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Over the past two years, I have been pregnant, given birth, and mothered a little girl.  In these same two years, I've read countless articles, message boards, blogs, and social media posts on pregnancy, labor, and parenting.  I've watched and listened to other women interact with each other about these three things, and I have found that, by and large, we aren't supportive of each other.  Instead, we tell horror stories to instill fear.  We judge and criticize women who make choices different from the ones we made for ourselves.  We compete with other women while pregnant and after we become moms.  We start many sentences with "You need to..." or "You can't..."  Rarely are statements couched with, "Well, my experience was this, but yours might be different..."

Yes, there are exceptions, but by and large, women tend to tear each  other down in subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) ways.  This bothers me because I am a woman, but it bothers me more when I think about raising a woman.  I feel like it took me a while to learn how to have a healthy friendship with other women, and perhaps because of that, I want Juliet to have good, supportive friends and to be one herself. I have no doubt that teaching Juliet the qualities of a good friend will include a lesson in competitiveness.  By nature, I'm extremely competitive.  I don't like to lose.  And  I believe a sense of competition is good: it pushes you to do your best and to work hard.  But that same sense of competition can drive you to tear others down in order to build yourself up.  I don't want Juliet to feel that kind of competition with others.


Last week, a Facebook friend posted a picture of her six-pack.  In her caption, she mentioned that this was her post-baby body.  For about 30 seconds, I felt awful about myself.  I don't have a six-pack.  I don't look like I did pre-baby.  I am a failure as a woman, and my husband will likely never find me attractive again.  And as I scrolled through the comments praising this woman and how "hot" she looked (all, by the way, from other women), I stumbled across the comment of another mom.  This other mom was clearly feeling like a failure.  She asked how to do it and said she'd been working on diet and exercise herself.  That one comment shifted my entire perspective.  In the time it took me to read a stranger's comment, I went from feeling like a failure to feeling downright angry on behalf of all recent moms.

How dare anyone post something online that would make other mothers feel like they weren't good enough?  How dare this woman post such a vain picture about her post-baby body knowing full well how many new moms she was friends with who don't have a six-pack?  How dare anyone make me or any other woman feel like we're somehow inferior because we don't have six-packs?  I work a full-time job and function as a single parent!  It's a miracle I can find time to participate in a burpee challenge or do 15 minutes of yoga a couple of nights a week after I put Juliet down!

So what would drive a woman to post a picture of her six-pack with a caption about how awesome her post-baby body is?  It's probably a combination of things.  There are certainly societal pressures.  But if we're to be totally honest here, what likely drove her to choose to share that picture with that caption is her sense of competition.  It was, after all, a victorious post.  And that is what I think is so damaging about it.  It wasn't about her hard work.  It was about the end result, about how great she looked.  There was nothing about the help she had getting there (a husband or nanny to watch the kid so she has time for herself).  Because the nature of the post was about how great she is, there is an implication that others who don't have a six-pack are somehow lesser.

After I got over my initial anger, I started thinking.  If the woman who posted that picture of her six-pack needed to do that to feel affirmed, fine.  If her appearance is the ruler with which she measures her success, who am I to tell her that's wrong?  It's certainly not the standard by which I measure my success as a mom, as a wife, as a friend, or as a human.  But it's not my place to tell her (or anyone else) what matters.  Instead of sending her a scathing message about her post, I should take a deep breath and move on.  Her values are her own, and she's entitled to have them. I will say, though, that it makes me sad that she places such importance on such a shallow thing. 


I don't know.. That one Facebook post has left me more determined than ever to be supportive of other women because I don't want anyone to feel like I felt after seeing that post.  I want to model for Juliet how to be honest and real, and I want her to value her mind, her friends, and her health more than her appearance.  Looks are just a bonus, icing on a delicious red velvet cake!

Happy birthday!

  

Dear Juliet,

Happy birthday!  One year ago, you changed my life in the most amazing way.  In one year, you have taught me so much about life, love, laughter, and (at times) survival that I feel like you could be several college and military courses rolled into one.  Your dad and I constantly marvel at our capacity to love you and how your addition to our family has made us love each other more.  You are such a blessing!

This past month, you've started doing some really cool things.  For starters, you walk now.  You gave me the most amazing birthday present by walking for the first time while your dad was home.  Being able to share that moment with him was so cool.  Now, you walk all over the place; you walk more than you crawl, and you've even tried to run a couple of times.  You also shake your head "no" when I try to give you things you don't want (like watermelon this weekend).  I have no idea where you learned this, but it's so fun to watch you communicate clearly with others now.  You have learned to hand me things when I ask for them.  This is very sweet when you share your toys with me unprompted, and it's very helpful when you hand me things I don't want you to chew on (like the rubber tub stopper).  You say, "key" which is Juliet for "kitty."  You also say, "Dada" when prompted, and we're working on "Mama."  I think that you're trying to say, "dog" or "Ninja" but it comes out "guh."  You're just so consistent with it - you say it all the time when you see Ninja, so I think that's your word for her.  You're getting pretty good with waving good-bye, but you have a tendency to do it right after the person you should be waving to finally gives up and turns to leave, so he or she misses it.  I have no doubt, though, that you will master the timing soon.

Your dad and I were talking about our life a year ago.  On September 30, 2012, we were both nervous.  I was nervous about giving birth, nervous about being a mom, and nervous about making the decision to induce.  (Your dad, apparently, was quite nervous about it all, too, but he never let on to me that he was anything other than perfectly calm and confident.  He does that a lot, you know.  He stays calm when those around him are scared or nervous because he knows that it helps them feel calm.  It helps a lot; I know it's helped me, and I've seen how his calm demeanor can help calm you down, too.) But in spite of our nervousness, we went on the hospital on October 1.  Your Aunt E was there as our nurse, and she and your dad talked a lot to keep things lighthearted and relaxed.  You were very cooperative and came fairly quickly without a whole lot of fuss.  When you were born, I felt strangest, most awesome feeling of complete happiness.  I had never felt anything like that before - the closest I'd ever come was the day I married your daddy.  When they put you on my chest, I looked at your daddy and said, "We've got a baby!"  (Aunt E still laughs about this.)  I felt so calm and so happy.  You were this perfect child, totally healthy (seriously, your apgar scores were great).

In the year since that night, you've continued to be this totally healthy, pretty perfect child.  (And let me be honest here.  Deep down, I think you're perfect.  But I don't want to be one of those parents who foolishly believes her kid is perfect.  Nobody's perfect.  You're going to become a teenager and mess up.  Everyone does.  So I have to remind myself that you're "pretty perfect" just to try to keep some perspective so that I'm not crushed when you act like a human and make a mistake.)  We think you're brilliant and sweet and beautiful.  I haven't had you tested for MENSA yet, but I feel certain you'd get in. 

This past year hasn't always been easy (it's hard when no one in the house is sleeping), but it has been literally awesome.  (When you're older, I'll talk to you about this year, 2013, and how the dictionaries all made a grave error and changed the meaning of "literally."  I feel certain you'll grow up to be someone who will appreciate how much this upset me.)  I thank God for you every day, and every day, I pray that He will protect you and let you grow up to be healthy and strong. 

I cannot wait to see what this next year with you brings.  Keep your independent spirit, little girl.  It's one of my most favorite things about you.

I love you mucho,
Mama