girls, and for this explores the business sense in this strategy, and how limiting this turns out to be for creating a female identity. This leads her to tackle the issue of nature vs. nurture, and to show how even though there is phase where gender for children needs to be validated through exterior signs, which makes them more prone to seek reassurance from toys, clothes, colours, this is also a stage in which they are more malleable to long-term influences on abilities and roles that go with sex. Next, she looks at how exploration of femininity can lead to exploitation and how difficult to manoeuvre the land of sexually charged toys, dolls, clothes.

Furthermore, she discusses the need for violent play, and critiques how this has been thwarted by TV. She shows how, even if children use the same toys –such as guns – as older generations used, the marketing culture in which they are immersed means that the relationship that girls (and boys) have with this toys and the impact they have, is different. The author also explains how tame Disney fairytales can be detrimental to a child’s emotional development, and describes her successful experiments with more gory versions, which at least, she argues, give better models for coming on age than the real life princesses she goes on to examine.

Orenstein described how the passage, the coming of age, of real-life princesses, such as the Hannah Montana actress or Britney Spears, for instance, seems to invariably involve the shedding of clothes. Her struggle here is that these modern day princesses seem to express the struggle of girls more widely, but encourage girls to view self-objectification as a female rite of passage.

Next comes a related, and major, issue in all this girlie-girl culture:  the importance of body image. She describes here the history of fat, and how it became not only a health issue, but the moral issue it is today. Her advice, before having a daughter, to avoid eating disroders and a disordered body image was the usual: praise the actions not the body, involve her in group sports, in volunteerism, and make her media literate. But she shows how hard it is to counteract a message that is given by everything and everyone, and also one that you find hard modelling yourself. And how hard she finds it to give her daughter a sense of self-worth that was not contingent on her looks and clothes, but at the same time make her also stay allies with other girls.

Finally, she studies how the internet and social media is experienced and used by older children. She shows how social media has changed the ways children conceptualise their selves and their relationships, and that these are build in a similar way as ‘branding’. In addition, she shows how bad judgement was much less memorable before, and how forms of harassment and bullying have found new and wider forms of expression. The author points out how different ages bring different challenges, different abilities and development, and thus, different parental strategies need to follow. The author, however, reminds us that our role is that of preparing them, more than shielding them, from the world.  

As you can see, even with this brief summary of issues, there is plenty of stuff to dissect. I do recommend this book, and would love if you want to join me in reading and discussing it together…like a geeky book club, you know you want to :)

And if you don’t keep up, I will send you some pink toys and a princess DVD your way…

Lucila

Note: I have not been sent or asked to review this book.

The princess phase

I just finished reading Cinderella ate my daughter, by Peggy Orenstein, as I am already thinking about how to handle the looming challenge: the princess stage, which I can already see brewing. R. is only 2 and a half, but she received her first pink glittery fairy outfit for Easter, and she put it on and her face lit up and she said ‘princess’. And she puts towels and any fabric really, around herself and says ‘princess’. She wants to wear dresses, and wants me to wear dresses too, especially flowery ones. She grabs them from the wardrobe, and tells me to put them on.

It is weird, because I never talked about princesses, we did not care about the royal wedding, and she does not have books about them, or anything. Her first encounters with the notion of princesses were with her cousins here in Argentina, where things are much more divided in terms of gender in things such as clothing, colours, activities.  But that wasn’t very intense either. Maybe the nanny too, or other children she plays with. In any case, it is happening.

But, as a mother of a girl, I really want to think ahead, rather than let the steam roller of the marketing machines at work and the flow of mainstream culture pass smoothly (though if I had a boy, I would do the same, but probably my concerns would be different). As Natalia commented before, I get fed up of the limited range of things that boys and girls are meant to do, be, use, or wear. It is limiting, in a bad way, and it does not nurture the amazing range of qualities that these little individuals might have. For instance, I find the importance that body image has in this culture, especially for women, is oppressive. And that is why I am thinking about this, because play is crucial way in which children understand things.

Furthermore, these first years are very important in terms of how nurture then becomes nature. As books such as Lise Eliot’s Pink Brain and Blue Brain shows (or what Cordelia Fine seems to be saying though I haven’t read it yet), babies and children’s’ brain are still in formation, and even though there are no significant differences, these are turned into big gaps, and also into ‘nature’, into adult brain differences.  So what we do now, matters in more than one way.

So when I read in Blue Milk about this book, I ordered it and these last few days had a bit of time to read it. And this book kind of reassured me, but also scared me too. The scale and diversity of shit is much worse than what I imagined….

So I want to arm myself with a way to handle this many faceted issue. Because, as other mothers, I want her to grow up to be a happy, confident, strong woman that does mainly get not her self-worth, as Orenstein says, from the outside in, but from the inside out. And what I don’t like about the whole pinkness and princessy thing – as reinterpreted by Disney for instance -is that it is mainly about looks, about being beautiful, about not doing much, and being rescued by a prince. I am already aware of how she mainly gets compliments a lot on her looks, while boys don’t as much.

However, I struggle with thinking in terms of big powerful machineries at work vs little us. Though I know it is true in a general sense, and it pushes my politics in many ways, I also know that the details, the how things work are also important, and that this is often more full of cracks than what grand narratives allow. So though I know Disney and Mattel are totally retrograde in terms of women, I also think there is a lot of leave in terms of how things are used. And in what you can do about it. However, and this is a big however, we don’t live in a vacuum. R. has already started venturing in the big wide world, and will continue to do so.  And in this, Disney, Mattel and others have quite a lot of money invested so that they presence seems almost unavoidable.

So how to deal with this? Here are my first thoughts…throwing the TV out of the window, keep them enclosed forever, moving to the middle of nowhere, talking about these things with them (or brainwashing – if Disney can, so can you!)… but really, as Orenstein says in her book, we are immersed in it in many ways, and there is a lot of money involved, much much more than even fifteen years ago. So an important question she asks is: how do we deal with this girly-girl culture? Where do we draw the line/s? How?

I will do a review tomorrow, but in the meantime, one thing that really matters and makes a difference is awareness. And as the author declares, to remember that our role is not to keep the world at bay, but to prepare them so that they can flourish in it.  

I will leave you with this nice thought, and scare you tomorrow ; )

Lucila

Girls, why are you writing in this blog?

 This is a very good question. We have been writing here for a month a half, and we’re both pretty happy with the project so far. Maybe Lucila will want to write about this at some point too, but for my part these are the things that I like about writing in this blog:

I write about things that preoccupy me that I can’t share with other people, except Lucila. My partner listens to me from time as we share similar views, but I don’t think he’s as worried about gender, mothering or feminism parenting as I am. Apart from Lucila my friends aren’t really concerned with feminism and they get very suspicious about my comments on parenting or gender. The other day a close friend asked me: “Was your mum a feminist?” As if this is the only explanation for my feminism. So it’s a relief to be able to express myself on all these matters.

Secondly, there are people outside – you guys – who are reading and commenting on this blog. This is even more amazing. We have readers in the UK, Australia, the United States and Germany, and through their comments I’m getting to know about other blogs on similar topics. Most of all, it’s a good feeling to see how people from all over the place share similar experiences of mothering. It’s also amazingly rewarding to read about the ways in which women reinvent their lives after having children.

Lucila and I are very industrious. Every week we try to write at least one academic review of an article or book on mothering and feminism. Sometimes it’s not easy ( ditto, this week), due to lack of time, sickness, childcare catastrophes and viruses attacking the whole family, but by doing this we’re building up our knowledge and resources for future projects in the field. At the same time we also get the benefit of other people’s comments, and ideas about similar topics. It’s really enriching.

However, after this month and I half I’ve realised that I don’t have clear ideas about my mothering and my feminism . Sometimes I feel that I don’t know how to frame them in a way that doesn’t look “politically incorrect”. For example, my being able to spend the first years with E. is very important, and although I want to share that time and the responsibilities that go with it with my partner, I still want to be the one who’s spending the most time with E. It might be because I’m still breastfeeding, because my mum worked crazy hours when I was little or because it’s difficult to change the social and cultural constructions that are ingrained in my mind.

Having said this, I still want to keep on working, to be in the world, to renegotiate the housework with my partner and to find other ways of parenting that challenge current gender constructions. But the whole question of gender equality puzzles me. Different feminist writers point out that unless we reach equality in the household, women will never be free from discrimination in the workplace. I do understand this position from a logical, rational, and purely feminist analysis of how to reach equality, but the problem is, I don’t want that model in my life. At this point in my life (and maybe this will change later) I want to be the person spending most time at home with E. and making most of the decisions concerning his schooling, parenting and feeding. On top of that I still want to work (I love my tiny part-time job) but I know I need to slow down if I want to be with E. and keep on publishing and teaching.

What I find awful is that there is no avenue for those in the slow track. I have the feeling that in our society the message is that either you’re fully productive or you stay at home, because people half here and half there are not wanted. This doesn’t mean that I don’t support women who want to work full time and have their children. I don’t want to sound like a fundamentalist stay-at-home mum who thinks that the best thing is to stay with your children and give up your job. I would go nuts if I stayed with E. 24 hours a day. The problem for me is the difficulty of capturing women’s’ expectations when these expectations are so changeable.

For example, a woman in her twenties might want to study maths, get a PhD and work at a university, but after having children she might want to stop working for three years and return to her full-time career five years later; whereas another woman in the same position might want to keep on with her career despite having children. So, how can all these expectations can be recognised and respected?

I‘m also aware that this is very much the speech of a white, heterosexual middle-class woman whose partner earns enough to for her to maintain her sugar-coated feminist mothering fantasies. I’m just writing from my own experience, and I don’t intend to argue that this experience is universal to all women. So please take this as a disclaimer.

Knowing all these facts, how can all these diverse situations and preferences be accommodated in our society? This is what I want to investigate. It’s why writing here is a joy: this blog, for me, is about experimenting with all these questions.

Natalia

Reflexiones sobre nutrir y comer, como madre feminista

Uno de los temas que me preocupan como madre, especialmente como madre de una nena, es el tema de la relacion entre la comida y la imagen corporal. Como feminista, me parece que ya hay bastante con la presión cultural y de los medios, con la obsesión por la imagen y un modelo de cuerpo de mujer, y por ende, con la relación con la comida que eso genera, para yo contribuir más a esto. Por eso, cuando tuve a mi hija me puse a pensar en como hacer esto, lo que me llevo a repensar mi relación con la comida y mi cuerpo, que no es poco, digo.  El camino que encontré, que va con mis valores, y con lo que quiero llegar a poder hacer, es el de comer intuitivamente (Perdón pero no encontré un buen link en español). Puesto de una manera simple se trata de dejar de lado la mentalidad de hacer dieta y comer lo que tengo ganas, cuando tengo hambre, y parar cuando estoy llena. Y de enteder, y buscar otros caminos para nutrirme emocionalmente, que no estén atados al comer.

Este fin de semana estuvimos con otra pareja que tiene chicos un poco más grandes, uno de casi cinco y uno de dos y medio. Aparte de pasarla muy bien, lo que note es la tensión que se generaba y que roles se asumían a la hora de comer. Por ejemplo, uno, el más chico, come de todo sin problemas y en cantidad. Y así era, todos los chistes eran acerca de  ‘ahh, el se come todo, no hay problema’, o risas cada vez que comía algo, o te pedía un poco de tu comida, y así. Pero era visto positivamente. Con el otro, todo era una continua negociación. Si decía que no tenía hambre o quería comer solo comer fruta, no primero la comida; si decía que no tenía hambre en el desayuno era come tres cucharadas y después te podes levantar, o come dos brócolis si no, no hay postre, y el negociaba – uno, no dos, y así constantemente.  Y todo el tiempo, puedo comer helado, puedo galletitas, o lo que haya visto. Y así se generaba una dinámica familiar particular. No es una escena nada fuera de lo común, ¿no? ¿Quién no vio o vivió estas escenas cotidianas? ¿Como el chico, o los padres? Sé que este es un modelo, casi diría el más común.

Pero la verdad es que no me gustaría que sea así con r. No quiero negociar constantemente, no quiero que coma para mí –porque cocine- o solo cuando esta lista la comida –si tiene hambre entre comidas-, o que se termine todo el plato, o lo que sea. No quiero que la comida sea un arma de negociación, ni una penitencia, ni una recompensa, ni valorar unas comidas sobre otras como cuando hacemos si les decimos que tiene que comer algo – en general verduras (menos valor) – para llegar a la recompensa – helados o chocolates (mayor valor). Y así las verduras o lo que sea –nunca escuche que fueran los helados o chocolates- van al segundo lugar.  Y se genera una dinámica de prohibición y deseo que ya conocemos.

Pero creo que es muy difícil de manejar, porque dar de comer y nutrir es gran parte de nuestro rol como padres. Y si te sale mal, sentís que le cagas un poco la vida al chico, y de alguna manera te sentis que fracasas como padre/madre. Pero bueno, la perfección no existe, y hay muchas cosas entre medio entre sano y totalmente insalubre. Pero siento que hay mucho en juego. Y esto tambien esta magnificado por los medios con el miedo a la obesidad, y por cierto, de quién parece que es la culpa? de las madres.

Sé que es muy difícil, porque lo vivo día a día. Me preocupo si no come mucho, lo que come, o si come mucho de algo, desde el día que nació. Sobre todo porque cuando nació era muy chiquita, tanto que en su primera semana en el mundo no tenía fuerza para tomar la teta  y le daba de tomar en una copita. Y siempre fue chiquita para su edad. Pero sigue su propia línea de crecimiento, así que me di cuenta que tengo que tratar de dejar de preocuparme por algo que obviamente ella maneja bien. Y aparte de esas primeras semanas en los que me decían que tenía que darle de comer al menos cada tres horas, el resto fue siempre darle la teta por demanda – cuando y cuanto quería.

Y cuando llego el momento de empezar a darle comida, decidimos hacer algo que acá se llama baby-led weaning. Básicamente, es darle la comida que vos comes, no molestarse con los purés, y dejarlos que experimenten y juegue con la comida porque de esa manera generan la habilidad que necesitan para aprender a comer solos. Una de las cosas más importantes es respetar su hambre y sus habilidades. Si quieren comer, comen, si no, no. No hay nada de eso de forzarlos  a comer una cucharada más, o distraerlos así comen más. Ellos se sientan con vos a comer, y se entretienen jugando con la comida. El punto es que hay para eliminar las peleas en las comidas hay que encontrar una forma de dejar de hacer de las comidas algo emocional, y de aprender a confiar en ellos. Tal como te decían cuando querían tomar la teta, y cuando no querían mas – porque lo dicen con o sin palabras pero es bien claro.

La cuestión es cómo llevar eso y los principios de comer intuitivamente cuando empiezan a comer comida. Tal como comer intuitivamente implica confiar en nuestro cuerpo, esto implica confiar en el cuerpo de ellos. Si  empezamos desde la premisa que nosotros y ellos, nuestros hijos, saben cuando tienen hambre, que tienen ganas de comer, y cuando están llenos, la cosa cambia. ¡Pero qué difícil que es! Sobre todo porque implica decir que nosotros no sabemos lo que es mejor que coman que ellos.

Lo que me daba miedo es que no coma suficiente, porque la verdad que r. no comía casi nada, prefería teta, hasta pasado el primer año. Y aunque al principio lo decía, después empecé a cuidarme de decir algo como ‘ella no come nada’ y mas bien ante la eterna pregunta de ¿cómo está comiendo? empecé a decir, ‘come lo que necesita’, o de cuidarme de no parecer preocupada o frustrada cuando por enésima vez cocinas y no come nada y lo tira todo al piso- y a veces me salía mejor que otras. Ahora ya come más, y a aunque es poco comparado con otros chicos, ya no me preocupa – tanto. Sé que tiene fases de tipos de comidas que tiene ganas o que a veces, sobre todo si esta con los dientes o resfriada no come nada. Pero obviamente come lo que necesita porque está bien.

Y ahora que se extendió su conciencia y repertorio, bah- se da cuenta si estas comiendo otra cosa y siempre quiere probar- empiezan otros temas. A mí me da miedo, supongo que por extensión de lo que tengo miedo de mi misma, es que si le dejo comer cualquier cosa ¡¡va a comer helado, galletitas y chocolate todo el día!! Pero habiendo empezado a comprar las cosas que me gustan y dándome permiso para comer cuando y cuanto quiera me está mostrando que no, que si sé que es ‘legal’, y que hay, y está disponible, no me como todo, como más cuando tengo ganas, y paro cuando ya estoy llena – o al menos estoy en camino a eso. Y tendré que encontrar maneras de hacer esto con r.

Nosotros por ejemplo, decidimos que –siguiendo las pautas locales- no íbamos a darle comida con sal o azúcar al menos hasta el primer año. Y hasta el momento en que se empezó a dar cuenta, tratar de evitar cosas procesadas o muy dulces. La idea, aparte de un tema de salud con la sal, era exponerla a muchas comidas antes de que se reduzcan – porque parece que es normal que en el segundo año empiecen a ser un poco más limitados en lo que quieren comer. También pensamos que tiene toda la vida para probar todo, que si nunca comió nada, no le iba a hacer mal no comer ciertas cosas por cierto tiempo, y que hacia demasiadas cosas ricas naturales antes de exponerla a cosas más procesadas y con químicos. Que por ahí es un poco controlador, pero pensamos que hay tiempo para cada cosa. De más está decir que ya descubrió cuanto le gustan los helados y las galletitas. Y que me da miedo que solo quiera eso. Y a la vez no quiero hacer un gran tema de estas comidas. Creo también que hay que poner algunos límites, dado que los adultos somos nosotros. Pero es difícil el balance, y el confiar.

Una cosa que encontré útil es un libro de Ellyn Satter, aunque también hay cosas con las que no estoy tan de acuerdo. Pero como siempre, hay que sacar lo útil para nosotros, y descartar lo que no nos sirve. Básicamente lo que propone es una división de responsabilidades, los adultos/padres están a cargo de decidir que se come y cuando, mientras que los chicos deciden si quieren comer, qué quieren comer dentro de esto, y cuánto. Y esto quiere decir, que por ejemplo intentar que coman más es cruzar esa división de responsabilidades. Dentro de esto, es también flexible en tanto que el qué se come esta también marcado por el gusto de los chicos, pero no necesariamente en su totalidad, por ejemplo. Y propone  cosas para lidiar con por ejemplo, esas cosas que me preocupan a mí como son los dulces, galletitas, chocolates, jugos, cosas procesadas, que llenan pero no son tan nutritivos si sólo comen eso, sobre todo cuando todavía no pueden entender la relación causa y efecto – por ejemplo si comes un montón de chocolate, después te duele la panza – pero que tampoco quiero prohibir y crear una dinámica de deseo. La idea es encontrar  la forma de darles lugar y tiempo para que coman todo lo que quieran. Por ejemplo – que la merienda un dia sea de galletitas de chocolate, y dejarlos que coman las que quieran. Que sepan que no están prohibidas, que pueden comer la cantidad que desean, pero que a la vez no interfiere con otras comidas, como puede ser la cena o almuerzo, en donde hay otras cosas para comer. Me parecen ideas útiles, y las adaptamos como nos parece, y las cambiamos también cuando vemos que no estamos cómodos, o no funcionan. Pero así es todo. En fin, quería acá poner el tema sobre la mesa, porque es uno de los temas, para mí al menos, importantes y difíciles, como madre, y como feminista.

Lucila

Is childcare a love market?

Carol Vincent and Stephen Ball, 2001, A market in love? Choosing pre-school childcare, British Educational Research Journal, 27, 5, 633-651

This is a bit of an old article, and one which is tentative in that it is a first attempt at looking at a small and limited sample of data, but I liked what they were trying to do here, especially in view of my angst in terms of looking for childcare, and also because of comments that this post sparked in terms of the role of the state in childcare provision. This article explores the way that a group of mainly white middle class women made choices on childcare, and how they ‘operated the market’, in the UK. Most of these women paid for childcare, instead or in addition of using informal arrangements.

What Vincent and Ball show us is that in spite of these women being very good at working the market, by searching different providers, looking for information, getting reviews, going to visit the places and so on, these women did not have much control of the market-based relations that developed, and had to negotiate different tensions and trade-offs between their work, childcare and domestic responsibilities.

What struck me about this article is that it underlines a prominent feature here in the UK, which the article describes as an Anglo-American phenomenon: that childcare for children younger than 4 is considered mainly a private matter, not a public responsibility. This is different from other countries, such as Scandinavia, France, Belgium, and Australia. Families have to cope in their own ways, and have to pay for whatever they can afford for care. The state does not provide, or provides minimally, for this age group. Since this article was written, the state has become a bit more involved, at least in terms of inspections, and offering childcare vouchers and so on, but not much in terms of provision of care. But even if, or because of, this area is left to the market, women find they have to compromise on what they would like for childcare, as they haven’t got the ability, or power to really ‘choose’ the care they want to.

A very interesting part of the article deals with the compromises that women make at the moment of making choices for childcare. Cost, geographies of choice (location and distance of travel, places available, times available, etc), women’s type of work hours and flexibility allowed, different types of care arrangements, are all elements in a giant and fuzzy puzzle that women juggle in their everyday lives. These authors show that there are two key issues that relate to this compromise. They show that even if women manage the market well, they still are forced to accept situations that are not ideal. And that the dissatisfaction is fuelled by their unease about negotiating market-based relationships in search of care.

Women did not have much choice of manoeuvre between one provider or another. They show how it was more of a ‘work with what there is, and what it is’, rather than, as other studies suggest, a continuum of care, or co-ordinated care. That is, the situation was more one in which mothers had to compromise their ideals, or to leave. And women compromised more or less than others, and on different things.

The authors argue that because of this unease with market relations, women attempt to personalise, and bring the affective dimension of care to the forefront. As they show, for these women professionalism is not enough and warm relationships are vital. This is a part of the article that bugs me a bit. In their analysis, the authors highlight how this really is about a financial exchange, and how the other elements are part of a ‘necessary fiction’ that women and providers use to cover this core issue.

This bugs me not because I don’t agree that there is an element of market exchange, and that this brings discomfort and a strategy to bring out the affective, but because it feels like they are saying that the women do not understand this and live in fiction, and thus, for me, it feels dismissive.Secondly, I think that market relations are complicated and more than financial exchanges in any case, and more so in this case.

In spite of this matters, I find that this poses interesting questions: would women be more at ease with their childcare decisions were it not a market exchange? Would public provision, for instance, change the forms of childcare at their core? And thus, what role should the state play in childcare provision? Probably the answer to that would be to see what kind of alternative care, public care or cooperative there was, and if the care relationship would be more prominent in this type of care. I would argue that this would probably not be so clear cut, as childcare providers and workers are mostly under-paid, and probably choose this job in some part because it is something they enjoy doing (this does not justify the low pay, which I think should be part of the struggle for better care). Even so, the questions are good ones, especially at this point in time in the UK, where conservatism and forms of privatisation are rampant.

The next thing that struck is how this is an area where women are the main responsables, in two senses, for worrying, juggling and searching, and also in the sense of being responsible for it to work well. Women are the ones juggling, searching, making compromises, and men are in the background, even though these are, as some of them described, involved in many other areas of care and household tasks. This area was theirs.

It is exactly my case too. I do question myself why is it that I am the one that seems to worry most about childcare, searches options, and thinks of the different ways to combine things. Even though my partner comes to visit places, and was there to interview our nanny, and we talk about childcare decisions, I feel this is my responsibility. As the women in the article also state, there are many reasons for that: my flexibility in terms of my work, the relative less pay, the inconvenience in terms of times and distance for ones who those not work from home, etc, but for me the thing at the heart of this is something else: as much I sometimes fume about this being seemingly my burden, I would not like it if it weren’t. Do I care more than him about childcare? Probably not. But somehow it seems like I am the one that is annoyingly picky about it. Why is this? Not sure. Of course he does other things I don’t do, but it seems peculiar that this is something marked not only in our relationship, but is common and has been the most usual way in which it happens: women keep this matter into their hands. It would be interesting to read more about why this is the case: why is it a mother’s matter more than a dad’s matter? Or a shared one? A good feminist question.

Finally, an interesting point is held, when these authors show the ways that women talk about this process. The women in this study compromised somehow in the range between what would be for them ideal and what would be a horror story. These authors show how this middle ground is then maintained through ‘legitimation talk’, that is, narratives that contain very complex justificatory accounts and schemas, which are also underpinned by the rejection of other options. These authors comment how sometimes it is difficult to tell ‘preference’ from ‘necessity’, as there is a lot of emotional work going on, as these women also explain these choices to themselves through this talk.

I find this to be true, and part of the constant questioning that motherhood and parenthood brings: is this the right thing? Is my son/daughter happy? Could it be better? But also, I found, that this is something that many of my friends do, and probably I do too. For instance, sometimes I am a bit taken aback when something that I was told was great, and worked perfectly well, somehow falls apart. It is only then than some start to talk about their doubts, fears and negative experiences. I know it is hard to admit, to oneself first, but also to others, that one is not doing the best thing, but one that is OK, and works for the moment. I think that this area is one in which a bit more insight or openness might do mothers some good. This is what loads of blogs are great for, so there is something brewing definitely, but the competitiveness and tribalism is also rampant, so it is good to keep talking about this.