Being a Mom Made Me Better At My Job

As I was approaching my last year of grad school for my Master’s in English, I had been dating an awesome, goateed, tattooed locksmith for a few months. That Christmas, as I was choosing my thesis advisor and getting ready to embark on the challenge of writing a full short story collection, my body started to feel a little weird. What I thought was nerves over the impending thesis, we came to find, was actually our little droidlet beginning to grow. Surprise! The following August, my son was born.

I took a semester off from my program and went back five months later to complete one last class, my entire thesis, and teach the last class of my Teaching Associate’s career. And, somehow, I finished. This past May, the droidlet and his dad cheered my on as I walked across that stage and officially became a Master of English (I just pictured myself as a Jedi. Heh.).

Luckily, I got hired right away, as an adjunct faculty member for two different colleges. This meant I went from having a breezy summer hanging out with my son to teaching five classes, four days a week.

At first, I was very, very scared I wasn’t going to make it. However, now that I am charging into the second semester of this schedule, I realize that being a mom has actually improved my skills as a professor.

Before, when I was teaching as a Teaching Associate, I would do something like stay up all night playing Lord of the Rings Online or watching Dr. Who episodes on BBC America and then the next day realize “holy crap, I have 25 essays to grade before tomorrow!” Then, a caffeine-out eight hour shift at a local coffee shop would commence the next morning. Though I rallied at my students about procrastination, I, myself, was a procrastinator. Now, with little guy, I literally cannot do this anymore. Much to my free-spirited, spontaneous chagrine, I was forced to start managing my time and it’s improved my life. I now have scheduled times to grade and do work, where I am only focusing on my students. This means, that when I’m with my son it is all about him. Before, the priorities in my life would get handled when I thought of them (or remembered) and now, I’m making a conscious effort to get everything organized.

Before the droidlet, I didn’t really have boundaries between my home life and my “school” life.  I would  answer emails at all hours of the night, accept late work from students without giving them too hard of a time, easily reschedule appointments, and always keep their essays out and ready for feedback. Now, I’m much more effective in my teaching and interaction with my students. I still have my open-door policy, open communication, and support. However, now, I have more structure. I make it imperative for students to make and keep consistent appointments.  My students know I won’t be staying up ‘til 11 to check emails, so we handle issues during my office hours or after class. I’ve established a clear boundary of when and where we can discuss work which allows my students the academic and individual support they need while allowing me to come home, confident that I’ve done my job.

Having the droidlet while working has also forced me to not be so hard on myself. When I first began teaching, I was wracked with the “mama guilt.” I felt guilty for being happy at school even when I was away from him. I felt guilty for being gone eight hours a day four days a week. And the guilt was double edged. I’d then feel guilty at home chasing him around and reading books while a stack of papers burned a hole in the back of my head from my briefcase. I felt guilty just snuggling on the couch after he had fallen asleep for a nap because I could be lesson planning. And then the guilt even started to slip into my relationship with my partner. There was guilt over falling into bed with hardly a word to him because I was exhausted from my new schedule.  Guilt that our apartment was never clean. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

The problem was that I was trying to do everything. Be the most amazing professor my students ever had, be super mom, be the perfect partner, do all the laundry, wash all the dishes, feed all the snakes, clean the whole house, “no thanks, I don’t need help, I totally got this” – when I definitely did not have it.

Then, one night, I asked my partner if he could cook dinner three times a week. He was stoked. Then, I started taking the droidlet to the park more frequently (being out of the house makes me less likely to clean or want to do work). Then, I started to schedule time at school to actually benefit my students in an efficient and effective way. I started asking for help – swapping lesson plans with other professors, having mini “dates” with my colleagues where we could voice frustrations and achievements so that when I got home I could talk with my partner about his day. All of these little “yes, please, I need that” completely changed my life around.

My son has taught me so many things. One of the greatest – that has helped me be a better partner, professor, and mama – is to be able to ask for that little bit of help. And I’ve come to realize, people are more than willing and happy to give it.

Our Family Bed: When Restless Nights Are Worth It

“Oh. So, Droidlet still sleeps with you?”

                This is a question I get. A lot. From friends, family members, or strangers who ask. Apparently, with Droidlet getting to his six months post-womb state, the hottest question is whether or not he is sleeping through the night. And sometimes (okay, lots of times) I do wish there was a magic button in his brain that once his body ticked to six months, lit up, and forced his little brain to fall asleep at ten and not wake up until six. However, this is not the case. And after an inquiry about whether or not he sleeps through the night comes… “well, where does he sleep?”

                I wish after I reply, “with us,” the conversation would be over with an “Oh, that’s wonderful!” or “That’s great your family can make that work!” Instead, responses always come in the “you’lllll seeeee” form detailing how I’m basically ruining my child because he is going to want to sleep in our bed until he is twenty-five or that he will never ever ever sleep through the night or that (although we have been co-sleeping for over six months now) we will definitely roll over on and suffocate our baby.

                Now, I’m not writing this in complete defense or to get upset about those who don’t co-sleep, but rather, I want to reiterate that we’ve made a choice that works for our family and our child. Also, there are very important aspects to keep in mind. Funk and I are well aware of the “dangers” of co-sleeping (especially when Droidlet was a newborn) which is why we always practice in the SAFEST way possible. We never go to bed under any sort of influence (not even one glass of wine), Droidlet does not have covers on him and does not sleep on a pillow, and he isn’t on the edge of the bed where he can potentially roll off. These issues are very important to follow and help make our co-sleeping safe and great for the whole family.

                Of course, it’s not perfect. There are nights when Droidlet, especially now that he can move around, tends to kick us in the back or slap us in the head. I’ve woken up with little fingers up my nose and on some mornings have even found Funk on the floor because Droidlet basically inched his way over to Funk’s side of the bed. However, Droidlet sleeps best when in our bed and we love the family experience of sharing sleep together. Oh, and the whole “you’ll never have sex if you co-sleep”… trust me, it’s not true.

                Eventually, it will be time for Droidlet to move out of our bed. Whether this is Droidlet-led, or parent-led, or whichever comes first, we haven’t decided. If this will happen next week, or at one, or a two, we don’t know. What we do know is that, for right now, sleeping with the little bot in our bed is what works best for us. We haven’t noticed any “unhealthy” behavior because of it – Droidlet is a happy, bubbling, growing little guy. The choice of where Droidlet sleeps is just that – a choice that works for us – and it has been a wonderful experience to have as a new family trying to figure out the odds and ends of sharing a life together.

The Parenting Guilt Monster

I've met a new monster. Not a vampire with sharp teeth (you know, the actual scary, non-glittering kind); not a vicious werewolf; not a phantom ghost. Instead, this is a tricky monster, who sneaks out from under the bed (which is quite a feat since our bed is on the floor), or charges from the closet, or climbs the roof and jumps onto our balcony - all when I least expect the monster and definitely when I least need it.

The Parenting Guilt Monster.

That little thing - from under the bed, in the closet, on the balcony, but usually in my head - that tells me I'm not doing enough for the Droidlet. This little monster ignores the fact that I am writing a Master's thesis, teaching a composition course (and that we realllllly need that extra money every month), and that I am still trying to hold some semblance of myself together - not to mention stuff like, ya know, keeping the apartment from becoming a place where "real" monsters would actually want to live. And instead, this parenting guilt monster, focuses on the things I don't do.

He scratches me with his claws when I come home a few nights in a row (of working on my thesis or lesson planning) after the Droidlet has gone to bed, completely ignoring the fact that Funk has been there with Droidlet the whole time. He attacks my back during the day when I let Droidlet play in his walker for longer than fifteen minutes, telling me I'm a lazy mom. The monster ignores how I play with Droidlet and when we sing and dance and laugh and cuddle and instead attacks my neck and between gnawing on my skin mentions how I don't give the Droidlet enough - enough cuddles, enough educational opportunity, enough time.

The kicker is, I know none of this is true, yet the Parenting Guilt Monster is still there, taunting and stalking me.

So, I've come up with a plan of attack; with a Parenting Guilt Monster Battle kit. Now, the normal silver bullet, strings of garlic, wooden stake, magic potion aren't going to do for this kind of monster. This kind of monster goes for the jugular of self-esteem, the heart of confidence, and hides doubt inside your skin. To battle this kind of monster takes a different tactic.

Inside the kit, I keep a few small items.

1. Words of Funk (and other people who support my family). It's good to fall back on conversations with others, their boosts of confidence, their marvel at how well this little family is doing despite the overwhelming situation of a "surprise" pregnancy.

2. A good book. Yes, this sounds strange, but sometimes the best battle against the Guilt Monster is to let myself escape into something that has nothing to do with being a mama. And, generally, what works best for me is a good book. Right now, a Jeanette Winterson novel.

3. Playing with the Droidlet. Sometimes when the monster is on the attack, I just need to grab the Droidlet, smile at him, and his smile in return lets me know I haven't messed him up... yet. Sounds cheesy, yes, but seeing him laugh and smile and what a happy baby he is helps to show me I must be doing something right.

This is about as far as my arsenal goes for now. You other parents out there, or non-parents who have to battle the other species of Guilt Monsters (like the Work Guilt Monster, the School Guilt Monster...), what's in YOUR arsenal?

Bisexual Mamahood

My mom always had a box of old pictures in her closet (it’s probably still there) that, at random times, I would want to look at with her. Among Girl Scouts and family pictures, there were others: the boy she first held hands with in fifth grade, her first boyfriend, her first kiss, prom pictures, the guy she lost her virginity to, my dad. We’d go through the pictures and she’d tell me stories about each one (the stories getting more age-appropriate detail as I got older). I enjoyed these moments with my mom and told myself that as I grew up, I would save pictures to share with my future kids (if I decided to have any) so that they could have a little glimpse into me, outside of being “mama.”

                I now have one of those boxes but mine is a little different than my mom’s. There’s the boy I first held hands with, my first kiss boy from 7^th grade, my prom pictures, and then the first girl I kissed, my first girlfriend, my college boyfriend, the only woman I’ve said “I love you” to, and, of course, Funk.

                I remember sitting in my Queer Studies class at the beginning of my pregnancy, among a bunch of other LGBTQ (ahhh! An acronym! Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer) students and feeling like a traitor. No one in the room made me feel that way; it was my own insecurities and my own questions of what this pregnancy meant to my identity – an identity I had to convince my family and friends was not “just a phase” or “an experiment” or “a transition.” I’ve always believed that sexuality is a spectrum, that even those five letters used to describe the queer community aren’t enough, and that people fluidly move along the sexuality spectrum their whole lives. “Bisexual” seems to have fit me the best, I’ve had relationships with and am attracted to both males and females (and have been open to transgender and transsexual individuals, just no one ever fit). It just so happened that I was with a male partner, nature worked its magic, and Droidlet production commenced. Then, SLAM, the questions. Was I “copping out” into the comfort and safety of heterosexuality? How could I identify as bisexual while simultaneously reaping heterosexuality’s benefits? Was having a baby meaning I had to relinquish that huge part of myself that I have always considered queer?

                I’m still struggling with all of the answers. Being in a committed relationship with Funk doesn’t mean I’m no longer attracted to other people and the same goes for Funk. We happen to believe in monogamy, so those attractions stay just that. But just because I’m in a relationship with a male doesn’t mean I consider myself heterosexual; just like if, in the end, my partner had been a female, I wouldn’t consider myself a lesbian. And this is where identity based on sexual preference gets muddled. Just like I don’t define myself as only a mother, or only a student, or only a writer, I don’t identify myself only based on the sex of the people I am attracted to.

                What’s more important than my self-labeling is how I’m going to handle these questions from Droidlet as he gets older. When he asks me who the woman in that picture is, with her arm around mama, I’m not going to lie and say she was just a friend. Sexuality is such a complicated subject for an adult; I know there are going to be many, many questions from Droidlet as a child. If asked, I will be just as honest with him about how people of the same sex have intercourse as when he asks me how babies are made. What it comes down to, yet again, is that Droidlet knows there is a spectrum, that there are options,  that not every family has to be a Mommy, a Daddy, and a baby. Sometimes, it’s two daddies or two mommies, sometimes (like for his mama) it’s two sets of parents, sometimes it’s just one parent. Sometimes, a family is a community raising the children together. Luckily for Droidlet, he’s got a wonderful set of gay uncles, a bisexual mama, and an aunt with a heterosexual, nuclear family so he gets to see parts of the spectrum interacting and loving one another.