Parenting Books

While pregnant with Bub in Berkeley, I stopped by a Little Free Library on my way back from the park with Buddha. In it were a handful of breastfeeding and parenting books. I thought I had struck gold, only to bring them home to find that the books were oooooold. Not “old” in a good way when it comes to books, like finding the first edition of The Bell Jar or many leather-bound books in a vintage store. Books like The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding by La Leche League, Brain Rules by John Medina, The Happiest Baby on the Block by Harvey Karp, Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth by Ina May Gaskin, and Teach Your Child How to Think by Edward de Bono. I quickly realized why these books might be in the Little Free Library box. Some of them read like boring textbooks. Others, I felt, had a patronizing tone. That’s not to say these books haven’t helped parents or promote false information. But for me, these books fueled my anxiety and this fear that if I wasn’t breastfeeding or parenting according to these books, then I was failing.

There were, however, a handful of books I wish I had read before becoming a parent. In a vast sea of parenting books that date back to the Bible, I’m glad I found these outliers that made me feel less alone and my anxieties feel more normal. They gave me important data points that I often use to remind myself that Bub is going to be just fine.

5 Parenting Books for the anxious mom:

1. Cribsheet by Emily Oster

   I read this book in the early days of having a newborn and instantly felt my stress levels lower (if even momentarily). She was the first to provide my anxious mind with actual data to help me relax, whether it was about giving my baby formula, sleep training, or co-sleeping. She breaks down several other myths too about pregnancy and caring for babies - Oster is a national treasure.

2. You Can’t F*ck Up Your Kids by Lindsay Powers

   Powers’ book is a nice follow-up to Cribsheet because she talks about the same topics Oster does, except with more frankness and humor. She reenforces the fact that we’re all doing our best when it comes to our kids and guess what, they’ll be fine.

3. The Gift of Failure by Jessica Lahey

   This book conditioned me to be more comfortable with the word “fail” and taught me that failure is actually a very good thing.

4. I Was a Better Mother Before I Had Kids by Lori Borgman

   Borgman is hilarious right from the start. Her motherhood journey makes me feel better about where I’m currently at with raising a little and optimistic about what’s to come. She makes me feel less sentimental about my toddler entering school and actually excited about having a kid someday who might clean the kitchen when I’m out-of-town.

5. Burnout by Amelia Nagoski and Emily Nagoski

   This book isn’t for moms, per se, though it is extremely relatable to any parent experiencing burnout (ahem, all of us). Burnout reads like a big, 20-second hug from a loved one who truly cares about you. The Nagoski sisters have a way of presenting heavy information that made me feel lighter. One of the most important things this book taught me was how to let go of stress.

There are other books, such as Simplicity Parenting, The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read, and The Conscious Parent, in which I gravitated towards their concepts. But, they didn’t necessarily quell any of my anxieties.

I hope these five books provide a sense of peace for you like they did for me.

Falling in Love

They say having a son is like going through the longest break-up of your life.

Last week at the park, I offered him my hand, which he always takes, except this time he chose to walk by himself. Yesterday when I smothered him with kisses, he told me to stop. Little daggers to my heart, but there’s a part of me in awe of watching him grow into his own person.

Isn’t that the goal of parenting? To raise a kind, passionate, resilient person who thinks on his own, is confident in his own abilities, and advocates for others? The goal is to teach him not to need me - to stand on his own two feet without handholding, to love himself first and foremost.

Perhaps to get him there, I need to hug and love him now, as much as I can…when he’ll let me.

Chicago Botanic Gardens

Every outing with Bub that doesn’t involve a panic attack I consider a win. Today was another win for me. We spent the afternoon at the Chicago Botanic Gardens, which were absolutely beautiful. I’m sure they use pesticides and herbicides to maintain the gardens. A year ago, I would have inquired before visiting to confirm if they used harmful chemicals. And if they did, they were blacklisted. Today, I assumed they did and took my child there anyway. Who am I anymore?

Of course, pesticides and herbicides still anger and trigger me. I was still on my guard while walking around the gardens, trying to do my grounding exercises when Bub walked on the grass, holding my breath when he stopped to smell the flowers, panicking any time I saw a little flag in the ground. Walking through the maze of parking lots to get to the main entrance made me nervous, worried a car would drive by that would fill our air with exhaust.

I did my best to remind myself that some exposure is good for him and that I would remove him if I felt like he was in danger. I focused on the beautiful weather and being as present as possible. What I experienced in return was priceless. Bub loved the model railroad so much that we walked through it twice. He did a good job listening to me when I told him not to touch the gardening tools on display but tried to snap off a little pumpkin from the vegetable garden. While he liked smelling the concord grapes ripening over the arbor we walked under, he mostly liked chucking the grapes that had fallen. He was more interested in throwing rocks into the fountains than the gorgeous blooms around us. He is a ball of energy these days and it was glorious to let him run around in the sunshine. It’s a gift to be able to spend one of the last warm days of the year outside. We stayed longer than expected, a full three hours, and nearly avoided the only tragedy of the day: running out of snacks.

I’m learning that it is possible to feel a sense of peace in letting go of over-planning and over-analyzing. Perhaps every now and then, stopping to smell the roses is more important than worrying what might be on them.

Return to Wicker

Steve took Bub to a birthday party today, which gave me an entire Saturday to myself. A luxurious treat for any parent. Wanting to take advantage of gorgeous September weather (when it’s finally pleasant in Chicago), I invited a dear friend to explore Wicker Park with me.

Wicker Park, the place where it all began. Where Steve and I finally committed to becoming adults together. That’s a weird way to put it. What I’m trying to say is that Wicker Park is where Steve and I made some major adult decisions: it’s where we bought out first condo, where we lived when I found out I got my first corporate job, where we lived when we got married, where we lived when we got a puppy together. We spent hours walking the 606 talking about our hopes and dreams. We watched Sunday night football games at the Blue Line, scarfing chicken pot pie and wings. I spent many a lunch perusing the salad bar at Goddess and Grocer. I purchased life-changing secondhand books at Myopic Books. I remember sitting at the window of Stan’s Donuts on a cold winter afternoon, people-watching while dunking my cinnamon roll into a hot cup of coffee. I miss the farmers’ market on Sunday mornings and the chaos of Six Corners.

What I miss most of all is that chapter in my life when I lived there. Young, full of hope, trying to figure out what being an “adult” means.

Four years later, I’m finally back in my old neighborhood. Thirty-three years old. A mom. And while I’m not sure I’m any closer to figuring out adulthood, I’m absolutely sure that no one else is either.

It was wonderful to be back for an afternoon with great company, a seat right away at Big Star, a stroll down the 606 as the sun set. How strange yet familiar to be back in a place I used to live - as if nothing has changed and yet, everything has.

Boring Bits

I was on my own with Bub for a couple days this week. I used to get really nervous being on my own with him but lately, I’ve enjoyed it. I used to get anxious about taking him out of the house on my own, finding enough things for him to do so he doesn’t get bored with me, and not having Steve around to give me a break. But the past couple times I’ve solo-parented, Bubba and I have fallen into a simple routine.

That’s not to say the anxiety doesn’t knock on my door every now and then. When I’m on my own, a little voice pops in my head asking me if I’ve locked the back door or turned off the burner. I second-guess myself for a little too long on whether I’ve poured milk into the dirty cup we used for our paintbrushes. Not having another adult around can be hard.

Despite the little anxieties, I’m reminding myself that when it’s just me and him, the pros outweigh the cons. This is my special time with him. I soak it all in because I know this precious toddler time is fleeting. I relish the slowness of the hours, the joy in the mundane, the boring bits of our lives.

Cuddling, cooking, carefree at the park - this is how I’ll remember my solo days with him.