Love Cake
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
Interesting article about couvade syndrome (sympathetic pregnancy). Did your husband have any symptoms?
As an expecting mom, I’m well aware of my body’s shifting chemistry and physical state. One day, a sudden lower back pain. The next day, a burst of energy and a mission to clear and rearrange every closet in the house. The next, a groggy haze and an overwhelming urge for a tuna sandwich.
We know that motherhood brings real physical changes, but is it true that men undergo some of the same transformations when their wives are pregnant?
Couvade syndrome, otherwise known as a man’s “sympathetic pregnancy,” mirrors the common symptoms of a mom’s gestation: nausea, food cravings, back aches, weight gain, and sleep problems. The condition, the name of which derives from the French verb couver, or “to hatch,” was first mentioned by anthropologists who noted that in many cultures around the world, expecting dads go through certain rituals, mental states, and behaviors that copy those of their pregnant wives.
In our society, although Couvade syndrome isn’t listed in the psychiatric or medical diagnostic manuals, it has caught the eye of several researchers and psychologists. The incidence of male pregnancy symptoms varies from study to study, ranging anywhere from 20 to 80 percent, with the lower number reflecting the percentage of men who actually seek treatment for their condition.
Sound implausible? Or like a whole lot of fuss and drama over dad that takes away from mom’s legitimate with-child status? That may be, but there is some scientific backing to the idea that approaching fatherhood changes a man’s chemistry. For example, one team of researchers found that men with babies on the way have higher levels of prolactin and cortisol in the time just before birth and lower levels of the sex hormones testosterone and estradiol directly after. In the same study, the men with more Couvade symptoms were the ones with the highest levels of prolactin and a greater reduction in testosterone.
And research on other primates certainly suggests that becoming a dad changes the brain. For example, the inherently nurturing and highly involved male marmoset monkey has been found to grow more neurons in areas of the prefrontal cortex that are involved in caretaking and bonding when their infants are born. These primates also seem to have the same prolactin increase as do human dads while their mom monkey counterpart is pregnant.
When I asked my husband about this, he confirmed that yes, he does feel different with me being pregnant – slightly more sensitive and protective. I agree here, since I’ve caught him telling me to fasten my seatbelt, look both ways before crossing the street, and other self-care skills I believe I mastered 25 years ago. Through both pregnancies, he has seemed extra motivated to eat well and exercise, although he recalled gaining weight after my son was born three years ago because we were classically hunkered down in a baby bubble.
So my personal jury is still out on the classic Couvade symptoms of nausea, lower back pain, and pickle and peanut butter cravings, but there is no doubt that nearing fatherhood affects men. It could be the psychological experience of anxiety, uncertainty, or growing responsibility with a baby on the way. Or it could be an evolutionarily adaptive neurochemical mix that keeps fathers involved and bonds strong, so we’re a team when our little ones are born. In the end, of course there’s no linear cause and effect — emotional states change our brain chemistry and vise versa.
And as long as I don’t have to make midnight ice cream runs for my husband or rub his back while he watches TV, I kind of like the idea that while we’re expecting our second child, his brain and body may be going through their own version of a tangible transformation with me.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
- Bleeding Love, Leona Lewis
- Here comes the flood, Peter Gabriel
- Blood, Pearl Jam
- Bloodstream, Stateless
- Warning Signs, Coldplay
- Evenflow, Pearl Jam
- The Cure for Pain, Jon Foreman
- Lady in Red, Chris Deburgh
- Sunday Bloody Sunday, U2
- Not The Red Baron, Tori Amos
- Don't Have To Be Sad, Yo La Tengo
- About A Girl, Nirvana
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
We spend a lot of time as parents (and an awful lot of time on parenting websites) exploring what kind of parents we want to be. The tendency to name "schools" of parenting is new to this generation. Our mothers were just mothers, not Attachment Mothers, or Free-Range Mothers, and, as we discussed yesterday, the name-your-parenting-after-an-animal trend is only about a year old (and, I would politely suggest, has run its course...)
I have been alternately amused and frustrated by this need we seem to have to give our philosophy a label -- or even to have a distinct philosophy at all. The closest I come to a belief system of my own is borrowed from a friend, Donnica Moore, who sums up parenting as: It All Depends On Everything.
Two essays on Huffington Parents today throw out the idea of "one way" or even a "semi-consistent way" and offer up -- actually CELEBRATE -- a view of parenting that is closest to Moore's.
Devon Corneal describes it here as "Sure of Nothing Parenting." She nails it (as usual).
And Patty Onderko calls it "Relativist Parenting." Her essay is below.
Whatever you call it (because, after all, names can change, and everything is relative...) these two women sum up the on-the-fly, never-the-same-river-twice, doing-the-best-you-can feeling of this thing we do -- whatever it is called -- that differs from child to child, day to day, and moment to moment. --Lisa Belkin, Parentlode
I could be the worst parent in the history of the world. Or I could be the best. It's all relative. And that's my problem. Being a relativist and being a parent are hard ways of life to reconcile. Most likely, I'm a middle-of-the-road parent, but what's the middle of the road when it's relative to the relative best and the relative worst?
An example: I was crossing the actual (not proverbial) road with my 4-year-old twin boys the other morning when a turning car began honking at us. Here's a secret: I've long ago stopped forcing one of my sons to hold my hand while crossing streets. He rebelled so forcefully that our struggle actually put us at greater risk in the middle of the crosswalk. So I relented, and instead stood right next to him against oncoming traffic until we were safely to the other side. But the woman driving this car made it clear that I had made the wrong decision. She rolled down her window and screamed, "Hold his hand!!!" at me as she pointed emphatically to my unattached son. I was angry and defensive at the time, but later: Am I pansy parent who can't even uphold the supposed "non-negotiable" rules of childcare? Or am I a sensitive mom who wisely knows how to pick her battles? Honestly, I could go either way on that one. I flip-flop as of writing this.
Another example: I tell my other son (the one who does hold my hand crossing the street) one evening that it's time to put down the iPad. He whines convincingly and tells me that he's not done with his game yet and why does he have to turn it off now? I don't know really, I think. I don't want him to have too much of the notorious "screen time," but at the same time, I wonder, "Who am I? He's only been playing Angry Birds for 20 minutes and while 20 minutes is a lot more than, say, five, it's also a lot less than 60." Still, I enforce the power down, since I'm supposed to be consistent. But did I lose his trust as a reasonable parent who values his independent thinking? Again I think, "Who am I?"
I know, I'm his parent. And I need to step up and set boundaries. Kids feel more secure when there are rules and guidelines. Or do they? Isn't it relative to the child, the rules, and the person enforcing them? My kids seem to be relatively secure in their lives. But who am I to judge? My sense of comfortable and secure could be wildly different from theirs.
This second-guessing makes parenting, as you can see, a daily guessing game. One twin seems ready for a talk about the birds and the bees, but the other seems -- relative to his brother -- not. But how do I know if the first twin is really ready for the discussion, relative to his peers? It's a twisted rabbit hole of right and wrong, sensible and foolish, kind and cruel.
Where do I find my bearings, my parenting absolutes when I kinda, I'll admit, don't believe in anything for sure? Dr. Bill Sears is smart about nutrition, but I couldn't do attachment parenting with twins. The SuperNanny seems sensible, but that's probably because she doesn't have any kids. The American Academy of Pediatrics is authoritative, but definitely stuffy.
The term "expert" is completely relative. To wit, as a career parenting writer, I've been called an expert.
Do I even need to mention that I'm not sure whether or not I believe in a God?
It would be easy to say that what I believe in, ultimately, is my own love for my kids and my good intentions towards them. But I bet those parents who read To Train Up a Child and switch their infants feel they too have only the best intentions. And, of course, you may love your kids more than I love mine. How would I know?
But if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that I love my own kids more than anyone else loves them (in the future, when they meet life partners, I'll duke that issue out -- internally, of course -- with their respective choices), save their other mother. And I love them more than I have ever loved anyone before, save their other mother. I know this. And it's this I have to trust. That's where my parenting rabbit hole lands with a happy thud. I love my kids relative to nothing. And I do my relative best.
Sure, that doesn't help me when I'm trying to figure out how to discipline one when he nearly strangles the other for wrecking his block castle (he worked on it for so long!). But still.
You may think, or be enviably certain, that despite my love (doesn't everyone love their children?), I'm a lousy mother.
But who are you? Your opinion is...well, you know.
Happy Again. --This song I wrote with Komar after I lost a friend
Vocals: Davine
Guitar: Komar