Managing Gestational Diabetes: Day One
Those of you who know me or who can decipher my cryptic Tweets already know this, but to catch up the rest of you: I failed my three-hour glucose tolerance test.
This actually wasn't a surprise. My mom and at least two (of her six) sisters are diabetic. After my well-woman exam a year or so ago, I was told when my blood work came back that I was pre-diabetic. Non-pregnant pre-diabetic numbers pretty much mirror pregnant diabetic numbers.
I think I was lulled into a false sense of security when my early one-hour glucose test (at 12 weeks) came back hypoglycemic. This time, however, the results were not. My blood sugar was 166. Their threshold is 135. I was convinced I had just miscalculated my breakfast — after all, a Jack-in-the-Box taco seemed like a good idea to outsmart the test at the time. But how much sugar is in that salsa, anyway? And was it really smart to eat in the parking garage before walking into my appointment?
So shortly before my three-hour glucose trust, I decided to start monitoring my blood sugar in the morning. The results were not good. The day before the test, my fasting blood sugar was 110. The morning of, it was 98. The number to pass is 95.
Defeated, I walked into my midwives' office — 12 hours starved and dehydrated — on a mission. I already knew I had GD. So I just had to show them my glucose monitor, go meet with some counselors, and then I could eat, right? Wrong.
First, I ended up stuck in the waiting room for over an hour. By hour 13 of no food or drink, I became a hormonal, depressed, sobbing mess. By the time the nurse called me back, my eyes were already blood shot and puffy, and I was sob-heaving like Pop Culture Toddler. I told her that my fasting that morning was over their threshold for GD, that I was hungry, dehydrated and dizzy, and that I just wanted them to declare me GD so I could go meet with a counselor and get something to eat and drink. The nurse went to talk with the midwives and left me in my waiting room.
Some time later, one of my midwives, Debbie, came in to talk to me. We talked for over an hour [14 hours, no food or drink]. The end result of all this hysterical (on my part) chatter was that even with the numbers from my trusty glucose monitor, they had to run official tests or (1) the counselors wouldn't talk to me, and (2) my insurance company would likely not reimburse a thing. Debbie was pretty sure based on my home test that I was going to fail, but it had to be done. The end result was that Debbie would allow me to stay in the exam room for my full test, and a woman from the lab would come to do my blood draws. It was a good thing they let me stay in the room, too. An hour or so [15 hours sans food or real drink] after I drank thetorture device glucose drink, I threw up a little. Two hours in, standing or sitting up made me dizzy. In fact, when I walked out, I saw another poor preggo in the lobby who was taking her three-hour glucose test. She was passed out on the floor, and the staff was trying to get her into a wheel chair. Someone explain to me why they haven't invented a better way to test for Gestational Diabetes?
The day continued to get worse, but I'll spare you those details. I'll leave it at the fact that I felt pretty defeated (as well as dizzy, hungry and just generally discombobulated) for days after the test. Then Tuesday I got the dreaded call from Debbie: "Well.... You were right. You failed. Sorry." I was led to believe I had greatly flunked the test. Now I just had to wait for the diabetic counselors to call me.
Being the nerd I am, I immediately started searching Amazon for the highest rated gestational diabetes books available on Kindle. I downloaded a cookbook and another general book.
Today was my first meeting with my diabetic counselors. I was terrified. Turns out I didn't need to be.
But, first, let's discuss breakfast. The diabetic cookbook I downloaded contained a recipe for "buttermilk pancakes." Unlike any pancakes I'm used to, these included no eggs. Honestly, I have no reason why, since eggs aren't exactly full of sugar or carbs. I made them anyway. The only modification I made was to substitute 1/4 cup of the cup of flour required with wheat flour to make it a bit healthier. The result sort of looked like pancakes, but it tasted like fluffy matzo. Luckily, I actually like matzo crackers, so this wasn't a big deal -- just really surprising. I made a fruit compote with stevia sweetener and served it with egg whites scrambled with zucchini, spinach and squash. Here's the final result:
Fortunately, it tasted better than it looked.
Loaded up (but still kind of starving) on my healthy, diabetes-approved breakfast, I headed to meet with my counselors. Most interesting part of the morning? The receptionist at intake trying to pump me for free legal advice. Seriously?! Does she do that to everyone who walks in who has "attorney" listed as occupation, or do I just have one of those faces??
After that weirdness was behind me, I met first with the dietitian, Rita. We went through my typical, not-at-all-diabetes-approved diet and figured out what things should be cut, modified, and kept. Surprisingly, there weren't too many drastic changes. True, my glazed donut + kolache + milk breakfast has been 100% eliminated, and I have to stop drinking lemonade 24/7, but my favorite red beans & rice lunch gets to stay. Next I met with the the nurse, Angela. She actually gave me various ways to save some of my current cravings with a little foreign (to me) thing called portion control. Get to the point where I just have to have the taste of a glazed donut? Get a couple of donut holes. Want some ice cream, and not of the chock-full-o-splenda variety? Eat 1/4 cup of Blue Bell Homestyle Vanilla (yum!). But the best news I received from Angela today? My pal Brittney (aka BostonsMama) doesn't have to change a thing about the snacks she is planning for my baby shower; I am free to indulge that one day!
All in all, the appointment went really well. I found out that I hadn't failed the glucose test as badly as I was led to believe. In fact, I had passed the fasting and one-hour portion of the test. It was the rest of it that I failed miserably. The pointers I was given were very helpful and tailored to my lifestyle and preferences. I actually feel like I can do this!
I realize this journey will be hard. No one likes pricking their finger 10 times a day. No one wants to count carbs or forgo their favorite foods. But you know what else no one wants? To give birth to a 16-pound baby.
This actually wasn't a surprise. My mom and at least two (of her six) sisters are diabetic. After my well-woman exam a year or so ago, I was told when my blood work came back that I was pre-diabetic. Non-pregnant pre-diabetic numbers pretty much mirror pregnant diabetic numbers.
I think I was lulled into a false sense of security when my early one-hour glucose test (at 12 weeks) came back hypoglycemic. This time, however, the results were not. My blood sugar was 166. Their threshold is 135. I was convinced I had just miscalculated my breakfast — after all, a Jack-in-the-Box taco seemed like a good idea to outsmart the test at the time. But how much sugar is in that salsa, anyway? And was it really smart to eat in the parking garage before walking into my appointment?
So shortly before my three-hour glucose trust, I decided to start monitoring my blood sugar in the morning. The results were not good. The day before the test, my fasting blood sugar was 110. The morning of, it was 98. The number to pass is 95.
Defeated, I walked into my midwives' office — 12 hours starved and dehydrated — on a mission. I already knew I had GD. So I just had to show them my glucose monitor, go meet with some counselors, and then I could eat, right? Wrong.
First, I ended up stuck in the waiting room for over an hour. By hour 13 of no food or drink, I became a hormonal, depressed, sobbing mess. By the time the nurse called me back, my eyes were already blood shot and puffy, and I was sob-heaving like Pop Culture Toddler. I told her that my fasting that morning was over their threshold for GD, that I was hungry, dehydrated and dizzy, and that I just wanted them to declare me GD so I could go meet with a counselor and get something to eat and drink. The nurse went to talk with the midwives and left me in my waiting room.
Some time later, one of my midwives, Debbie, came in to talk to me. We talked for over an hour [14 hours, no food or drink]. The end result of all this hysterical (on my part) chatter was that even with the numbers from my trusty glucose monitor, they had to run official tests or (1) the counselors wouldn't talk to me, and (2) my insurance company would likely not reimburse a thing. Debbie was pretty sure based on my home test that I was going to fail, but it had to be done. The end result was that Debbie would allow me to stay in the exam room for my full test, and a woman from the lab would come to do my blood draws. It was a good thing they let me stay in the room, too. An hour or so [15 hours sans food or real drink] after I drank the
The day continued to get worse, but I'll spare you those details. I'll leave it at the fact that I felt pretty defeated (as well as dizzy, hungry and just generally discombobulated) for days after the test. Then Tuesday I got the dreaded call from Debbie: "Well.... You were right. You failed. Sorry." I was led to believe I had greatly flunked the test. Now I just had to wait for the diabetic counselors to call me.
Being the nerd I am, I immediately started searching Amazon for the highest rated gestational diabetes books available on Kindle. I downloaded a cookbook and another general book.
Today was my first meeting with my diabetic counselors. I was terrified. Turns out I didn't need to be.
But, first, let's discuss breakfast. The diabetic cookbook I downloaded contained a recipe for "buttermilk pancakes." Unlike any pancakes I'm used to, these included no eggs. Honestly, I have no reason why, since eggs aren't exactly full of sugar or carbs. I made them anyway. The only modification I made was to substitute 1/4 cup of the cup of flour required with wheat flour to make it a bit healthier. The result sort of looked like pancakes, but it tasted like fluffy matzo. Luckily, I actually like matzo crackers, so this wasn't a big deal -- just really surprising. I made a fruit compote with stevia sweetener and served it with egg whites scrambled with zucchini, spinach and squash. Here's the final result:
Fortunately, it tasted better than it looked.
Loaded up (but still kind of starving) on my healthy, diabetes-approved breakfast, I headed to meet with my counselors. Most interesting part of the morning? The receptionist at intake trying to pump me for free legal advice. Seriously?! Does she do that to everyone who walks in who has "attorney" listed as occupation, or do I just have one of those faces??
After that weirdness was behind me, I met first with the dietitian, Rita. We went through my typical, not-at-all-diabetes-approved diet and figured out what things should be cut, modified, and kept. Surprisingly, there weren't too many drastic changes. True, my glazed donut + kolache + milk breakfast has been 100% eliminated, and I have to stop drinking lemonade 24/7, but my favorite red beans & rice lunch gets to stay. Next I met with the the nurse, Angela. She actually gave me various ways to save some of my current cravings with a little foreign (to me) thing called portion control. Get to the point where I just have to have the taste of a glazed donut? Get a couple of donut holes. Want some ice cream, and not of the chock-full-o-splenda variety? Eat 1/4 cup of Blue Bell Homestyle Vanilla (yum!). But the best news I received from Angela today? My pal Brittney (aka BostonsMama) doesn't have to change a thing about the snacks she is planning for my baby shower; I am free to indulge that one day!
All in all, the appointment went really well. I found out that I hadn't failed the glucose test as badly as I was led to believe. In fact, I had passed the fasting and one-hour portion of the test. It was the rest of it that I failed miserably. The pointers I was given were very helpful and tailored to my lifestyle and preferences. I actually feel like I can do this!
I realize this journey will be hard. No one likes pricking their finger 10 times a day. No one wants to count carbs or forgo their favorite foods. But you know what else no one wants? To give birth to a 16-pound baby.
On “Meeting” My Friends
For those of you who actually read and pay attention to all or most of my posts, I imagine a few of you may be thinking, “Well, it’s the end of June. Whatever happened to that April meetup with the other Mommy Bloggers? Ooh.. I bet it got cancelled or didn’t go well.” If there’s anyone who thinks this way, I really couldn’t blame you. In fact, I went to a party last week, and someone point blank asked me if this meetup had ever even happened. I didn’t blame him either. After all, it’s sort of weird if something goes well that it wouldn’t be discussed, right? Well, it went well, fabulous in fact. I’ve just been lazy in getting around to actually writing about it [compare this to Brittney’s three posts about it…]. And, honestly, I’ve been trying to figure out exactly how to word how I feel.
In a sense, I feel like I should have so much to say, because the weekend was so awesome that I should actually have to edit myself to keep the gushing and word count down. On the other hand, meeting up with two of my closest friends who I had never, prior to April 8th, seen in person, felt so natural and so normal, that it felt like any other day out of my life – only in a vacation setting. Honestly, once we got past the initial “crap, are we going to get along in person?” it was like I was just going on vacation with two of my best friends and their families, nothing more.
Without going into too much detail, we were all nervous about finally meeting even after we had all arrived in Phoenix. Turns out, we had nothing to worry about. Everyone got along pretty well. Of course, every now and then we had to resolve the occasional toddler dispute over toys or had trouble figuring out dinner plans for a group of 11 (well, 10.5), but other than that we had a fantastic time. The first night, we hung out around the hotel and ate pizza. On Saturday, since it was raining, we took the kids to Amazing Jakes, an indoor play place and let them run themselves ragged. Sunday, we went to the zoo and then the pool, before our farewell dinner at Bennihana.
The whole weekend was perfect, and Sunday night, we were all sad to go. Of course, this lead to the discussion of “What were we thinking??” making the trip so short. With two days basically reserved for travel, we only had two full days to spend time together. We decided to rectify the situation as soon as possible. Next summer, we’re planning on taking a trip to the Northeast, going to Kat’s neck of the woods. In November, everyone will come down to Texas, and we’ll all take a trip up to San Antonio to walk the River Walk and take the kids to Sea World [tickets have already been booked!!]. And in a wonderful showing of generosity and friendship (a gesture that makes me tear up every time I think about it), Brittney – who is just as pregnant as I – is throwing me a baby shower in August, and she and Kat will be staying with me for the weekend.
Of course, no matter how many vacations we plan, it seems like it’s never enough. Whenever one of us is having a hard day, the general feeling is usually, “I wish you guys were here.” However, even though we’re not physically near each other, we are always there for each other.
A Storm of Controversy Over Baby's Gender (or Lack Thereof)
(Photo courtesy of Steve Russell/Toronto Star)
By now you have all heard the news about little Storm, the Canadian boy or girl whose parents have decided not to reveal his/her gender after the baby was born. The parents explain their decision as an idea in support of "a tribute to freedom and choice in place of limitation, a stand up to what the world could become in Storm's lifetime (a more progressive place? ...)". While that is certainly a lofty and notable goal (for many of us, anyway), I think they have gone about it in the wrong way.
To me, choosing to hide their baby's gender from the outside world is putting a huge value on that quality, thus essentially making the argument that gender is the most important thing about a person. This is exactly the opposite sentiment of what the parents were trying to promote.
Those of you who actually read this blog regularly (I know for a fact there are at least three of you 
) know that I am Team Noneya -- completely against revealing my fetus's gender to the outside world (and, in the current case, even to myself). I hate the all-blue/all-pink traps people fall into, and the last thing I wanted was a monochromatic baby shower with sometimes impractical and practically identical gifts. However, I have no problem telling people after my child is born that s/he is a boy or a girl. The fact is, prior to birth, there is no personality to which to ascribe my unborn child. There are also no physical traits to dictate which colors or patterns would look best on it. After my child is born, however, it's easy to tell which colors look better with its skin tone, hair color, eyes, etc. And after my child gets older (usually around age one is when the preferences begin to be expressed), I can buy things for my child that s/he actually likes. Not to mention, the gifts are less frequent at that point, and it is a lot easier to reject one impractical or ugly frilly dress or football jersey than it is twenty. It is also easier to just begrudgingly accept that one gift and stick it in the back of a closet until it makes it into the Goodwill pile than it would a dozen. [Yes, people, I don't keep every unsolicited gift you give me just because you like it]
Pop Culture Toddler has clear preferences about things. She has had these preferences since she was only a few months old. Given a choice of eight differently colored but otherwise identical toys, she always went for red, purple, or pink. The only way to get a guaranteed smile out of her at six months old was to give her a feather boa and let her go crazy. Now that she's older, she demands to wear bows and tutus. She talks about being a princess or a ballerina. She loves carrying baby dolls around the house and playing Mommy. She is a dainty little flower who cries at the drop of a hat (and goes into histrionics just as easily -- drama queen). When we let her choose three colors for her new "big girl" room, the colors she picked were yellow, purple, and pink. She is, without a doubt, a girlie girl. In spite of this, however, the girl loves dinosaurs and cars (and Cars).
I was the opposite as a child. Given the choice, I wanted Matchbox cars over Barbie. I would cry any time someone put me in a dress. All I wanted to do was climb trees, run, play basketball or football, and wrestle. I thought He-Man and Transformers were the Second Coming of cartoons. I was most definitely a tomboy. My mother and aunts always tried to curb my preferences, because girls "shouldn't play" the way I wanted to play. I had more Barbie dolls than I could count -- with the pink Ferrari, Dream House and pool to match. I would cut that bitch's hair off and pull off her arms. It was not my thing. And there was nothing my mom's family could do to change that. I never denied that I was a girl; I just didn't want to play with toys or wear clothes that I was told were what girls are "supposed to like." My preferences for playthings had nothing to do with my sex or my sexuality.
My friend has a son who likes nail polish and girls' clothes. He's not quite at "princess boy" level, but he definitely likes some things that would make lesser parents squeamish. My friend lets her son be who he is. Maybe the slight cross-dressing is a stage, and maybe it isn't. But she has decided that her son will be himself -- at least at home. He does not deny he's a boy. Never has, and I doubt he ever will. In fact, some day, he will probably make a very good and sensitive husband for some lucky young lady [not that there would be anything wrong with him being a good husband to a lucky young man].
The thing is, my friend didn't have to deny her son's gender in order to let him be himself, just like my aunts and mother did not need to force specific toys and clothes on me to reinforce the fact that I am a girl [hear that, Pop Culture Nonna???]. We are who we are; it's just a biological fact. But if we start acting like denying biology is a way to gender equality, that's just wrong. By saying that the only way you can allow someone to be him- or herself is to deny a basic biological fact is placing a higher importance on that biological fact than I think is necessary.
Put another way: I am black. I am obviously black, there's no doubt about it [even those who mistake me for Dominican or Puerto Rican would acknowledge that I clearly have a large presence of African genes]. Had my parents somehow wrapped me in a shroud and "hid" my racial identity, it wouldn't change the person I am. However, it would send out a clear message that somehow my parents thought that my racial identity was the most important thing about me. It's not. Sure, there are some bigots out there who treat me differently because of my race (and I'll acknowledge, some because of my gender), but these people should not dictate who I am and what type of life I decide to lead. Ignorant people will always be ignorant; but should we live to cater to them or hide from them? Of course not.
Now, on the subject of ignorance... I will admit that I have seen some pretty ignorant comments relating to the Storm controversy. Most of these ignorant comments were to the tune of "parents should force girls to act a certain way and boys to act a certain way" and "let the child choose his sexual orientation later." I am certain these ignorant commenters were the kinds of people the parents had in mind when they made the decision to hide Storm's gender. However, no matter how many comments I see on the Internet, I refuse to believe that the majority of people with whom these parents associate on a daily basis think this way. I know I certainly don't associate with these people unless forced to, and I'm willing to bet it's a lot easier to meet people of this mindset in Texas than it is Toronto (yes, I'm stereotyping).
Now for someone who actually reads my blog who thinks that way [though I can't imagine, with my opinions on these kind of topics, who would have possibly stuck around this long who feels that way], let me tell you why this thinking is ignorant:
(1) There is no one way to "be" a boy or a girl. By imposing one societal view of gender on your children, you are not necessarily raising them to be better children. In fact, there is a good argument that by suppressing their natural preferences to things [as my mother and aunts tried to do with me], you are actually doing more harm than good. Where would the world be if girls were taught that the only way to be a girl was to wear pink, love to cook, and raise babies? And where would boys be if they were told the only way to be a boy was to be extra-tough, wear blue, and love sports? Not somewhere I'd want to live, for sure.
(2) Lack of identification with/preference for stereotypically assigned gender qualities is not an indication of sexual preference or even gender identity. There are plenty of "red-blooded," heterosexual men who like the color pink [in fact, did you know that not even a century ago pink was the color "assigned" to boy and blue to girls?], just like there are plenty of feminine, heterosexual women who love football and wouldn't be caught dead in a dress.
(3) Sexual orientation is not anything one "chooses." Yes, you can choose whether or not to act on sexual preferences -- history is replete with examples of gay men and women who have lived in a closet to avoid social persecution -- but whether or not someone acts on their natural sexual urges is not an indication of their sexual orientation, any more than your sexual orientation was in limbo when you were a virgin. Regardless of what those idiotic "Ex-Gay" people promote, you cannot change your sexual orientation, any more than I could make myself Asian. And for those of you who for some silly reason still don't get it, ponder this: What exactly would it take to "turn" you gay? Nothing? Then why in the world would you think someone else could be "turned"? And further more, why do you care? Trust me, if your child is gay, there's nothing you said or did that made them gay (other than providing their genetic code). And once people get over their ignorant assumptions about sexuality, then maybe we can get to a place where people can stop preaching hate, bigotry and intolerance against others simply because of the simple biological difference of their sexual orientation. However, since we have not even gotten close to getting that way with race or gender, I won't hold my breath.
In any event, I am actually a little bit in awe of how this became a major news story. Yes, it's pretty odd and different; but really, is it any stranger than many of the other parenting decisions people make on a daily basis? And by focusing so much attention on this and the speculation of whether Storm is really a boy or a girl [personally, I don't know them and even if I did, I don't really care one way or the other], aren't we somehow sending a message (one I think is a wrong one) that gender is grossly important?
Your Child Is Not Special… To Anyone Except You, Your Friends and Family
I know, I know. You’ve read the title, and you’re already ready to rip me a new one. But hear me out.
I know your child is loved. I know your child is special. But what I also know, is that this love and feeling of specialness does not extend beyond your inner circle. The same is true of my child.
I attended a seminar this week about generation differences. The speaker pointed out that Generation Y (ages 13 – 30 generally) is more of the “entitled” generation, because their parents spent their lives telling them that they were special “and they believed it.” Parents have taken away the work experiences – there are no paper routes, no lemonade stands, no one mowing the lawns, these kids were too busy with extra curricular activities to babysit. So these children, now some adults, don’t even learn to grow up until they show up on the job, and they need their bosses to teach them what in the past parents did. The speaker told the Baby Boomers to blame themselves for this; so the next time they’re complaining about the know-nothing “kid” straight out of law school, they need to remember that they created these monsters. I completely agree.
I don’t know what the mark of Generation Z will be, but I have a pretty good idea. As “special” as the Baby Boomers told Generation Y they were, many of us Generation Xers are guilty of being even more over the top. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but I want to break the mold. Yes, I want my child to understand that she is special—to me, to Pop Culture Dad, to her grandparents, aunts and uncles, and to my friends. But is she special to the rest of the world? No. Should she be special to the rest of the world? Not automatically. Specialness is something that’s earned not given. You don’t earn the title of being “special” simply for doing the things you should do (“Oh! You showed up on time and did your work? How wonderful!!” Uh… no); you are special for being extraordinary. And if you aren’t making the effort or going that extra mile to stand out from the rest of the world, then you need to drop the expectation that the rest of the world will find you as special and wonderful and your family and close friends. And we, as parents, need to stop giving our children these unrealistic expectations and then thrusting these self-entitled brats with me-me-me attitudes on the rest of the world.
I have witnessed far too many kids and adults who walk around with an air of entitlement, because they have been told all their life that they are special and wonderful, and this statement was never qualified. Somehow, these “special” adults have gone throughout life without having the idea challenged – at least, they haven’t recognized that the idea was challenged. These are the people who think that if they don’t get something they want, either it was stolen from them or some sort of unfairness is at play. I don’t dispute that things can be “stolen” or that there is unfairness in the world (a lot of unfairness), but there are many people who think that every time something doesn’t go their way, there must have been foul play. Sorry to break it to you, but the culprit isn’t the world, it’s your ego. Somewhere along the way, someone should have told you (him, her, whoever), that you are not that special – to anyone except your family and your/their friends.
It starts with children. We tell our children from the very beginning that they can do no wrong. Everything they do is perfect and wonderful. There is no problem with this. The problem comes in when we don’t let our children know that while we may hold this opinion, as do Nana and Papa, Auntie Whoever, and Mommy’s best friend, that random person you meet along the way – that person who may at some point hold your academic or professional fate in their hands – does not feel that way. I have heard various stories where someone’s child doesn’t get an award or doesn’t get into their first-choice school, and this person’s immediate assumption – without any hard core proof is “Well, the person who got my child’s spot got it because s/he is a minority/woman/bribed someone.” This parent is part of the problem. Sorry, but the world doesn’t work to conspire against one person. Sometimes – and I know this is a tough pill to swallow – we don’t get things in life, because we just aren’t good enough or special enough.
“But, but, but. My child had a 3.9 and scored a 1580 on the SATs and took piano!”. So did thousands of other children. And, quite honestly, place yourself in the shoes of a college application review board. If you see 15,000 applications from absolutely identical applicants, and you only have 1,000 spots, are any of these children special to you, regardless of how special they are to their parents, grandparents, cousins, etc.? Of course not. But you know who may seem more special than your child? The kid with the 3.6 and 1400 on the SATs, who played a sport and volunteered in her community, who also didn’t have the funds to take the same Princeton Review that 13,000 of the 15,000 identical applicants took. Yes, you may think your child looks better on paper, but you’d likely be wrong. In any event, the specialness that you personally attribute to your offspring is not passed on to a college application review board, a boss, or anyone else in the world. Again, if one wants to be special to others, one must in fact be special.
I know there are some parents who disagree. There are parents who think that I am damaging my child’s psyche by not letting her make every single decision or sharing in the fantasy (nay, fallacy) that she is special to everyone in the world because she is to me. I don’t care. I want my children to be those kids who have learned a work ethic, who have learned how to earn respect rather than just expecting it. I want them to grow up learning over the years how to be responsible adults rather than learning it on the job at age 25. If people don’t agree, then fine. Raise your kids however you want. But for me, I don’t plan on being that parent 25 years from now lamenting over the fact that my child is bouncing from job to job because her “boss doesn’t get her” or “she doesn’t feel fulfilled” after only being there one month.
I know your child is loved. I know your child is special. But what I also know, is that this love and feeling of specialness does not extend beyond your inner circle. The same is true of my child.
I attended a seminar this week about generation differences. The speaker pointed out that Generation Y (ages 13 – 30 generally) is more of the “entitled” generation, because their parents spent their lives telling them that they were special “and they believed it.” Parents have taken away the work experiences – there are no paper routes, no lemonade stands, no one mowing the lawns, these kids were too busy with extra curricular activities to babysit. So these children, now some adults, don’t even learn to grow up until they show up on the job, and they need their bosses to teach them what in the past parents did. The speaker told the Baby Boomers to blame themselves for this; so the next time they’re complaining about the know-nothing “kid” straight out of law school, they need to remember that they created these monsters. I completely agree.
I don’t know what the mark of Generation Z will be, but I have a pretty good idea. As “special” as the Baby Boomers told Generation Y they were, many of us Generation Xers are guilty of being even more over the top. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but I want to break the mold. Yes, I want my child to understand that she is special—to me, to Pop Culture Dad, to her grandparents, aunts and uncles, and to my friends. But is she special to the rest of the world? No. Should she be special to the rest of the world? Not automatically. Specialness is something that’s earned not given. You don’t earn the title of being “special” simply for doing the things you should do (“Oh! You showed up on time and did your work? How wonderful!!” Uh… no); you are special for being extraordinary. And if you aren’t making the effort or going that extra mile to stand out from the rest of the world, then you need to drop the expectation that the rest of the world will find you as special and wonderful and your family and close friends. And we, as parents, need to stop giving our children these unrealistic expectations and then thrusting these self-entitled brats with me-me-me attitudes on the rest of the world.
I have witnessed far too many kids and adults who walk around with an air of entitlement, because they have been told all their life that they are special and wonderful, and this statement was never qualified. Somehow, these “special” adults have gone throughout life without having the idea challenged – at least, they haven’t recognized that the idea was challenged. These are the people who think that if they don’t get something they want, either it was stolen from them or some sort of unfairness is at play. I don’t dispute that things can be “stolen” or that there is unfairness in the world (a lot of unfairness), but there are many people who think that every time something doesn’t go their way, there must have been foul play. Sorry to break it to you, but the culprit isn’t the world, it’s your ego. Somewhere along the way, someone should have told you (him, her, whoever), that you are not that special – to anyone except your family and your/their friends.
It starts with children. We tell our children from the very beginning that they can do no wrong. Everything they do is perfect and wonderful. There is no problem with this. The problem comes in when we don’t let our children know that while we may hold this opinion, as do Nana and Papa, Auntie Whoever, and Mommy’s best friend, that random person you meet along the way – that person who may at some point hold your academic or professional fate in their hands – does not feel that way. I have heard various stories where someone’s child doesn’t get an award or doesn’t get into their first-choice school, and this person’s immediate assumption – without any hard core proof is “Well, the person who got my child’s spot got it because s/he is a minority/woman/bribed someone.” This parent is part of the problem. Sorry, but the world doesn’t work to conspire against one person. Sometimes – and I know this is a tough pill to swallow – we don’t get things in life, because we just aren’t good enough or special enough.
“But, but, but. My child had a 3.9 and scored a 1580 on the SATs and took piano!”. So did thousands of other children. And, quite honestly, place yourself in the shoes of a college application review board. If you see 15,000 applications from absolutely identical applicants, and you only have 1,000 spots, are any of these children special to you, regardless of how special they are to their parents, grandparents, cousins, etc.? Of course not. But you know who may seem more special than your child? The kid with the 3.6 and 1400 on the SATs, who played a sport and volunteered in her community, who also didn’t have the funds to take the same Princeton Review that 13,000 of the 15,000 identical applicants took. Yes, you may think your child looks better on paper, but you’d likely be wrong. In any event, the specialness that you personally attribute to your offspring is not passed on to a college application review board, a boss, or anyone else in the world. Again, if one wants to be special to others, one must in fact be special.
I know there are some parents who disagree. There are parents who think that I am damaging my child’s psyche by not letting her make every single decision or sharing in the fantasy (nay, fallacy) that she is special to everyone in the world because she is to me. I don’t care. I want my children to be those kids who have learned a work ethic, who have learned how to earn respect rather than just expecting it. I want them to grow up learning over the years how to be responsible adults rather than learning it on the job at age 25. If people don’t agree, then fine. Raise your kids however you want. But for me, I don’t plan on being that parent 25 years from now lamenting over the fact that my child is bouncing from job to job because her “boss doesn’t get her” or “she doesn’t feel fulfilled” after only being there one month.
Today I'm Watching... My Child
Today I was in the cafe at Target getting nachos and an Icee [I'm 21 weeks pregnant. Don't judge!] when a little girl around the age of 5 or 6 got in line behind me. She got a little impatient while the cashier was making my nachos, so she started standing and sort of bouncing on the flimsy chips display case in front of us.
I am always careful with what I say to strangers' kids, because the last thing I want is to give some random nutjob a reason to go off on me. This time, I decided to let it go with a simple "Ooh, sweetie. Don't stand on that. You don't want it to fall under you." She got down, and no one confronted me. Two crises averted.
While I was grabbing napkins, the little girl ran past me and went running through the aisles of Target. That was the first time it occurred to me - Where is her mother?. My internal question was soon answered when the little girl darted into the Starbucks inside the store. However, this revelation did nothing to soothe me.
There are no parts of the cafe visible from the Starbucks and vice versa. In the same amount of time it took me to warn the little girl about standing on the chips display case, she could have been snatched. If I hadn't said anything, there was a possibility this little girl could have fallen and gotten injured. The little girl could have even decided that, instead of buying chips, she wanted to exit the store completely and cross the parking lot (The exit is also not visible from the internal Starbucks). All of these things - bad things - could and have happened, all without the mom knowing until it is too late.
Maybe I'm just paranoid. I have read too many stories about children being abducted from toy aisles while their parents shopped elsewhere in the same store. I've heard too many stories of children being snatched or running away into peril when their parents looked away for just a minute. I have watched too many episodes of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. Thirty years ago, one of my cousin's 15-year old best friend was abducted, raped and murdered on her way walking to meet her little sister and me at our pre-K and walk us home [in another dangerous situation, after waiting an hour without someone meeting us, the sister and I - both four at the time - walked home two miles by ourselves]. So, yes, I may be a little over-paranoid about letting my five year old stroll the aisles of a large store by herself. And I'm okay with that.
I'm not saying parents should watch their children with the almost obsessive-compulsive hawkishness that I can exhibit from time to time. But I do think that parents should keep their guards up even when in their own neighborhood. I'm sure the mom thought her child would be fine going to get chips on her own, because she was in a store in our neighborhood, and our neighborhood is safe. And, yes, this little girl was fine, so it was not an unreasonable assumption to make. However, our neighborhood is not a utopia. Many kids are abducted from or severely - even fatally - injured in their own front yards. I think kids should be able to play and have fun. However, I know that for myself, I don't ever want to be in a position where if, goodness forbid, something happens to my child, I am forever plagued with the thought of "If only I had kept an eye on her."
So, for me, I'm going to continue to let my child be a child — but within my eyesight and earshot. How about the rest of you? Am I being paranoid, or has the state of the world the last few years caused you to be overly cautious also?
posted via iPhone
I am always careful with what I say to strangers' kids, because the last thing I want is to give some random nutjob a reason to go off on me. This time, I decided to let it go with a simple "Ooh, sweetie. Don't stand on that. You don't want it to fall under you." She got down, and no one confronted me. Two crises averted.
While I was grabbing napkins, the little girl ran past me and went running through the aisles of Target. That was the first time it occurred to me - Where is her mother?. My internal question was soon answered when the little girl darted into the Starbucks inside the store. However, this revelation did nothing to soothe me.
There are no parts of the cafe visible from the Starbucks and vice versa. In the same amount of time it took me to warn the little girl about standing on the chips display case, she could have been snatched. If I hadn't said anything, there was a possibility this little girl could have fallen and gotten injured. The little girl could have even decided that, instead of buying chips, she wanted to exit the store completely and cross the parking lot (The exit is also not visible from the internal Starbucks). All of these things - bad things - could and have happened, all without the mom knowing until it is too late.
Maybe I'm just paranoid. I have read too many stories about children being abducted from toy aisles while their parents shopped elsewhere in the same store. I've heard too many stories of children being snatched or running away into peril when their parents looked away for just a minute. I have watched too many episodes of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. Thirty years ago, one of my cousin's 15-year old best friend was abducted, raped and murdered on her way walking to meet her little sister and me at our pre-K and walk us home [in another dangerous situation, after waiting an hour without someone meeting us, the sister and I - both four at the time - walked home two miles by ourselves]. So, yes, I may be a little over-paranoid about letting my five year old stroll the aisles of a large store by herself. And I'm okay with that.
I'm not saying parents should watch their children with the almost obsessive-compulsive hawkishness that I can exhibit from time to time. But I do think that parents should keep their guards up even when in their own neighborhood. I'm sure the mom thought her child would be fine going to get chips on her own, because she was in a store in our neighborhood, and our neighborhood is safe. And, yes, this little girl was fine, so it was not an unreasonable assumption to make. However, our neighborhood is not a utopia. Many kids are abducted from or severely - even fatally - injured in their own front yards. I think kids should be able to play and have fun. However, I know that for myself, I don't ever want to be in a position where if, goodness forbid, something happens to my child, I am forever plagued with the thought of "If only I had kept an eye on her."
So, for me, I'm going to continue to let my child be a child — but within my eyesight and earshot. How about the rest of you? Am I being paranoid, or has the state of the world the last few years caused you to be overly cautious also?
posted via iPhone
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