Free-Range Kids. Lenore Skenazy
the book can offer “impressive benefits,” including “better birthweight, improved brain development, reduced risk for certain birth defects… .”
Aieee!! If that doesn't make mama throw her baloney sandwich out the window, what will? On the other hand, if that mama cannot resist the deli meat and gobbles that darn sandwich right down to the crust, she is left to feel that she's a horrible person. A lax, no-good, baby-damning baloney addict—at least compared to the will-of-steel baby mamas the What to Expect authors applaud. Even in the food chapter's little box about not feeling guilty, they jauntily say, “Lose the guilt, hold the deprivation, and allow yourself a treat every once in a while.” A treat that will make “your tastebuds jump for joy.” And what exactly would that fantastic treat be?
“A blueberry muffin.”
Not even a cupcake. I guess frosting is the What to Expect equivalent of crack.
Now listen: on the one hand, it's hard to argue with a book that says pregnant women should be eating well. On the other hand, it's hard not to argue with a book that drives pregnant women crazy. “It tortures them and it tortures me,” says obstetrician Dr. Craig Bissinger of the book he dreads seeing his patients waddle in with. As a teacher, lecturer, and deliverer of 8,000 babies, this is the sum total of his dietary advice for expectant moms: “Just eat like you have your whole life, but eat a little more.”
So much for the “each bite” advice—advice so picky and so extreme that it's bound to make any mom self-conscious. (Aren't the people who think about the consequences of each bite generally referred to as anorexics?) It is exactly that hyperconsciousness—the worry that at any second we could be doing something terribly wrong that will hurt our children forever or, alternatively, that any second is another opportunity to produce the perfect child if only we don't blow it—that is one of the reasons we're so worried about our parenting capabilities. Even before our kid is born!
After birth, of course, it never ends. Go to the parenting section of your library or bookstore—or maybe you're there right now (so buy this book already!). In front of you awaits a wall of “expert” advice so daunting, you may want to cry. Then again, maybe you're there because you're already crying because you think you're such a bad parent.
This is not the place to look for reassurance. It's not that there's no good advice to be found here. Dr. Spock is still calm and good, though dead. (The new Dr. Spock is Robert Needlman, who is just as calm and good, with the added advantage of being alive.) Emily Oster's data-driven Cribsheet is reassuring, telling parents that breastfeeding is not a must and kids in daycare are not less attached to their moms. The books on child development can clue you in to why your toddler isn't taking your every helpful suggestion yet. (“Sweetheart, let's not climb on the eighteenth-century porcelain elephant.”) And of course, if your child has been given a diagnosis of something you want to read up on, it's great that these books are here.
But …
I went flipping randomly through a whole bunch of these books, and I guarantee that if you tried to follow the advice in even a chapter or two of some of them, you would fail or at least forget the million particulars that you're supposed to do. And then you'll feel bad. Examples?
The Happiest Toddler on the Block—ah yes, let's compete for whose kid is happier—teaches parents how to talk to their tantruming tots. It is not enough to tell a child who is freaked out by a broken cracker in her snack, “It's OK! It's OK!” No, you must “Save your reassurance for after you respectfully reflect your child's feelings.”
That's right, folks. There is a wrong way to calm your children down, and it's by reassuring them. So next time you're talking to your kid, don't do what comes naturally. Think hard about what an expert told you to do and then talk. Otherwise, you'll be doing it wrong.
What if you want to encourage good behavior in your child? Saying “Yay!” is no longer enough. Happiest Toddler suggests rewarding kiddos “with a pen check mark on the back of their hands when they have done something good.” At night, “count the checks and recall what he did to earn each one. He'll end his day feeling like a winner!”
I'm not quite sure why this activates my gag reflex, but it has something to do with the fact that we are hereby expected to notice, cheer, and physically record every wonderful little deed our kid does that day, and then repeat it back, like the king's vizier. “First, my Lord, you woke up and did proceed not to throw your binky across the room. Huzzah, huzzah. Then, my Lord, when it was time for the day's morning repast, you did splendidly wield your spoon like a big boy …”
Without that litany, would the king end his day feeling like a winner? Perhaps not. Do you want to raise a kid who needs to hear his accomplishments reiterated every night as he gazes at the physical record of his wonderfulness?
Just asking.
Then there are books telling us how to communicate with our kids—and not just basic advice like “Try not to yell very much.” No, they tell you the exact words, like you're a bumbling amateur who needs a script to say the right thing … or else. Some of these books read like they're giving advice on how to navigate a tricky job interview. So in a book with the really promising title Am I a Normal Parent? there's a whole section on how not to quash your child's will to live when he asks if you like the picture he drew.
“How do you respond?” asks the book. “One way to help your child trust your response would be to take a minute or so to really look at the drawing and then, instead of commenting on the final product, say something about the process. For example, you might say, ‘I like the way you drew a black circle around the sun to make it stand out. I also like the red shirt on the boy in the picture. It reminds me of the shirt you wore to your last birthday party.’ This will help your child feel like your response was not a lie or a brush-off, but an honest reflection of what you have seen.”
So I guess “That's beautiful, hon!” makes them think we're total liars and the world is a stinking cesspool of phonies? Really—I can see where the author wants to help parents relate to kids, but it seems to me that the more worried we are about the ramifications of every remark we make, the more stilted we become. We are not relating to our kids as kids. We are relating to them as complicated cakes we have been given to make, and if we don't follow the recipe exactly—a recipe given to us in painstaking detail by an expert chef angling for a TV baking show—the whole thing will collapse.
That same book has a whole page about whether to tell your child the tooth fairy is hooey—a topic parents have grappled with ever since winged ladies roamed the earth. Why do we suddenly need an expert telling us how to broach this touchy subject? Or any subject? Or every subject? Including—let me rant for another paragraph or two—a whole tome on potty training?
The Potty Training Answer Book asks many of the questions you may or may not have been wondering about, including, “What books and videos should I choose for my child's potty library?”
Her what?
You know—a how-to library filled with picture books like I Want My Potty, It's Potty Time, and even, I kid you not, What to Expect When You Use the Potty. (Thankfully, not for pregnant women.) The Potty Training Answer Book lists a full twenty books you might want to get your child about the issue.
And six videos.
Is your child studying for an advanced degree in Potty Studies? Has she been invited to present the prestigious “Scatological Preschooler” lecture at Oxford? I got through a college course on twentieth-century Russian history with less reading. But the Answer Book then suggests some “favorite potty training resources.” Because twenty books and six videos are just not enough.
Simply bringing the kid into the bathroom and plopping her on the toilet is not an option anymore. And simply asking your friends, “What worked for you?” is now considered about as sensible as asking them, “How would you perform a triple bypass?” It's not that potty training is such a breeze—I know