www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/feb/12/france-feminism-elisabeth-badinter
This article recently published in the Guardian newspaper fired up some strong emotions for me, as a more or less stay at home Mum. Now before I continue my rant, I should say that I haven’t read the book referred to in the article, so this rant is purely based on the article itself.
It states that: “according to one leading feminist, the French model of motherhood is facing an unprecedented threat from a "dangerous" new brand of thought which seeks to keep women at home and make them the slaves of their children.”
This “dangerous” brand of thought is the green movement - i.e. that breastfeeding and cloth nappies mean that mothers are “tied” to their children in a "regressive" movement that could set back feminism by decades.
The article closes with a quote from Sabine Salmon, president of the association Femmes Solidaires, who says “that during school visits over the past two years her employees had noticed more and more French schoolgirls expressing a desire to stay at home. "It's a very worrying indicator," she said.”
This quote angered me the most. The problem is that this reveals an underlying opinion that being a stay at home Mum is not a worthwhile profession. These so called “feminists” actually do not believe that feminity has any value and that in order to be “equal” members of society, women must be more like men.
While I am grateful, in awe, of those women who faught so hard in the past for our rights - for the vote, to be able to work alongside men and to have the same opportunities as men, I am also grateful that I have the choice to be a full-time Mother to my children. In todays culture, I am incredibly lucky to be able to do this, as so many women have no choice but to return to work.
And surely it is the *choice* that is important. These “feminists” seek to take this choice away from me, to limit my oportunities in life, rather than to expand them and to say that I am a second class citizen if I choose not to enter the corporate world and instead to be a “slave” to my children.
My work as a mother is the most important thing in the world to me. If you had a job you were proud of, would you not want to do it to the best of your abilities? So for me, doing my best involves breastfeeding my children, using cloth nappies, not just for the environment but for the health of my children and being there to comfort them when they need me.
By doing this job I contribute something I feel is priceless to our family. If we were to pay a childminder 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 52 weeks in a year it would cost a fortune. This could be a starting point for putting a price on my work.
But I don’t do it for money. How many employees, with fancy jobs that they have to commute to and work long hours for, could say that they would continue to do their job if one day they won the lottery?
I wouldn’t give up my job for all the money in the world. I might pay someone to do the washing up, but the childminder? Never. It is my privilege to be able to care for my children.
So why should it be worrying that more teenagers aspire to live a life like mine, full of laughter and cuddles and the rewards of watching your children grow and mature? Certainly we should all aspire to getting a good education, an income and being self sufficient as women. But if the oportunity arises to be a stay at home Mum, to contribute something *more* than money to your family, shouldn’t we have the choice to take it?
I am not a slave to my children, this implies enforced labour. I give myself freely.
Friday 19 February 2010
Thursday 18 February 2010
My Breastfeeding Journey So Far - The First Week
I always knew my children would be breastfed, even before I knew I would have children. It was obvious. I didn’t ever consider there would be an alternative. So when I fell pregnant with Henry that was one less thing to think about. Decision made - I would breastfeed. Now to get on with the decorating and buying baby clothes.
All through the pregnancy I *intended* to go to the local breastfeeding support group, but there was always more decorating to be done and somehow I never got around to it. Due to my work I couldn’t do a full ante-natal course with the NCT, so I signed us up for a one day intensive, which very briefly touched on the subject of breastfeeding. But I don’t think I really took it in, among all the information about dealing with the labour. So even though I was dedicated to the idea of breastfeeding my baby, I was seriously unprepared for it. But it’s natural, right? What more can there be to it than just whipping out a nipple?!
Henry was born at home with a perfect (idealistic, some might say) water birth. I had no pain relief apart from the TENS machine and the warm water - it just wasn’t necessary. He was born into the water and bounced on the bottom of the soft pool, arms and legs splayed in a startle position and eyes looking up at me from under the water. Incredible. My husband lifted him up to the surface and into my arms where I held him close and looked at him in amazement.
The next few moments passed in a blur of relief, happiness and a feeling of, “right, what do I do now?!”. I knew I should breastfeed soon, but I didn’t have a clue where to begin and I assumed the midwife would talk me through it. In such a dazed state of mind I worried that I should really know what to do and if I asked for help I would look stupid and the midwife, who had been so supportive during my labour, would laugh at me, or tell me off for not knowing. So I waited for her to tell me when to breastfeed.
After a short while with my baby - perhaps half an hour - the midwife started to worry about the delivery of the placenta. So with time ticking on she suggested that Daddy take the baby into the other room while we try a few things to get the placenta delivered. I think her suggestions were to stand up, try pulling gently on the chord and if all that didn’t work we’d try some nipple stimulation. Why she suggested all this, when putting the baby to the breast might be much more effective I don't know. But after 45 minutes the placenta was delivered and I got out of the pool.
Then followed examinations and various poking and prodding before unglamoursly staggering upstairs to the bathroom for a shower. Once I was clean & fresh I climbed into my bed and Henry was brought to me to try feeding. I don’t really have any perception of how long this was after he was born, but I suspect it must have been around 2.5 hours. He latched on immediately, but it was quite painful. The midwife smiled and said “there you go, you’re both naturals!”, so I assumed it was supposed to feel like that. After a few minutes she left us to it and saw herself out.
The next few days were a dizzy high of watching Henry sleeping and falling in love so much that it hurt. I got used to the feeling of him feeding and it seemed to be going so well. But on day 5 things started to change. I felt feverish and hot, my breasts were full and tender and the mild pain of feeding turned into agony. I had several open blisters and one side had a groove that seemed to cut through a third of the nipple. Each feed felt like someone taking a pair of blunt scissors to my breast and twisting them. At the same time I was getting after pains in my abdomen and aches in my back and neck. This was much worse than anything I had experienced during the labour.
As feeding Henry became more and more painful I began to hold back from it. I would put off feeding him until it was absolutely necessary and would withdraw as he went to latch on. I looked up websites that could tell me how to latch him and tried to control it rather than letting him just go for it. He began to throw his head from one side to the other at what seemed like lightning speed each time I tried to latch him. It was impossible for me to bring him up to the nipple quickly enough. Nighttimes especially turned into a fight between Henry and I - him trying desperately to grab what he could and me trying to stop him and control the latch. Often we would be fighting like this for well over an hour before I would take a deep breath and let him feed while I cried with the pain or bit hard into my wrist to take my mind of it.
Only once did my husband offer to go out for formula in a desperate attempt to be of some help while he watched his wife and child battling together at 3am. I said no. I didn’t care how much it took. Breastfeeding my baby was the most important thing in the world to me and I wasn’t about to give up. Instead I would get help. I would percevere another couple of days until I could go to the support group. So we battled on until finally Monday came and I ventured out on my own with Henry for the first time.
All through the pregnancy I *intended* to go to the local breastfeeding support group, but there was always more decorating to be done and somehow I never got around to it. Due to my work I couldn’t do a full ante-natal course with the NCT, so I signed us up for a one day intensive, which very briefly touched on the subject of breastfeeding. But I don’t think I really took it in, among all the information about dealing with the labour. So even though I was dedicated to the idea of breastfeeding my baby, I was seriously unprepared for it. But it’s natural, right? What more can there be to it than just whipping out a nipple?!
Henry was born at home with a perfect (idealistic, some might say) water birth. I had no pain relief apart from the TENS machine and the warm water - it just wasn’t necessary. He was born into the water and bounced on the bottom of the soft pool, arms and legs splayed in a startle position and eyes looking up at me from under the water. Incredible. My husband lifted him up to the surface and into my arms where I held him close and looked at him in amazement.
The next few moments passed in a blur of relief, happiness and a feeling of, “right, what do I do now?!”. I knew I should breastfeed soon, but I didn’t have a clue where to begin and I assumed the midwife would talk me through it. In such a dazed state of mind I worried that I should really know what to do and if I asked for help I would look stupid and the midwife, who had been so supportive during my labour, would laugh at me, or tell me off for not knowing. So I waited for her to tell me when to breastfeed.
After a short while with my baby - perhaps half an hour - the midwife started to worry about the delivery of the placenta. So with time ticking on she suggested that Daddy take the baby into the other room while we try a few things to get the placenta delivered. I think her suggestions were to stand up, try pulling gently on the chord and if all that didn’t work we’d try some nipple stimulation. Why she suggested all this, when putting the baby to the breast might be much more effective I don't know. But after 45 minutes the placenta was delivered and I got out of the pool.
Then followed examinations and various poking and prodding before unglamoursly staggering upstairs to the bathroom for a shower. Once I was clean & fresh I climbed into my bed and Henry was brought to me to try feeding. I don’t really have any perception of how long this was after he was born, but I suspect it must have been around 2.5 hours. He latched on immediately, but it was quite painful. The midwife smiled and said “there you go, you’re both naturals!”, so I assumed it was supposed to feel like that. After a few minutes she left us to it and saw herself out.
The next few days were a dizzy high of watching Henry sleeping and falling in love so much that it hurt. I got used to the feeling of him feeding and it seemed to be going so well. But on day 5 things started to change. I felt feverish and hot, my breasts were full and tender and the mild pain of feeding turned into agony. I had several open blisters and one side had a groove that seemed to cut through a third of the nipple. Each feed felt like someone taking a pair of blunt scissors to my breast and twisting them. At the same time I was getting after pains in my abdomen and aches in my back and neck. This was much worse than anything I had experienced during the labour.
As feeding Henry became more and more painful I began to hold back from it. I would put off feeding him until it was absolutely necessary and would withdraw as he went to latch on. I looked up websites that could tell me how to latch him and tried to control it rather than letting him just go for it. He began to throw his head from one side to the other at what seemed like lightning speed each time I tried to latch him. It was impossible for me to bring him up to the nipple quickly enough. Nighttimes especially turned into a fight between Henry and I - him trying desperately to grab what he could and me trying to stop him and control the latch. Often we would be fighting like this for well over an hour before I would take a deep breath and let him feed while I cried with the pain or bit hard into my wrist to take my mind of it.
Only once did my husband offer to go out for formula in a desperate attempt to be of some help while he watched his wife and child battling together at 3am. I said no. I didn’t care how much it took. Breastfeeding my baby was the most important thing in the world to me and I wasn’t about to give up. Instead I would get help. I would percevere another couple of days until I could go to the support group. So we battled on until finally Monday came and I ventured out on my own with Henry for the first time.
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