The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

Have you seen this commercial?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UGoVioteJk

Does it make you as uncomfortable to watch as it makes me?  It makes me feel a little nauseous, angry, disappointed, and even a bit embarrassed.

This is 19 year old Kate Upton, 2012 Sports Illustrated Cover Model.  While 19 is, by all intents and purposes, considered an “adult” in most US states – I still find it hard to believe that someone this young is so well versed in seduction.  I’m 15 years older than this chick, and much to my husband’s dismay, don’t even come close to exuding this much sex appeal. I suppose, however, that there’s a difference between sexy and sex appeal – and for the latter, our society seems to have no boundaries, limits or appropriate standards.

Every so often, I will pass a woman in the bread aisle at Safeway, or catch a glimpse of a woman playing with her child at the park, or see a woman walk into a restaurant, and I think “Wow, she’s a sexy woman.”  When I have this thought, what I am actually noticing is her confidence.  I am noticing her tall posture, her assured gait, the way she makes eye contact with everyone in her path, and the way her smile is authentic and lasting.  Without exception, these sexy women are older – experienced, wiser, with stories to tell of a life well lived.  They define sexiness from a place deep within – a destination that took them a while to navigate toward.  These women are fearless, because they know who they are.

My husband puts me in this category, and I am so thankful to him for that.  With each of my pregnancies, he falls more deeply in awe of my capabilities as a woman.  As I became a wife, and a mother, I became more sure of who I was because the roles that I slipped into were the roles that I was created for.  With my increasing age and life experience came confidence – and that confidence is what my husband now describes as sexy.  He looks beyond the extra weight, the stretch marks, the loose skin on my belly – and he sees a woman who wears her own skin with pride.

How many of us knew who we were at 19 years old?  By the standards that I just described above, we couldn’t possibly have been sexy at that age.  Instead, we had what’s called sex appeal – which is the ability to excite people sexually.  Sure, at 19, while flaunting too much skin – we were exciting boys both younger and older than ourselves.  Boys, and men, who were seeing us as objects – not well seasoned women with those stories to tell of a life well lived.  This is the very thing that disturbs me so much.  Why are we allowing 19 year old girls to climax over eating jalapenos for the arousal of her audience? At the risk of sounding totally brash, I wonder if Kate’s dad is blushing in a corner somewhere while his buddies are trying hard not to drool over their big-screen TV’s?

Now, it’s no secret that I’ve battled plenty of demons when it comes to my own self esteem.  I spent countless years as a pre-teen, teenager and young adult wishing to look like Kate – if even remotely.  I can actually remember thinking “Someday, someone will want me for my body.”  I wanted to have sex appeal.  I aspired to look sickly thin (though, genetically, could never achieve it) and wanted to be noticed for my body – not my brains nor, God forbid, my heart.  I was sick of being the nice girl, the girl who was like every guy’s sister.  Despite the heartburn, had this commercial aired when I was 19, I may very well have eaten a jalapeno burger every darn day in hopes of breaking into a sex-glistening sweat.  I was so impressionable, and I longed to be noticed for all the wrong reasons.

Things are different today.  I’m a mom of a 2 1/2 year old girl.  With another daughter due in less than three weeks.  I wish I could apologize for sounding like a total prude, and for being a little hard on Ms. Upton’s agents (and her own, “adult,” judgement) – but I can’t.  Not when I am trying my hardest to raise strong and confident women in a society that values such objectification of females.  There’s a difference between celebrating both the femininity and strength of women, and exploiting them for their assets.  But, it’s everywhere…images of young girls, staged with sex appeal, selling goods to consumers, is everywhere.  And our responsibility as parents has just been bumped up to Threat Level, Red.

Let me be clear here – I don’t consider myself a feminist in any way.  I’m not burning my bra, marching for women’s rights, or even demanding that I be paid for my job as a stay-at-home mom….where the work is unparalleled and the glass ceiling has no cap.  What I am doing is beginning to fight for my girls’ place in this world – free from the pressures of push-up bras and g-string panties in pre-teen sizes.  This fight started within myself, the day DJ was born.  I had to make a conscious effort to stop putting myself down.  I had to decide, that day, to only speak highly of myself in the company of my daughter.  I had to erase the look of dismay off my face when peering into the mirror.  I had to eliminate the words “fat,” and “diet,” and temper the use of “I wish,” and “if only.”  I had to start believing my husband when he said I was sexy, and I had to abandon the misdirected desire to have sex appeal. I had to commit to being an example of a confident woman in my daughter’s eyes – despite my weight, my height, the texture of my hair, the surface of my skin, the reach of my hips or the outdated clothes in my closet.  Just as I am.  Beautiful.

And then, something started happening.  I started noticing that no matter what messages I was sending my daughter – there was a whole big world out there sending her contrasting ones.  There are scantily clad women selling beer, cars, burritos, soft drinks, shaving cream, and even butter.  Worse yet, there are fragments of these women selling such products.  We see boobs, tummies, legs, butts – and no faces.  My daughter, bless her heart, always says “I can’t see her eyes.”  How poignant.  You’re right, sweet DJ, we can’t see her eyes – nor can anyone else.  And sadly, that’s not what consumers want to see these days.  (I’ve recently come across some videos on You Tube titled “Killing Us Softly: Advertising’s Image of Women.” These videos strive to point out, and confront, the media and advertisers for their portrayal of women in ads.  It’s startling to see the evolution of women’s placement in selling products).

So, how do we fix it?  I have no idea.  All I can do is commit to teaching, and teaching, and teaching my daughters about what is important and valuable in this life.  All I can do is vow to show my daughters the other side of this coin.  That for every “hot” girl selling fast food, there is an Amelia Earhart.  All I can do is teach my daughters about legacy, what will be remembered from their lifetime, and encourage them to leave an impact far greater than earning a few bucks for a burger chain.  Ultimately, they will battle peer pressure, and they will battle with their own identities.  That’s an inevitable rite of passage while growing up.  My hope, however, is that between me and their daddy, we will have built a foundation strong enough to endure such young hardship that their suffering will be minimal, and their rise above such issues will be fast and furious.  And maybe, just maybe, with enough parents daring to talk with their children about inappropriate images and human misrepresentation – we just might make some progress.

I admire people like Cindy Crawford, who has made a name for herself in modeling.  She has a 10 year old daughter, who designers have already begun targeting.  Ms. Crawford has taken a stand and will not allow her daughter to model until she’s 17.  She gives the following explanation, “…I also think when I was modeling, size 6 was a normal size and now it’s like 2 or 0. Being a woman and having a daughter, I don’t want her to feel like in order to be attractive or healthy or thin, that you have to deprive yourself all of the time.”  I guess one could argue that indulging in a jalapeno burger is hardly deprivation – but you get my point.

Anyhow, I have a huge and ongoing fight ahead – as we all do.  Our daughters, and our sons, need to know that there’s more to life than pretty people.  And while we should never undervalue the importance of exercise, the importance of eating healthily, or of taking pride in our appearance (nor should we ever feel the need to apologize for physical features that others might be envious of), we absolutely must detour our children from ever wanting to be recognized for their bodies.  Or, more importantly, thinking that’s the only way they can be recognized.

So Kate, it’s not that I blame you. You’ve been told that your body is hot, and it is.  But, I bet you’re really smart, too.  It’s just that 14 year old boys (and I shudder to think of the actual male audience over 14 years of age who are salivating for Kate’s spicy sesame bun) all over the country are now more interested in your breasts than your thoughts – and that’s because you let the media sell you out.  I want more for my daughters.  So much more.

When I was in high school, a friend of mine had a baby.  It must have been our freshman year, because I can remember her telling me the news as we rode the bus toward the Hillsdale Shopping Center.  Now, I’m sure you can imagine where a girl’s priorities are when she’s a young 15 years old, and while I was excited (ok, more like terrified) for my friend, I wasn’t exactly tuning into her journey to see what pearls of wisdom I could glean.

However, a few years after her son was born, I specifically remember taking note of my very first parenting tip: Let your kid be himself.  You see, while the majority of my girlfriends and I were still calling each other every morning to see what the others were wearing to school that day (afraid of being the different one), my teen-mom friend was already allowing her son’s sense of independence to blossom – free from the pressure of what everyone else was doing or thinking.

That little boy went through two phases that I can recall clearly, 1) wearing cowboy boots and a cape wherever he went, and 2) wearing nothing but soccer jerseys to cover his upper half.  I remember accompanying my friend to a thrift shop one afternoon so that she could stockpile soccer jerseys for her son.  Her theory was that if he was going to wear the same thing every day, he should at least be clean.  As I shrunk back a little, afraid of someone seeing me in a thrift shop, I remember thinking “Wow, that is so cool.  Someday, I will be this cool of a mom. I will never care what others think of how my kid dresses.”

And then, this happened:

DJ has blossomed her own sense of independence, and style.  On the one hand, it is totally awesome not to have to dress her anymore.  There’s such freedom that comes along with being able to send DJ off into her room, only to have her emerge (sans tantrum) minutes later, dressed and ready to go.  It’s so nice not to start each day with an argument, but rather with a fashion statement instead.

The Saturday that she stepped out of her bedroom in the ensemble pictured above, my husband looked at me and asked, “Is she really going to wear that out?”  Since he, for the most part, doesn’t see DJ until she’s in her jammies at night, this was new territory for him.  And, while I had been explaining the budding artiste within our daughter, he wasn’t quite prepared for the reality of the situation.  “She looks like Punky Brewster,” he whispered to me while quickly turning to DJ and praising her for doing “such a good job” at getting dressed.  “Yep, and yep.”  Yep, she’s really going out like that, and yep, she definitely looks like Punky Brewster.

Here’s the thing with Punky Brewster, though…..she was a happy kid.  If you’re in my generation, you remember the show fondly.  The eccentric girl, played by Soleil Moonfrye, was known for dressing in polka dots and stripes.  As an adult, I have read Soleil’s book titled “Happy Chaos,” in which she talks about life growing up and raising kids of her own now.  Little do most know, Punky and Soleil were extremely similar – and guess what?  Soleil was a happy, happy kid – both playing a quirky character, and living real life as one.  Her parents allowed her a ton of freedom to self-express.

I want my kid to be that happy.  Authentically happy.

So, was my friend wise beyond her years at just 16 years old?  While it would be nice to think so, I am inclined to believe her tolerance for the unconventional was a result of actually not knowing any better.  She hadn’t yet been tainted by the pressure of social norms.  She wasn’t influenced by Mother’s Clubs.  She had never sat in a circle on the floor of a Toddlers and Tunes music class, silently comparing outfits and parenting techniques to those of other moms.  She was still a kid herself, and safety-pinning a shower towel on her kid’s back to serve as a cape seemed like a perfectly fine thing to do – and she was right.

By her example 18 years ago, I am trying to remember that it doesn’t matter what people think as they take inventory of my kid’s appearance.  I am trying to curb my habit of announcing, “She dressed herself,” each time I encounter someone’s head to toe gaze.  I am trying not to make DJ’s channeling of Punky Brewster about me, because really, it’s about her.  It’s about her developing sense of self.

At the end of the day, what’s important to me is that DJ learns that tags go in the back, seams go on the inside, and for the most part, zippers go in the front.  It doesn’t matter if she pairs polka dots with stripes with animal print.  What matters to me is that when she emerges from her room, beaming with pride and asks, “Me look pretty, mommy?” my answer (and body language) always reflect a confident “YES!”  I never want “pretty” to be conditional.  I never want to say, “Yes, you look pretty, but let’s change your sweatshirt and lose the rain boots.”  Pretty should always be just as she is, just as she chooses, just as she sees it.

We only have one chance to get this stuff right.  A young child’s confidence can be stripped away in a matter of seconds, and the rest of their life can be spent battling feelings of insecurity and inferiority.  My friend, at 16 years old, knew what Punky Brewster knew – and that’s that childhood should be fun and magical and a compilation of really silly outfits.

(And seriously, when she’s not mixing as many patterns as possible, DJ is now into layering. Today, she wore a tank top under a long-sleeved shirt, under a dress – all over aqua blue cords and her rain boots).

DJ turns 22 months old today.  I can hardly believe that she is almost two years old.  Actually, let’s face it, I can hardly believe she’s not twelve.  Yeah, I said it…..while my daughter is lovely in every way, she’s also a total diva.  Twenty-two months old, tapping into those dreaded pre-teen dramatics.  What’s a poor mom to do?

At swim lessons today, DJ marched around the locker room holding our bag of wet towels with one hand, wildly waving her index finger of the other hand saying, “NO” to anyone who came within six inches of her.  In a small locker room, that pretty much means everyone fell victim to her reprimanding.  I kept reminding her that no one was (purposely) trying to bother her, and that they had just as much of a right to be there as she did.  Of course, my reasoning meant nothing to her, and I finally realized that all she wanted was to appear to have ownership of our gaudy, pink, mesh bag.  That’s it.  DJ just wanted everyone to take notice that it was hers, and that she needed absolutely no assistance lugging it around.  Oh, “What a big girl….”

This is what life is like these days.

DJ not only insists that everything is hers, but more convincingly, insists that she can do everything on her own.  What used to take one minute, now takes 15 minutes.  Literally.  From changing her diapers, to getting dressed, to brushing her teeth, to pouring a glass of water – my kid freaks out at the slightest suggestion that she might need my help.  I am learning to back off, realizing that wiping one’s own butt is a total rite of passage – but my Lord, am I losing my patience.

Um, Newsflash: The hours in any given day do not increase as your demand for more time increases.  This was a surprise to me.  I never really imagined that I’d need to build additional time into my daily routine to account for toddler decision-making and idea implementation.  But, I do.  When you add up the time that it now takes DJ to hem and haw over which yogurt she pulls from the fridge, how long it takes her to un-Velcro her own diaper, how many attempts it takes her to get her arms through her shirt, how long it takes her to brush her teeth, and how many kitchen towels it takes to mop up the spilled water from her filling her own cup – I am utterly spent before the clock strikes 8:00 am.  Spent and totally and completely unproductive.

I am trying to remind myself that my sense of productivity revolves around things like grocery shopping, having the melted crayons scraped off the upholstery of my backseat, paying bills and preparing healthy meals – while DJ’s sense of productivity includes making discoveries about her abilities, and then exercising those findings to the fullest.  On the days when my checklist doesn’t even get touched because we are too busy putting socks on and then taking them back off four hundred dozen times, I have to take a deep breath and remember that huge accomplishments were, in fact, achieved at our house.  My patience, no matter how painful to stretch, is exactly what fosters DJ’s budding sense of independence – which, really, equates to her confidence.  I am pretty sure I can make time for that (and yes, of course while also teaching her that she’s not in charge).

On our way home from swim lessons, a song came on the radio which lead me to ask DJ, “You think you fancy, huh?” to which she replied “Yeah.”  Nuff said.  Miss Little Independent is super proud of her assertive self these days.

I am finally getting caught up on some of my reading.  I had three issues of “Parents” magazine stacked up on my desk that I was anxious to get to.  Late last week, while DJ napped and I committed to a little “soul care” (no laundry, no dishes, no menu planning, etc.), I slipped into an afternoon bath (heaven!) with my January edition.

When I flipped to page 79, and the headline read “Kids Who Won’t Eat,” in big bold letters, I thought, “Now this is the article for me!”  I was assuming that it was about picky toddlers, who as I’ve said before, seemingly live on air (and yogurt and Goldfish crackers).  Much to my dismay, the article wasn’t about children refusing vegetables, but children refusing food altogether.  This article was about kids with eating disorders…..kids, with eating disorders.  I can barely wrap my mind around it.

Now, reader beware – this week’s post from New Mommy isn’t going to be fun and games.  I feel compelled to share the appalling statistics that I read in an effort to raise awareness about this heartbreaking epidemic.  I truly believe that as parents, especially those of us with daughters, we have an absolute responsibility to do all that we can to end this phenomenon.

This issue is particularly important to me as I struggled with eating disorders at a very young age.  I can recall feeling insecure about my body as young as middle school, and still cringe when I think back to some mean remarks other kids would make about my weight.  By the time I got to middle school, and high school – I had developed a very bizarre relationship with food.  There were times when I would go without eating altogether, times when I would binge and purge, and still other times when I invented crazy rules about what I was allowed to eat.  For instance, I was once on a Cheerios, Diet Coke and boiled chicken diet my junior year of high school.

Anyhow, without getting into all of the details, I was able to overcome my eating disorders.  What I have learned though, is that although I am now able to control the physical actions associated with an eating disorder, I still fight to control my mindset.  I still struggle with a distorted image of my body.   And now that I have a beautiful, perfect daughter – the thought of her ever enduring such paralyzing insecurity absolutely crushes me.

So, when I read that the Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality reported that the number of children under 12 years old who were hospitalized with eating disorders more than doubles between 1999 and 2006, and that the typical onset of anorexia used to be 13 – 17, but has now dropped to 9 – 13, I couldn’t help but feel obligated to uncover this dark secret.  The article went on to say that doctors are seeing girls as young as six, six years old, with severe eating disorders.  Six year olds who have to endure intensive therapy.  My heart breaks.

Why is this happening?  “Parents Magazine” uncovered a few very insightful theories, like the fact that not only are celebrities thinner these days, but that they’re also younger, leaving kids with idols that are closer to their own age, and thus causing image comparison much earlier in life.  However, I am going to talk directly to mothers for a moment, as the information that I feel the most urged to share is about the responsibility we have to set a healthy perception of self for our daughters.

“Parents Magazine” specifically mentions the importance of avoiding the ”D” word around our daughters.  Talking about the need to diet in front of our young, and impressionable girls, can have a very powerful affect on their own self-image.  Let’s remember, our children look up to us.  Girls see their mommies as beautiful and strong, and if they hear us slamming ourselves, their eyes will inevitably begin seeing their own bodies in a negative light.  It destroys me to think that I could ever do anything to cause DJ to see herself as anything but the amazing creation that she is.

I’m not going to lie, this is an actual challenge for me.  Constantly wishing I was in better shape means that those words are often on the tip of my tongue.  I am always reminding myself not to let those words leave my mouth in the presence of DJ.  I know she is watching, listening, and learning so much about being a girl by watching me be a woman.  There are moments when this even requires me to feign confidence – and I actually think that’s ok.  We’ve all heard of faking it until we make it, right?  Well, sometimes we need to fake contentment with ourselves for the sake of our children’s healthy self-image development.

Of course, kids also need to see us eating well balanced meals, being active, and even treating ourselves to sweets here and there (when kids witness us cutting foods out completely, they can’t always decipher that it’s because that particular food is bad, and often begin seeing that food, in general, is bad.  So, indulge here and there!)  They need to see that while we’re making a huge effort at leading a healthy lifestyle, we are not obsessing over it.

If you’re concerned about your child and their relationship with food, here are “Six Signs of Trouble” to look out for : 1. She’s constantly looking in the mirror or running her hands over her body, 2. He is frequently constipated, 3. She won’t stop moving (compulsive exercise, or constant fidgeting in a chair), 4. She suddenly becomes a vegetarian, or starts restricting herself from certain food groups, 5. She doesn’t get her period, 6. She checks out certain websites that give tips for starvation (I know, it is soooooo disturbing that these sites even exist).

Bottom line, childhood eating disorders are real, and deeply, deeply sad.   We have to begin setting better examples – as mothers, parents, and a society as a whole.  We’ve got to begin teaching our children the true definition of beauty – and we’ve got to believe in it ourselves.  The health of our kids’ body image lies largely in our ability to accept ourselves just as we are, and to be proud of our uniqueness.

It’s all about me this week.  I need some attention.  I need some love.  Truth be told, I need some reassurance.  We all need that some days right?  My journey through motherhood hasn’t been all easy (is it ever?).  There have been many bumps along the road.  It has taken me 5 years to realize that I am good enough.  It is OK that I want to go back to work…it doesn’t make me any less of a mom.  In fact, it makes me a better mom.  It has been a LONG process to figure this all out but I am getting there……

I am outspoken.  I tend to say exactly what I think.  I can be passive/aggressive.  I often say things without truly thinking about them.  I can be your best friend and your worst enemy…frienemy if you will.

While reading Gina’s post yesterday, I had to check the by-line to make sure that I hadn’t written it.  I know exactly how she is feeling.  I know, because I feel that way most every day.  The problem with this is that I am 5 years into this gig while she is still a rookie (said only in love because seriously Gina is amazing and some days I want to be her!).  After reading her post, I wanted to make sure she knew that it is OK if being a mom isn’t enough for her.  After I posted my comment, I realized I was really writing to myself.

Sure, I want everyone to know that it is OK if being a mommy isn’t enough for you.  It really is OK to put your kids in daycare or hire a nanny or whatever works best for you.  I now have a theory that I am a much better mom after LG gets some time at school or the gym daycare.  I admit that LG LOVES it.  She would actually rather be in school than with me because she can paint! Play with friends! Be crazy all day!

I have become insecure since becoming a mom.  I used to be confident.  I knew who I was and I was proud of it.  Now?  I let my insecurities rule my world. There really is no reason to be insecure.  I am a professional blogger.  I get paid to write!  I am part of some amazing groups that allow me to do things that people only dream of.  I am awesome dammit!  Haha.

I am trying really hard to work on my insecurities.  I am trying to not put my wrath on others because even though it is meant with love, it doesn’t always come across that way.  Not only that, I am trying remember how awesome I am :=)

(For those of you who chomp at the bit each Monday waiting to hear about New Mommie’s latest shenanigans – I am so sorry to have missed last week.  Our cable company cut our service a few days too early, and I was operating on too little brain power to execute an alternate method of posting).

We’re in!  Today mark’s DJ’s 10 month birthday, along with our fifth day of being in our new home.  I wish I could say it’s been all cupcakes and sunshine – but we all know that moving brings out the worst in people!  If you’re reading this, honey, sorry for airing our dirty laundry.

As you know, I have moved far too many times for being just 32 years old.  What did I say in my last blog?  Fourteen times now?  UGH.  It still amazes me every time that no matter how organized I am, and how well I’ve thought out my “plan,” things always take longer, feel heavier, and seem bigger than I thought!  (Having a child who is determined to walk also puts a delightful little twist on things).

These past five days have been an odd dichotomy between appreciation and stress.  We are so grateful to have found this little gem, and yet, the higher rent and fancy appliances mean a greater financial burden.  It is times like these when I, as a stay-at-home mom, feel the most conflict about the decision that we made to raise our daughter outside of daycare.  It’s hard not to be contributing in a monetary way.

While I’ve heard it a million times, and do believe that my new job is the hardest there is – it’s so difficult to trust that it is truly valued.  In a society where importance is measured by bank account and job title, us hard working moms get little recognition for our achievements.  Let’s face it – a good day might mean that we’ve finished a load of laundry, plopped a chicken in the crock pot and managed to clean out the cat box – all while keeping our child out of harm’s way.  Such menial tasks hardly equate to great success in the eyes of the world.

I have to remind myself constantly, though, that I am not working to please the world.  I am working to please my child, my husband, my family, myself. I am working to raise a healthy, well-adjusted, considerate, inquisitive, determined and sweet child.  It is a huge sacrifice, a huge commitment, and the most selfless job in the world.  I am reminded by what a dear friend told me as she, too, entered the world of full time home-making, ”Being a mom is synonymous with being a servant.”   However, I chose to serve my family in this way – and despite the fact that I only have 79 cents in my wallet, I am far richer than any American Express Centurion cardholder could dream of being.

So, as we get settled into this new home and we adjust to a higher cost of living, along with cutting coupons for trash compactor bags, I will work diligently to find confidence in being DJ’s full time provider – an ambition that I am constantly recommitting to, and one that I pray will eventually come naturally.  I will work to remind my husband that while the weight of our finances may be falling on his shoulders, the character of our daughter will be falling on mine.