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Emby will be born after September 1rst…this means she will be 5 on the first day of Kindergarten (according to most district’s rules) and turn 6 about ten weeks into the school year.
Many people will say “so what?”
Not my husband and I. We are both October babies, born when the deadline was much more fluid, and who both entered kindergarten at age 4, turning five at some point in the first ten weeks of the school year. We were both more than academically ready to do so, and in fact, were both offered the chance to be skipped a year or two within the first three years of school. While neither of our families chose to take advantage of that offer, we were both often either at the top of our class or bored or both in school We both started college at 17 going on 18.
I am already worried about this for Emby. If she takes after my husband and I, holding her back a year would accomplish nothing for her, except to create a fight on our part to get her skipped immediately. Or it will cost us between one and two years of private school tuition (no small amount of money in the Greater Boston area) to force her into first or second grade on the schedule that we feel is appropriate, which will both cost her up to two years of socialization with her local peer and two years of college tuition from our bank account. At the moment, there is only one town that we could move to that would allow us to pay a fee to have her evaluated for K readiness at 4 and accepted into K if she tests well. The catch is that town is close to an hour away from husband’s work, which is not the commute we would prefer to have.
A solution to this would, of course, simply to be to homeschool Emby and any siblings she may have through middle school and send them to a private high school or to the appropriate public high school ready for the honors/AP track. I’m not sure that’s the right move. Husband and I are very geeky and not incredibly well socialized (or weren’t until college) and I’d like to spare E and her siblings that awkwardness if at all possible.
Another solution is to suck it up and pay the private school tuition. We could afford it, especially if I return to work, but we dislike the idea of setting her up with one peer group and then changing her world again a year or two later. I’m more ambivalent about this idea and often find myself leaning towards it.
Another solution is to delay her to the district’s start date and then use my “insider” knowledge of how to manipulate the system. I could probably have her in first grade within a few months once we provided the correct data and privately paid for assessments. However, she would go through a lot of upheaval in those first few months of school, and have to readjust mid-year. I would probably walk out with a less than friendly relationship with my principal and school board, as I know firsthand what kind of strong personality it takes to force a district into something like that.
Finally, there is a chance that I could force a district to accept her early with the appropriate testing. This is a much less slim chance and would probably still necessitate her ending up at a private school for a year or two as the age requirement at most extends through grade 1.
You can ask me why I care when I still have 14 weeks and some odd days of gestation until my due date. My answer is that education is my god and as a teacher, I understand all too well how schools work in their own best interests and not the children’s far too often. Just watch a family trying to get the special education services their child needs and all the hoops and excuses a school will make rather than pay for a one on one aide (for example). I understand why the school does this, from a budget and class size perspective as well, but it’s hard to have sympathy for that when I’m more than happy to pay higher taxes to help fix these crises. It’s also hard to have empathy when I have an equivalent degree to husband and make 1/4 his salary because I’m a teacher.
So with all that in mind, it makes my head explode to hear about parents calculating the advantages to holding their kid BACK a year, choosing to wait to start K until their child is six because it might mean higher test scores later. Or that some states are pushing back the birthdate deadline to September 1 or earlier when possible because they think a child who waits to start school will be “more confident” and “less likely to drop out,” (neither of which I buy for a second, after having worked with a high-risk population).
Holding kids back so that they appear smarter only results in bored kids, not “smarter” kids.
I would kill for the chance to live in a district with a December 1 cut-off or the chance to pay to have my child evaluated for K readiness at 4 with a real chance of attending K in fall of 2013.
Yet, if it were that Emby wasn’t ready for K at 4 going on 5, I would choose to hold her back, and I would support other parents doing so as well. It’s certainly close to impossible to hold a kid back once they’re IN school in many districts. But there’s a chasm miles wide between a child who isn’t ready developmentally or intellectually and a child who is being held back by parents who think doing so will net them admission to Harvard or MIT as opposed to a “second tier” university.
Dear Emby
Wow, the move is only 3 days away! I know you have no idea of this, sitting in your nice warm comfy uterus, but I wonder how my stress levels are communicated to you. And I am stressed. As you’ll no doubt discover, Mommy is a control freak, and spending today watching your Grandma and Great-Aunt finish packing my apartment, and Saturday sitting around waiting for the cable guy while other move things makes me a bit cranky.
Wednesday we did the walk through on the new apartment, and I spent the time mentally planning out rooms. It was so surreal to go into what will be Daddy’s and my bedroom and think about where your pack ‘n play will go, or to go into your room and think about decorating it.
I’m itchy to get started on setting up your room. I found an adorable quilt that I will be using as a wall hanging in your room, and the two plastic tubs of nursery stuff are haunting me. I want to open them and start hanging little outfits in your closet and arranging your books on a bookcase just for you. You are getting more and more real to me with each passing day.
This is also true for Daddy. He got to feel you kick repeatedly over the past few days and he’s head over heels in love with you. He’ll lay with his head on my chest and talk to you while he holds my tummy hoping to feel you kick. He likes to joke about paying you off if you’ll make my belly button pop out–something he’s fascinated at the idea of. As long as he doesn’t get you a pony before I get a pony, it’s all good with me, though.
This week is most memorable for me because it was the first time I’ve talked to Grandma in a long time and felt a real connection. You’ll discover that Grandma and I are like night and day in our experiences and our choices in life, and as a result, we often have a difficult time finding common ground. I’ve never doubted she loves me (something I want for you as well…zero doubt of my love for you) but our relationship is difficult (something I hope we will struggle less with).
What prompted the discussions with Grandma is that Daddy and I visited the hospital you’re going to be born at to get our tour. I’ve already seen the starting point from the inside (Labor and Delivery Triage–we were there every time I’ve had blood, which thankfully hasn’t been since 10ish weeks and last week with the carousel incident) so that made me feel calm about where things start. I know from my own first-hand knowledge that they are great in L&D Triage. But I also got to see a birthing room (although not a surgery room, which is where you’ll come out if I have to have a C-Section) and a post-partum room.
Seeing all that, and thinking about applying those rooms to my body and the suddenly very real idea of your exit from my body (don’t get any idea about appearing before November, missy, just because I’m mentioning it) made me think about what I knew about my own birth. I knew that I’d been delivered at a hospital in my homestate, one I went to when I was 8 to get stitches after an accident (try to be more less clumsy than me, kiddo). I knew that Grandma had given birth to me fairly easily, vaginally, and without pain medication (the whole “without medication” thing makes me think I owe her better Mother’s Day gifts in the future). But I didn’t know anything about whether her room was private or if she’d shared. I didn’t know how long she’d been in the hospital, or what her time there had been like.
I had the chance to see Grandma not as my mom, but as a woman who had gone through what I’m going through before this year is out. I also empathized with what it must have felt like to switch OB’s in the last few months of pregnancy and how scary that must have been. I was almost born in Hawaii, but because of a family emergency, I was born here on the East Coast, and that meant Grandma had to switch doctors a month before I was born, which was hard for her, as you can imagine.
I hope that you continue to be something that brings my mom and I together, Emby. You are occasionally the cause of disagreement, but it’s often disagreement brought on by how things have changed in the almost 30 years since my birth. Your Grandma and I are going to disagree, sometimes loudly, but it’s only because we don’t agree on what’s best for you. And that, little one, is what we both want more than anything.
This week I also saw a movie called “Mamma Mia” with Auntie Kate. I’ll spare you a description of the movie, except to say that the main character is trying to figure out who her dad is and that made me think about fathers in general, and then my father and yours in particular.
I grew up without a Daddy, and that makes your Daddy and your relationship with him so important to me. It’s hard to grow up without two parents who love you, especially with the knowledge that one of them had the chance to be a part of your life and decided not to be. I know that on some level I’m better off without my biological dad in the picture, but it’s also been a defining thing in my life and who I’ve grown up to be. It made me determined that when I procreated, it would be with a partner who I loved passionately and wanted to raise a family with, or it would be with a gay friend who would be part of your life, or it would be through a sperm donation so that you would know that you were wanted and NOT an accident of fate. It’s not being an accident that bothers me so much as the abandonment of my dad, and I wanted to spare any children of mine that feeling of abandonment.
Which is why I ended up with your dad. Your daddy is the most amazing person I’ve ever met. He’s my best friend. He makes me laugh, but holds me when I cry. He never makes me feel weak or insecure for needing to cry. He cheers on my goals, and doesn’t make me feel bad if I have trouble reaching them. When I fail, he supports me and gives me a pep talk. He’s smart. He’s caring. He’s a complete partner who makes me know every day that I (and now you) are the most important thing(s) in his life. I hope that one day you will meet a person (man or woman, you are free to be whoever you are, including your sexuality and gender identity) who makes you feel as loved, cherished, and comfortable in your own skin as your Dad does for me. And every day I hope you try to make that partner feel loved and cherished as I try to do for your Daddy.
This week you have begun to remind me of your presence more often. Every time I feel you move, it never fails to make me smile. I look forward to your active periods. I’ve noticed so far that noon, four, seven or nine, and around one in the morning are generally active points. I’m looking forward to seeing my OB next Friday on the first of August and seeing you on her ultrasound screen. The one thing that I have really loved about being a high-risk patient is all the glimpses we’ve gotten of you over the past (almost) 24 weeks. We have pictures of you at 6, 9, 12 and 16 weeks of development, but haven’t gotten a picture since-they forgot at the anatomy screen at 19 even though I asked, and we didn’t have time for an ultrasound at my last appointment at 22 weeks. I do have exterior belly shots of those weeks, though. I hope that some day they will be special to you, although I know they’ll always be most special to your Dad and I.
Keep growing, and I’ll see you in about 15 1/2 weeks.
Love
Mommy
I got a few comments on yesterdays post on how tired I am of the breastfeeding zealots, and I realized there are a few things I wanted to clarify.
#1–I happen to live in one of those states I named without any legal protections for breastfeeding moms. In protest I had/do plan to breastfeed publicly and am willing to be arrested, if needed. This isn’t because I want to be the star of the pro-breastfeeding movement, but rather because I know my state is wrong about this and I’m willing to stand up and be heard. I routinely have bugged my state level elected officials about it and have offered my time on this matter as well. It is legally possible, if not plausible, that if I were arrested for breastfeeding, I could be convincted of indecent exposure. If I were convincted of indencent exposure, I would be labeled a level-one sex offender. If I were labeled a level-one sex offender, I would never be able to teach again, regardless of my own ambivalence on the topic of whether or no I actually DO want to teach again. However, I also believe a little civil disobediance over laws that are wrong is good for the soul. Should there be nurse-ins near me, I would have little trouble with showing up with Emby and doing my part, especially since I know a lot of moms support breasfeeding but would never feel comfortable doing so without their nursing blanket or cover in place, and I, on the other hand have close to zero modesty.
#2-I want to clarify who I consider a breast feeding nazi. The breast feeding nazi is the woman who will not accept that there are other legitimate choices that can be made in terms of feeding the baby. The woman who tells me, literally, that it is “child abuse” to give a child formula. Who twists Science and Medicine to make her argument. Who will not concede that there are situations where breastfeeding just isn’t a good idea for a mom, her baby, and her family. These women are nazis–and I’m pretty comfortable using that term in this case (I have a degree in History and was even a PhD program dropout before getting certified to teach it in grades 1-12, so spare me the history lesson)–because they trumpet a superior race of moms and believe all other types of mothering should be exterminated.
#3-I do not believe that practicing civil disobedience or standing up for your legal rights makes you a Nazi, although others certainly are dismissive of it, which pisses me off. I think there’s a lot of paralells between a nurse-in and the sit-ins of the 60’s. At least no one is spraying us with fire hoses. Although I will say we brought a certain amount of mockery on ourselves for coining the term “lactivist” which just makes me cringe.
#4-I think the worst thing we do to each other as new moms is try to assert our views so strongly. We’re all so fucking insecure that when others make a different choice, it makes us worry that maybe we made the wrong one, too. I have a good friend who is also pregnant, and we often find ourselves at opposite viewpoints on almost every issue. The reason we’ve stayed friends is that both of us are consciously practicing the “she’s doing what’s right for her family, which doesn’t make it right for mine” approach to parenting and because we are comfortable with each other we’re able to learn more about the opposing viewpoint because neither of us is trying to sell the other on it.
#5-I whole heartedly agree with the mom who said that we would all be better off if we stood up for each other’s choices. I just wish that we did, and stopped beating up those who choose differently because it makes us defensive and insecure.
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I walk a funny line as a future breastfeeder.
I’m already defending my choice to do it at all to my mom, who doesn’t see why I’d want to, and also doesn’t understand why I will flat out refuse to use a “nursing room” that’s in a public restroom. I also get very vocal when someone says that it’s gross, and I’m sure that many would view me as a “lactivist” or a “breastfeeding nazi” myself.
However, I feel like an imposter when I hang out on breastfeeding boards. I see a lot of language that’s really flowery about breastfeeding and how mystical and wonderful it is. I’m not romantic about this. I do think it will be one of the most unique experiences of my life to breastfeed my child and I’m hopeful that my breasts will be able to sustain her. However, I won’t feel like a failure if this turns out not to be the case. I also, as I said yesterday, support moms who have chosen the bottle route. I feel passionately that we should have the choice between the two and that no one should get judged for it, so I usually end up not being receptive to the support the board is offering because I’m too busy getting upset at them for slamming moms who made a different choice.
I’m pretty lucky in terms of financial support. My family is upper middle class, and this means that not only do I have the luxury of between one and two years at home (depending on how quickly we spend through our “maternity leave” savings for Emby…there’s an equal amount saved for “Siblet” as we’re calling the mythical second child we want to plan for, but we’re not touching it until there is a siblet or a decision to not have a siblet) but we also have the money for me to get the support I need to give this a real try. We live near a major city, so there is no shortage of lactation consultants, breastfeeding support groups, and of course LLL if I have to (I say “have to” because I feel about as comfortable with LLL as I do the Catholic Church-a whole other story for another day-why we’re raising Emby as an atheist).
While I believe in my heart that breastfeeding is the best thing I can do for Emby’s health right off the bat, I’m also scared of the cracked nipples, the learning curve (even with the support of a lactation consultant), the pain of a clogged duct, and the other things I read about just as I am fearful of labor and delivery. I wish that I could find a group that was supportive, but not judgy towards moms who made another choice. I’m praying that I get through what I hear is the roughest part–the first 6-10 weeks and get to the part where it feels great as quickly as possible. I’m also really intrigued by the whole squirting milk when you orgasm thing I’ve heard about (as is the husband).
There are things I feel strongly about, and where I do get judgmental. No one is safe from the inner “Sanctimommy” (the link is to the best post I’ve ever read on the topic and I bow before Mom-101) that lurks in all of us. I turn into one when the topic of vaccinations comes up, and I’m strong believer in restricting tv and computer time…and these views are based on my years in the classroom. While I might say to a parent who isn’t vaccinating that they might want to reconsider if they ever have reason to take their child to a third world country (Emby will be going to India at some point in her first few years of life) I wouldn’t go so far as to accuse them of child abuse for choosing not to do so. I also understand that in order to restrict tv, you either have to be home to enforce it or remove the tv completely and that it isn’t a practical consideration for some families. Yes, I raise eyebrows at parents who are ignoring their kids who are running rampant over the restraurant/store/mall but I also know that I can’t judge the mom with the screaming kid at the register–s/he might have Autism or another medical reason for the meltdown…or maybe it’s just a bad day. I try to check myself when I get sanctimonious, and I don’t always succeed, but I do at least try. I wish that more people would learn to tell their inner santimonious person to shut up.
I started the blog as a place to explore the emotional pain of my miscarriage, and then changed it’s name when the focus began to switch to Emby and my weekly letters to her. But the closer I get to birth, the more I realize that I need to start parenting, and that this blog will change again with Emby’s birth. Some of what I’ll end up posting here is straight up my opinions, and there are going to be times when I’m going to say something controversial. I know I’m probably not done on the topic of breastfeeding, especially once I get to doing it for real. I’m happy to have a dialogue, and I want to hear opposing views, but in the end, I’m not here to referee all choices of motherhood…only to talk about the ones I’ve made and why I’m making them. And occasionally to vent when I’m annoyed about a parenting topic, like yesterday’s post.
I expect that some people may think I’m complete asshole and never want to read me again, or who will think I’m an asshole and want to flame me-I watch it happen all the time. By putting myself out here, I am opening myself up for critiques, and I accept that.
So why open my mouth and dive in? Because I’m a writer and I have to. Because if I don’t, I’ll end up trapped in my head with my thoughts replaying over and over until my head implodes. Because I hope that if I’m honest, I might be able to help or be a voice that someone can relate to, even if it’s just me six months later. I read mom blogs to learn the truth about the day to day shit (sometimes literally) of different moms because I’ve realized how individual the experience can be and I want to hear as many voices as I can. I don’t think I am the next Amalah (I’m nowhere near as funny) but I do have something to say and I want to get it out there.
And because it’s useful to hear about things I may have missed in my research or to get a new view point on something I thought I had an opinion on. Currently I’m reconsidering something about vaccinations (a friend told me you can vaccinate on schedule, as I wish to, but pay just a bit more to get vaccines without preservatives, which I think is interesting).
So let’s talk…I won’t promise to agree with you, but I’ll read what you have to say, and think about your comments.
I don’t mean all breastfeeding moms, but I DO mean the breastfeeding nazi moms I’ve been encountering lately.
As a pregnant woman who wants nothing but the best for her child, like practically every mom I’ve ever met as person and as a teacher, I’ve been looking into all the different options I have.
Crib vs Co-sleeping
Disposable vs Cloth Diapers
Babywearing
Vaccinations and their schedule
and the big one…Breast vs Formula feeding
Without a personalized baby care and feeding guide (seriously…how much would I KILL for one of those…something to unlock all the workings of my baby and explain her to me…I’d take it now or in the hospital..I just want one) I can only guess what will work for us, based on knowing myself for almost 30 years and the husband for 3.5. I know how we function as a couple and as I want to continue to do so, I have to take that into account.
I’m a geek…so I’ve researched each issue, trying to understand where both sides are coming from. Some decisions were simple, like picking disposable diapers over cloth. Yes, I’m increasing my carbon footprint, and yes I know cloth is better for the environment…but you know what? It’s gross, and I’m lazy. And while the cloth diaper route is cheaper if you wash them at home, it’s not cheaper when you factor in the service that I am spoiled enough to require. Other decisions were harder, like the decision to breastfeed.
I’ve never had any romantic views on breastfeeding, unlike every breastfeeding book I seem to encounter which assures me in the most flowery language possible that breast is best and women having been doing it since the dawn of time. Which is nice, except they’ve also found 3000 year old bottles in archeological digs, too.
So why do it?
The allergist convinced me. The husband has SEVERE allergies, to the point where he spent his whole childhood sick because his house was trying to kill him and no one could figure out what it was that was making him so sick. The culprit? Dust mites. We have leather couches, and use covers on all mattresses, pillows and go so far as to travel with the covers as well. Personally I have seasonal allergies that kill me from April until July. Fucking trees. He explained that our child had a stastical probability of 75% or better that she’ll develop allergies to something in her life. He said that considering that, I should strongly consider breastfeeding for the first 6 months at least, if not the first year to help reduce her chances of getting allergies of that magnitude. I thought about my Mother In Laws descriptions of what it was like to watch the husband be so sick, and I just couldn’t stand it. If I could make them even a little bit better, I wanted to try.
However, this decision did not mean I was necessarily thrilled at the idea. While I have zero modesty and zero problem with the idea of publicly breastfeeding my child, I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of having to cart her around all the time so that her food source would always be readily available. I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of having to get up in the middle of the night for EVERY single feeding with no option to outsource one of them to my husband. For that matter, I wasn’t thrilled that the husband would miss out on the chance to feed our daughter. I worried about never having the time to do the kind of intricate cooking that I love and find relaxing because some of my dishes take HOURS (not that I think I’ll have a LOT of time to do this, but that I couldn’t ask my husband to watch the baby for however long it would take to do it for a break of me time).
I think that breastfeeding is feminist. I also think that bottle feeding is a feminist choice. In a first world country like the US, I also think that formula is healthy enough as is our water supply that it really is a choice that every mom/family needs to make on their own.
And here is where the wheels fell off the wagon.
Because I have run into rabid breast-feeder after rabid breast-feeder who now is telling me I should feed my daughter for AT LEAST two years or I’ve failed. Because I’ve run into breastfeeding nazis who tell me that pumping and giving my daughter to my husband for a feeding or two a day means I don’t love her enough. Because I’ve run into online groups who say if you want to join this group, you need to agree that breastfeeding IS NOT a choice.
How dare they judge an individual mom’s choice on ANYTHING.
I’ve gotten judged for my desire for a medicated birth without anyone stopping and asking me why I need one…and the answer is that I had back surgery two years ago and my back could very well herniate another disc in my back from the pushing without the help of an epidural. That the right choice for me may very well be an elective C section. Beyond that…maybe I’m just done with being in deep pain after spending two months unable to walk without a walker or get around without a wheelchair because of the pain my back caused me prior to the surgery.
Breastfeeding is painful and it’s not easy…no matter if it is the biologically “natural” way to do things. Plenty of mom have tons of trouble with latching, and it not like anyone went into your womb and explained how to latch and suck properly to the baby. It’s a learning process, and not the easiest one in the world.
Breastfeeding isn’t compatible with every job…and assuming you’re not in the middle/upper middle classes, working probably isn’t a choice. As a former teacher, I was shocked to find out that a female dominated profession like teaching is inherently breastfeeding unfriendly. Many jobs that will at least agree to let you breastfeed don’t provide you with a place to do it (and under your desk or in the bathroom isn’t a great choice). The few that do provide rooms or are labeled breastfeeding friendly, aren’t, necessarily (See the book “The Milk Memo’s” for more about this). I can hardly blame a working mom for going the easier route.
In their zelousness to get us all to breastfeed, the nazis have gone so far as to make me (I’m sure among others) so annoyed with them that I’m almost (ALMOST) considering feeding my baby formula in protest. But I know that is a juvenile move and accomplishes nothing but the equivalent of sticking my tongue out, which is nowhere near as important as the allergy protection I might be able to give Emby.
I get that when you’re fighting for a cause, you have to push that cause for all you’re worth. But I don’t think that pissing off your allies is the way to do it.
Why is it that whenever women try to band together on an issue, we end up fighting amongst ourselves? Why not fight against the three states without breastfeeding laws (I’m looking at you Massachusetts, North Dakota and West Virginia. I know you have a bill in the Senate, MA–let’s see you pass it before the session is over)? Why not fight to make employers with more than X number of employees responsible for providing a breastfeeding room that is NOT in the bathroom? Why not fight to make breastpumps covered by medical insurance for all women (instead of specific cases), or at the very least a flexible spending account (they’re not covered by mine)?
Why is it that we must attack one another and create dichotomies and insecurities?
The second wave of feminism was about CHOICES.
Staying home and working are both valid choices–stop trying to claim you’re better than the other.
Breastfeeding and Bottle Feeding are both valid choices—stop trying to say Breastfeeders are BETTER.
I realize it’s along the lines of “Can’t we all just get along?” but seriously…
Can’t we all agree that we love our children and want to make the best choices for them.? That the best choices for our families may not be the best ones for our friends families? And especially let’s agree that we don’t know what’s best for strangers families.
I read this article on cnn’s website today. It’s about how parents today are often rebelling against the new constructivist math programs (TERC, Chicago Math, etc) that have taken over the elementary (and some middle) school’s math curriculums by teaching them traditional problem solving skills like long division.
As a former math teacher, I have been preached to by both sides of this war, and believe me if you think the parents are up in arms, you should see the behind the scenes wars carried out in Math Department meetings.
I am a firm traditionalist, which puts me in a solid minority—the ones who admit it. Most math teachers I know are, to some degree, supporters of traditional math at least some of the time. But because the schools we teach (in my case taught) for effectively gagged us, we taught the traditional math furtively with a worksheet here or a side note (here’s one more way to do it) there.
As I contemplate Emby’s education, which as the child of two parents who view education as their only religion, I have no guilt and no hesitation over stating now, when she still has 16 weeks until she’s born (as of midnight) that she will be getting traditional math every day at home.
As a middle school teacher, few things pissed me off more than getting “advanced” sixth graders who didn’t know their times tables. Who couldn’t divide to save their lives. Who had gotten straight A’s from the constructivist program, but were going to get nowhere in Algebra without serious review. I spent every September each year doing review and basic curriculum to get them ready for the exam that would determine if they would be admitted to the exam schools in Boston—things they SHOULD have known by sixth grade.
I then had to teach elementary school for the last two years and I got down and dirty in constructivist curriculum…and it only made me hate it more. Not because I didn’t understand it–I’m a solid math student and teacher, but because giving students three approaches to learning multiplication in three days only confused them, and that the curriculum expected it and said “hey, that’s cool, they’ll get it again next year, so move onto this other topic” convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is harmful and wrong.
Why is it wrong to do constructivist approaches for 8 years? Because they don’t do it AT ALL in high school. There is no way to do a constructivist approach to teaching Calculus. To understand why Calculus works, you need to know HOW TO DO CALCULUS, which is why it’s a very advanced math course that you can’t take at MIT until you’ve taken something like 3 or 4 other Calculus courses. The same, at heart, is also true of advanced Algebra. Doing proofs is learning the why’s of Geometry, but if you are faced with a Geometry problem, you need to have your formulae memorized and ready to go.
I see the constructivist approach as working for some kids (and hey, maybe Emby would be one of these…but I doubt it) but generally it’s something that should be used in a supplementary capacity for a kid who isn’t getting it.
Honestly, it’s times like this that I think putting my Master’s Degree in Education to it’s best use will mean homeschooling my kids.
Dear Emby
Today is your Daddy’s and my wedding anniversary. We got married two years ago today, which was one of the happiest days of my life. Your birth will join that date, and my college graduation as some of the moments I am most happy and proud remembering.
It occurred to Daddy and I that next year you’ll be here with us, and around 8 months old. We’ll still celebrate our anniversary, and probably without you (sorry, kiddo, but some things are Mommy & Daddy only) but unlike this year, where we finally got around to making our dinner reservations at eleven or so last night, we will actually have to put some forethought and planning into a night out on the town. It’s kind of weird for me to think about things like babysitters and making plans. While in some respects I’m a total planner and I hate it when life deviates from my game plan, I also enjoy doing some things spur of the moment. That the phrase “spur of the moment” will disappear from my vocabulary seems strange, but inevitable.
This past weekend we had a small scare. Daddy and I went to the Brockton Fair, something we’ve done every July except the year that we got married. Obviously there were lots of rides that I couldn’t go on, but we never would have thought that a Merry-Go-Round would be one of them. Unfortunately it was a very OLD Merry-Go-Round and the horse slammed up and down in a way that freaked me out because I was getting a lot of impact every time it did. First I tried to stand up on the horse, to keep my pelvis and belly away from the horse and the pole, but it didn’t work. Then I got off the horse in the middle of the ride and stood waiting and anxious for the ride to STOP. Within about 15 minutes I was having pain on my left side and my entire abdomen was sore–I was so scared something was wrong with you. You’re a week away from viability and what if that stupid ride had given me a placental abruption and you died? I never could have forgiven myself. We had to go to the labor and delivery emergency room, where we went when I had some bleeding with you early on, and they strapped on a belt that would check to see if I was having contractions. Luckily I wasn’t. They did an ultrasound and made sure the placenta and your fluid were fine and we found your heartbeat without any problems. You’re fine–Mommy pulled some ligaments, but is also fine.
The fair wasn’t all bad though. Mommy rode an elephant! How many kids will be able to say they rode an elephant before they were born, huh? I wish I had a picture, but the ones Daddy took were all blurry. You’ll just have to take my word for it. Mommy also had to protect you from an overeager goat in the petting zoo, who seemed more interested in eating my shirt and shorts than the food I was trying to give it. We ate yummy but bad for you fair food (don’t worry, Mommy was smart and kept her blood sugar under control) and enjoyed what was a lovely summer evening.
You’re kicking hard these days and sometimes I can even see my belly move. While I love feeling you kick, and it usually makes me smile, seeing my belly move is a bit creepy. When you’re older, I’ll show you a scene in the movie Spaceballs, where a creature jumps out of a persons stomach in a top hat with a baton and starts singing a showtune (it’s a parody of a scene in Alien)…there are times when I think I contemplate that scene a bit too much.
Daddy has felt you kick a few more times, and he’s excited for you to kick even harder so he can feel you all the time. I wish I could share with him how cool these little movements I’ve been feeling for about a month are.
Mommy and Daddy are moving in 13 days to the town house we’ll bring you home to. I need to remember to take pictures of the apartment we currently live in so that you can see where we lived before you. I hope you like the new apartment; we’ll need to learn to keep it a lot cleaner. If you were here and mobile, Mommy would spend all day trying to keep things out of your hands and mouth–we’re a bit sloppy these days. My goal is to treat the new place like you’re already there and mobile. If I can get used to that, once you’re here it won’t be such a major change. I imagine having you will be a big enough change.
I love you Emby-girl
Mommy
Dear Emby
You’re really quite a stubborn child, aren’t you? I understand that you come by it honestly, but stubbornly refusing to move so that the cardiologist could get a look at your heart, and kicking me every time he tried to jiggle your or get you to move is a bit advanced for a 22 week old fetus. I expect that sort of behavior from a 22 month old, not a child of your limited age and experience.
But, message taken. As you know, I talked with my OB and she felt my risk was low enough that it wasn’t worth all the stress and fear to go through this again. She will continue to sneak peeks at you, and hopefully you will feel a little more cooperative.
In the meantime, I love you and am looking forward to your kicks increasing in power so that Daddy can feel more of them.
Love
Mommy
Dear Emby
In two days you’re going back to the doctor’s office. I didn’t want to talk about this before because I’m just too frightened, but we’re going in for an echocardiogram. Apparently diabetic women have a higher risk of fetal heart defects, and it’s standard procedure for a diabetic pregnant woman to get one around this time (22 weeks). Because my A1C numbers were fairly under control (a 6.0 is the first time they consider it abnormal and mine were 6.1/6.2) my endocrinologist’s nurse tells me my risk is barely above that of a non-diabetic.
None of that puts my heart at ease. Unlike the miscarriage I had with Hope, if something is wrong with your little heart, it is MY fault. And not just that it’s my fault, it’s the fault of the poor eating habits I hadn’t made much of an effort to improve in my 29 years on this earth. Yes, I’ve said, I’m overweight, but I don’t want to change my eating habits enough to make a difference. Sure I tried eating vegetables and I’m getting better, but it’s still such a slow road, and while these changes will make a difference for any sibs you may have in the future, the changes came too late-your heart was already formed by that point.
I want to believe that everything will be fine. But I’m a worrier by nature. I want to be in control and I have no control at this point over it.
One way or the other we’ll know by lunch on Tuesday. I can only sit here and be grateful that I’m delivering in Boston at a hospital with a top-rated NICU and Children’s Hospital across the street. I can only pray that I will need neither’s help, and that your little heart is okay.
Please be okay.
Love
Mommy
