Rachel and my husband have an interesting connection. They are both married to missionary kids. When one is married to a missionary kid she often has to do strange things. Having said that she is trying to plan a trip that most American parents would not even dream of doing. She is taking her toddler to Southern Africa for VACATION.
Out of curiosity I just googled "percentage of United States toddlers who travel outside of the US" and came across and article (here) that said that less than 3% of US citizens travel to the continent of Africa every year. I imagine it is a much smaller number of toddlers.
Having taken our Owlet just last year to the same place, I have been able to sympathize with the "crazy" right now.
Yet Rachel has a uncanny ability to turn tough to funny and say what everyone is thinking. So I invited her to relay her thoughts on being a mother.
But as my dear sister relates, here in the US, we encounter a different experience
Parenting Paranoia
Worrying and parenting go hand-in-hand. Mothers worry about their babies going off to kindergarten, worry about if they will get into the best colleges, about who their future spouse will be (all this before the second trimester, most likely). Mothers can (and will) worry about anything, and nothing has made worrying more convenient than the internet.
You see, the internet allows us to take all of our silly little worries, type them into a search engine, and see 1,569,342 results of other mothers worried about the same things, doctors and quacks with all the answers, and a million other things completely unrelated to what we really wanted to know. When we begin to read the results, more often than not we end up with more worries than when we began.
Perhaps, when you were trying to get pregnant, you spent every evening scouring the internet, reading articles with titles such as, “15 ways your home is making you infertile,” or “This is why you can’t get pregnant.” Then, you’d spend your “two week wait” searching for signs of pregnancy (all these pimples must mean I’m pregnant! Is my hatred of broccoli a new found food aversion, or is it just gross?)
When you were pregnant, every hiccup, flutter and kick can send you into dizzying heights of ecstasy, or depths of despair. Your body, which had previously belonged to you and you alone, was now inhabited by a stranger who depended on you for life itself. And you would gladly give up anything to keep them safe. At first, you’d worry about morning sickness, and how to control that. Or if, perhaps, you weren’t sick enough, because you’d read that morning sickness meant the baby was healthy. Later, you’d worry if your baby wasn’t kicking yet, or if it wasn’t kicking enough. You’d worry if you were eating enough, or if a donut in each hand counted as a balanced meal (it does). You’d worry that the pain in your side was not from your muscles straining to contain the life inside you, but instead from premature labor.
You worried about labor, and how you’d handle the pain. Much later, you worried that your child would never vacate your uterus, and you’d be forced to carry him into adulthood. You read articles about “ideal” births, and you would worry about the insane amount of pain you would (hopefully) live through. Then you worried you were somehow less of a woman because you realized you would gladly trade your husband if that’s what it took to get an epidural.
When you brought home your precious newborn, you stayed up all night hanging over the crib just to check if baby was still breathing. You’d read horrifying stories of SIDS and worry that if you took your eyes off him for just one second, he’d be taken from you forever. You’d worry that he was not getting enough milk, that he was pooping too much or too little, that he wasn’t gaining enough weight, or that he was gaining too quickly.
As your precious child grew, you’d hear that your cousin’s child was rolling over already, and she was a month younger than your baby. You’d worry that your child would never develop. You’d wonder when to start solids, and worry that starting too early or too late would cause fatal allergies.
When your baby became a toddler, you worried about him running into the street. You worried that he’ll never start talking, but when he does start you’re worried he’ll never stop. You worry he’ll fall off the slide at the park (he does). You worry he has a concussion (he doesn’t). Is he teething, or is he being a pain in the butt or no reason? Are you a terrible person for thinking your perfect angelic child is a pain in the butt?
Answers to all of these fears can be found quickly online, along with a thousand more, and a generous helping of mommy guilt besides. As nice as it is to have immediate access to tips on what to do when your child has a fever, I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to do away with the parenting books and mommy blogs and pediatrician message boards altogether. It must have been easier to be a parent before moving was more common than staying still. Before technology, your birthplace would likely stay your hometown throughout your life, and you would have a ready-made network of support when you took the plunge into parenting.
You see, when you know all the answers to every problem, you’ll end up feeling that either there is something wrong with you or something wrong with your child (or maybe both). Every child is different, and no fake-perfect mom on the internet can provide the perfect solution for you. I suggest that far more than answers, what w need is a network of support, not a virtual network of judgment. If you’re not in the throes of new-parenthood, it would mean the world to a mom if you’d reach out and help create this network around her. Because heaven knows, moms have enough to worry about without worrying about networking.
Her following plea strangely led my brain to remember a village I visited in Southern India when I was 18. They were some of the poorest people I have met. Most did not wear shoes. They all met in a tiny grass hut in the middle of rice paddies for church. If they had shoes, they left them at the door before entering as a sign of worship. They only had God and each other and yet they had some of the broadest smiles you will ever see. I am sure they had plenty of cares and stress, but in that moment they seemed enraptured to be able to be where they were.
But as my dear sister relates, here in the US, we encounter a different experience
Worrying and parenting go hand-in-hand. Mothers worry about their babies going off to kindergarten, worry about if they will get into the best colleges, about who their future spouse will be (all this before the second trimester, most likely). Mothers can (and will) worry about anything, and nothing has made worrying more convenient than the internet.
You see, the internet allows us to take all of our silly little worries, type them into a search engine, and see 1,569,342 results of other mothers worried about the same things, doctors and quacks with all the answers, and a million other things completely unrelated to what we really wanted to know. When we begin to read the results, more often than not we end up with more worries than when we began.
Perhaps, when you were trying to get pregnant, you spent every evening scouring the internet, reading articles with titles such as, “15 ways your home is making you infertile,” or “This is why you can’t get pregnant.” Then, you’d spend your “two week wait” searching for signs of pregnancy (all these pimples must mean I’m pregnant! Is my hatred of broccoli a new found food aversion, or is it just gross?)
When you were pregnant, every hiccup, flutter and kick can send you into dizzying heights of ecstasy, or depths of despair. Your body, which had previously belonged to you and you alone, was now inhabited by a stranger who depended on you for life itself. And you would gladly give up anything to keep them safe. At first, you’d worry about morning sickness, and how to control that. Or if, perhaps, you weren’t sick enough, because you’d read that morning sickness meant the baby was healthy. Later, you’d worry if your baby wasn’t kicking yet, or if it wasn’t kicking enough. You’d worry if you were eating enough, or if a donut in each hand counted as a balanced meal (it does). You’d worry that the pain in your side was not from your muscles straining to contain the life inside you, but instead from premature labor.
You worried about labor, and how you’d handle the pain. Much later, you worried that your child would never vacate your uterus, and you’d be forced to carry him into adulthood. You read articles about “ideal” births, and you would worry about the insane amount of pain you would (hopefully) live through. Then you worried you were somehow less of a woman because you realized you would gladly trade your husband if that’s what it took to get an epidural.
When you brought home your precious newborn, you stayed up all night hanging over the crib just to check if baby was still breathing. You’d read horrifying stories of SIDS and worry that if you took your eyes off him for just one second, he’d be taken from you forever. You’d worry that he was not getting enough milk, that he was pooping too much or too little, that he wasn’t gaining enough weight, or that he was gaining too quickly.
As your precious child grew, you’d hear that your cousin’s child was rolling over already, and she was a month younger than your baby. You’d worry that your child would never develop. You’d wonder when to start solids, and worry that starting too early or too late would cause fatal allergies.
When your baby became a toddler, you worried about him running into the street. You worried that he’ll never start talking, but when he does start you’re worried he’ll never stop. You worry he’ll fall off the slide at the park (he does). You worry he has a concussion (he doesn’t). Is he teething, or is he being a pain in the butt or no reason? Are you a terrible person for thinking your perfect angelic child is a pain in the butt?
Answers to all of these fears can be found quickly online, along with a thousand more, and a generous helping of mommy guilt besides. As nice as it is to have immediate access to tips on what to do when your child has a fever, I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to do away with the parenting books and mommy blogs and pediatrician message boards altogether. It must have been easier to be a parent before moving was more common than staying still. Before technology, your birthplace would likely stay your hometown throughout your life, and you would have a ready-made network of support when you took the plunge into parenting.
You see, when you know all the answers to every problem, you’ll end up feeling that either there is something wrong with you or something wrong with your child (or maybe both). Every child is different, and no fake-perfect mom on the internet can provide the perfect solution for you. I suggest that far more than answers, what w need is a network of support, not a virtual network of judgment. If you’re not in the throes of new-parenthood, it would mean the world to a mom if you’d reach out and help create this network around her. Because heaven knows, moms have enough to worry about without worrying about networking.
Rachel works from home as a graphic designer wile taking care of her home, husband and little man.
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