The always-insightful Margie (aka Third Mom ) raises some great questions about transracial adoption over at Anti-Racist Parent.
We’re up against some big ol’ famous blogs, including Perez Hilton (purveyor of celebrity gossip, not that I’ve EVER read it), for the “Best GLBT weblog” award.
Please go vote for us!
(Oh, and um, while you’re at it, you should vote for Go Fug Yourself too, with well-deserved nominations for about 8009 different categories. Not that I’ve ever read that either.)
I quit posting about sleeping issues a while back because I was starting even to bore myself, but the issues are on-going.
We’re in a particularly bad phase right now involving moving him into his own room and trying really hard to get him to learn to soothe himself. Worth it and also incredibly painful.
Since I haven’t been able to shut up about this in real life the way I’ve managed to here, the unsolicited advice has been pouring in.
If one more person tells us what we should do, what worked for their kid who is nothing like ours, what fit perfectly for their parenting style which is totally unrelated to ours, I just might scream.
This has been hard. For the most part, I think NSG and I have been pretty good about letting other people’s judgement about our parenting style roll off. The judgements that flies about parenting decisions are just stunning (I’m guilty of this too, of course). I think I’m having a harder time shaking it off this time because most of the things we’ve done as parents – so far – have worked for all three of us. With less success around sleep issues, my confidence is down and the assvice is just getting to me.
In the past 48 hours, we’ve been told to: let him cry it out, let him cry for a while – but not too long!, move his bed into our room, go back to co-sleeping, feed him right before bed, don’t feed him before bed, put sweet potato in his bottle at night, sleep in his room with him, sleep in our own room, use a white noise machine, swaddle him, and don’t swaddle him.
And the worst part about this is that when you don’t sleep, everything’s harder. I stubbed my toe yesterday morning and it was like the end of the freakin’ world.
In the scheme of things, this is not so big. It just makes me want to stomp my feet and be kind of petulant once in a while – lucky you this is usually where I do it, since you, unlike the people in my physical world, can’t smack me. The only advice I’ve hear that’s been at all helpful was from my co-worker, who keeps saying: This too shall pass.
My new mantra.
My new post, P*nis down, is up at LesbianFamilyDOTorg:
When we were just talking about having babies, talking about transracial adoption, several people asked me about raising boys without a dad – what were we going to do, they asked, about making sure our son had plenty of male role models? One of the people who asked me this question was a white woman with a white husband who lived in an almost entirely white neighborhood and had almost exclusively white friends.
Six months today since my son has been on this planet as a human being in his own right.
Last night we went to hear Kris Delmhorst. It was Roo’s second time hearing her – we’re getting him started on good music early – and he was a champ. He sat in my lap and listened intently for a while and then fell asleep on NSG’s lap.
Dinner was great, the music was great, it was just one of those nights when we all couldn’t get enough of each other.
When Roo was brand spanking new, our friend V. pronounced him “a really nice person.” It made me laugh, but I knew what she meant. It is funny to say such a thing about a being so new, but as I’ve learned more and more about how to be a parent to this lovely little boy what she said stuck with me.
What a pleasure it is to parent him (even on the days when it isn’t), what confidence I have that he will be – that he already is – a nice person, a mensch, someone who will do good by being in this world.
Last night at dinner I looked at him in his high chair, intently stuffing his white bunny into his mouth and charming the waitress, and I thought:
That is an utterly perfect being.
I was at a welcome party recently for a new group I joined for some work-related stuff, and, since it was in the evening and partners were invited, both Roo and NSG came with me. Roo was, naturally, the life of the party, and several people were compelled to tell me the adoption stories of people they knew. For the most part they were the stories you would expect – a neighbor with a daughter from China, a schoolmate who had been adopted from Korea, and so on.
But there’s always a bombshell, and here it was, from a former high school teacher:
“A former student of mine is an adoptive parent – we just met his son, who is 16 months old. Adorable! He was adopted domestically, too, born to a syphilitic, drug-using woman… it was a miracle the baby was born healthy.”
I was so caught off guard that I might actually have drooled in front of him.
I’m embarassed to admit I said nothing, and my total inability to think on my feet has been haunting me ever since.
What could I have said? What would you have said?