AP Month Essay Contest
Essay 4 - What If...
My grandmother is a woman whose true avocation is mothering. She raised her brothers and sisters, several foster children, her own four boys, and then raised my sister and me. These days, she doesn’t have as much energy as she used to, but she still loves to spend time with her great-grandchildren. I think if she was having her children today she would practice attachment parenting. She was always very loving and respectful towards children, in a time where “spare the rod, spoil the child” was commonplace.
However, when I discuss parenting with her she often expresses concern with the way I’m raising my children. She thinks it is wonderful and recognizes how AP has had a positive impact on my son and daughter, but – a child of the Depression who always plans for the worst – she wonders what would happen to them if anything ever happens to me. Who would feed my baby, who has never taken a bottle in his life? How would my children ever sleep without me by their sides? Who would be able to care for them?
I considered and dismissed her concerns. I believe that we can’t parent for the worst case scenario. I don’t think it makes sense to mother in a way I consider less than ideal because something horrible might happen one day. Separations are stressful for all children, regardless of the way they are parented, so I don’t know that getting my children accustomed to my absence would be of any benefit to them anyway.
This summer, shortly after the birth of my son, I became ill. It was difficult for me to care for him the way I wanted to. I refused to take many medications because of the impact it could have on Harry through nursing, or because it would prevent me from being alert enough to mother my newborn. I probably delayed my recovery to some degree with the choices I made. I began to wonder if my grandmother was right, but my commitment to AP was such that I marched on, babywearing, breastfeeding, cosleeping, caregiving, one day at a time.
Then, my five-month-old son had a routine surgical procedure. I was thankful that I was able to help him through frightening and painful moments by nursing or simply holding him close. He was able to relax and rest because I was with him. He didn’t need a certain bed or blanket or pacifier to be soothed – I was all he needed, and I was there. He woke up from the anesthesia, nursed well, and went home.
I got up that night to give him some pain medication and noticed that he had a slight fever. I was not particularly concerned, as I had been told to anticipate this. Two hours later, I woke from a deep sleep in a panic and reached over to feel his head. He was on fire, and was completely lethargic and disoriented. His temperature was 103°. I drove the forty-five minutes to the hospital in a cold sweat, listening for his every breath and praying that he would be okay.
By the time we got there his temperature had risen to 104°. He was so dehydrated that it took three tries to insert an IV line in his arm. We needed a urine sample, but he was not urinating and the nurses were unable to insert a catheter. By this point he didn’t really care what was done to him, but I’m sure that my presence was comforting to him all the same. He was admitted and put on fluids while we investigated the cause of the fever.
I insisted that we be given a bed rather than a crib so that we could sleep together, much to the dismay of the nurses who made me sign a waiver of liability. Harry wasn’t interested in nursing and was still exhausted, so we just lay in bed together while he slept. He patiently allowed hourly checks of his vital signs, often not even waking when the nurses came in to check his blood pressure and temperature. Then, finally, in the darkness and calm of the night, he decided to nurse. The next morning his temperature approached normal, and by that evening he no longer had a fever. Four days after being admitted, we were home. I believe that his recovery was in no small part due to the fact that he was able to focus all his energy on healing instead of wasting energy being stressed and unsettled, because as an attached baby he had all he needed to be happy – his mom.
Our parenting style was a great help to my three-year-old daughter during this whole ordeal as well. She was upset and worried by the absence of her mother and brother. Once we were home, she had a lot of pent-up stress to release, and I was able to be present with her and allow her to do what she needed to do, whether that was running, or screaming and crying, or simply resting quietly in bed with Mommy and Harry. His hospitalization was probably as hard on her as it was on him, and she also needed attention and support in order to recover.
I’ve decided that we do need to consider “What If?” scenarios when we decide if Attachment Parenting is right for us and our families. However, the “what if’s” that I am concerned with no longer have to do with the impact of a parent’s absence on an attached child. Now, I am more convinced than ever that AP is a real gift to our children, especially in the event that they are ill or injured. During the most trying times we face in our families, Attachment Parenting gives us the tools to help our families cope and heal.
