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TRUE LOVE AND THE RIGHT ACCESSORIES
by Sue Landsman

reproduced with permission from the book Loving Mama: Essays on Natural Parenting...

When we were expecting our first child, likely a boy, we did the whole traditional expecting thing – the nursery painted butter yellow with a jungle wallpaper border, the crib set up nicely with the light blue and stars sheet pattern, ready and waiting for the baby. Then he came and our new world began, completely unlike what we had expected. From day one, he slept in our bed, along with our seventy-pound dog, our arms splayed out beside him like the cutest totem pole. The bassinet remained full of laundry. Soon, after learning to nurse lying down, I wouldn’t even remember in the morning when and how often I’d nursed him at night. I woke up to smiles, warm little feet tucked next to my legs, and the heavenly smell of warm, milky, baby skin.

Three months later, we walked into the nursery, and noticed an odd, oily, oval black spot at one end of the crib. Apparently the cat had been enjoying it. The bassinet was now completely submerged in laundry. The swing and the bouncy seat went unappreciated – like the cats, our son was a connoisseur of human warmth, and just wanted to be on someone all the time. I bought a sling and carried him around everywhere. He slept with us until he was about a year and a half old, when my husband started getting tired of the family bed idea. Then my husband slept with him in another room, while I slept alone with the dog.
After the second child, a daughter, our baby items got better use. The crib helped prop things up in the basement, and my son spent many happy hours teaching his toys how to vibrate in the bouncy seat. My $14-a-pair natural-wool breast pads became the crucial prop in the “let’s see how long the cat can keep this on his back” game. I bought two more slings. She slept with us for about a year. Then my husband slept with both kids in another room while I slept alone with the dog.

With the third child, we truly learned the meaning of “kangaroo care.” Now, with no actual baby items other than diapers anywhere in the house, the baby is just a slightly–higher-bulge-than-before in the fleece pouch in front of Mommy. I always know when he needs to nurse, because as soon as he makes a sound my daughter will shriek “Baby’s crying! He needs ingie!” Oddly, she’s not at all

interested in nursing or tending to her dolls, but she simply must carry around the “nipple cream,” because it comes in that fab purple container and fits in her tiny purses. I’ve bought two more slings and lent one to a friend. This baby will sleep with us, undoubtedly, until he joins the somewhat puzzling “everyone-except-Mommy” bed and I resume my intimate relationship with the dog.
As the children get bigger, it’s becoming harder to both feel and convey the adoration that the close body warmth and endless kisses of their early years made so easy. I miss the days when we just rocked together, or all I had to do was tilt my face down to kiss their little heads. We would grin foolishly at each other, in our own little world, sharing a secret that all the moms and babies separated by strollers and hallways were missing out on.

Now I find myself focusing less on this simple giving than on how well they’re meeting my behavioral expectations, or how close they are to pissing me off to the point of screaming at them. Their arms and legs have gotten long and lanky, and their bodies and minds move quicker than mine. It’s hard to remember they’re still little. We spend too much time at odds with each other, frustration and bad feelings stuck in the air like the scent of old fish. Sometimes I think we just need to crawl back into bed together, quiet and still, until we can once again pay attention to what nourished us both when they were babies. That is, after all, how I wanted to parent. The best thing we can give our children is trust – trust that they won’t take advantage of us, won’t go bad from too much love, that we can live together in a place where we can give freely and have our needs met without asking.

But of course, nobody notices when things go right. Love, properly, is like air—sweet and invisible. As long as nobody poops in the bed.

Sue Landsman is the mother of three. She is a natural childbirth educator and sling geek, and is currently enjoying home schooling her two older children and nursing her third.

Loving Mama: Essays on Natural Parenting...