Dear Editor

It seems to be my unique misfortune in writing and in life to be a Palestinian-Israeli-American-Christian-Stay-At-Home-Mother. As you can imagine, not many people want to publish poems that combine belief, dirty diapers and politically marginal revolutions that even the Left want nothing to do with. All that is to say, thank you for taking the time to read my incredibly unpublishable work.

One of them days

It's only 12:30pm and I'm already at my end. Munch-munch has been needy, weepy, teething, trying to stand and falling, then begging for "ma-mum-mummummm-maaaaabvvvfffff!" Attachment parenting was one thing when he was 9 pounds and quite another at 19.

I have on my list of things to do today: Submit Poem. Because what I really need is another rejection letter. And what every journal really needs is another poem from a stay-at-home-mother about her birth experience.

What me and my breasts are up to

The main impetus for this blog is really my experience so far with attachment parenting. I'm only eight months into this motherhood thing and I've already settled into a defensive posture. Part of this experience is universal--I think societies of all times across all cultures have spent copious amounts of times criticizing vulnerable new mothers. I mean, you're already exhausted, fat, hormonal and fighting with your husband, why wouldn't you also want to hear that your swaddle wouldn't hold a kitten?

But in addition to the random women who have stopped me during afternoon walks, vehemently shouting and gesturing in languages I don't understand, us attachment parenting folks are afforded another special blessing: we are judged even by the new moms who hate to be judged! I think the problem is that American mothers do not view attachment style parenting as one of the normal options out there--it is either off the continuum altogether or way "out there" in crazy land.

Here's an example. In the good ol' BREAST vs BOTTLE debate, the standard continuum on the far left* is breast-feeding exclusively for 4-6 months and then weaning around 12 months. On the far right is formula feeding from day one. Most mothers probably fall somewhere in between, either combining breastfeeding with bottles of pumped milk/ formula or exclusively nursing for some period of time and then switching to other baby foods (rice milk, formula, etc.) And what about us attachment folk? Well let's just say my eight month old baby still nurses about 8-10 times in a twenty-four hour period (yes ma'am, that does mean we're still nursing at night!) and I don't have any kind of strategic get-that-baby-off-my-boob plan in place. In fact, when people ask me when I plan to wean I simply say I don't know. Now ladies, this does not mean I plan on breast-feeding my seven year old son after soccer practice. It simply means I don't have predetermined deadlines for these things. I watch my child, I try things, I see how it goes.

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*You may wonder why I put breast-feeding on the left and bottle-feeding on the right, given that breast-feeding is a more conservative choice, medically-speaking, in line with things like natural birth and other non-intrusive practices. However, I think breastfeeding for long periods of time, like most of the other attachment features, is viewed as a politically left behavior, in line with things like hippie revolutions and green campaigns.

First impressions be damned

I've considered lots of beginnings to this blog. There's the angsty diatribe on why old women on the street and dear friends should stop asking me weird and judgemental questions about attachment parenting. There's the well-laid out defense of why anyone would want to read another blog by another mommy, especially one who has only ever so recently become a mom or has read someone's blog more than once. The fact is that introductions are awkward and first impressions be as they may, I suck at them. So let's just treat this like a first date and expect it to go badly. You can order the ribs and spend the rest of the conversation considering the least noticeable way to pick pork out of your teeth. I'll get some kind of girly goat cheese thing (I always order the goat cheese) and try to look delicate while eating it but in the end only convince you beyond reasonable doubt that I am way too big to eat this way normally.

So here's me laying all my cards on the table--well, at least a couple of them. First, I should tell you that I'm pretty ambivalent about the personal blog thing and may or may not have used phrases like "get a room" to describe them in the past. I'm still deciding whether or not to tell recepients of said words of wisdom from yours truly that I am now writing a personal blog. Tricky. Second, I am an aspiring poet and like most other "paper writers," am highly suspicious of this online publishing business. In the literary world, ink and paper still rule and I have to admit, I've been more than a little nervous of crossing over into the other camp. But nobody wants to publish my poetry anyway so what do I have to lose?

There, I think that might be enough for now. I've given you a little sass, a little heart and I've managed not to spill anyone's drink. Better call it a night while I'm still ahead.