Tales From A Reformed Attachment Parent

I was an attachment parent.

When Jack was born, I never laid him down. He ate in my arms, played in my arms, slept in my arms. When I actually needed to use my arms, I slung Jack in a carrier to make sure he was always close. I can trace my obsessive need to have Jack plastered to my body back to my fear that Angel, the woman who gave birth to him, was going to change her mind and take Jack back.

The law afforded her that right for 45 days after he was born. 45 days of my mothering him, bonding with him, loving him. I could have lost my son at any point during that time. We would have had no recourse to fight. An experience like that can make a woman paranoid. Trust me on that one.

I think I was also afraid that, not having carried Jack in my own uterus for nine months, I had missed some crucial bonding time. I felt I needed to catch up. I wanted to make sure Jack knew just who his mom really was. This was a silly fear. I did not realize how silly this fear was until after I gave birth to my daughter, Molly. Carrying her for nine months inside my body did not make our connection any stronger than the one I have with my son. It's the day-to-day love that makes us who we are to each other. Mother to daughter. Mother to son.

Still, back then I was afraid my son would not bond with me or that someone would come along and rip him from my arms. For these reasons, I kept him close. The result of Jackie constantly being held, never being allowed to cry for more than mere seconds, being the total center of my waking breathing world, was that Jack refused to sleep anywhere but in my arms. He needed to wrap his sweet, soft hands around my hair and rest his limbs close to mine in order for him to fall asleep. It's a beautiful picture, child lulled to sleep in his mother's arms, heart against heart. But this is totally unpractical when you are 8 months pregnant and expecting another child. Actually, this is just totally unpractical.

My husband and I realized we needed to make a change. When Jack was 11 months old, we began the method known as crying-it-out. For those of you who have ever had the unpleasant experience of being on a Mother's board filled with woman who feel passionately about children's sleeping issues, you will know that the hardcore attachment parents believe that crying-it-out is cruel. Some even go so far as to chastise parents who use this method. They call us child abusers. To those readers I say, you may want to run along now. You are not going to like what you read here. Your attempts to convince me of the horror of my ways, via rant-filled comments, will be met with disdain and raucous laughter. My husband and I will actually devote dinner conversation to determining which of you is crazier than the next.We will not, however, feel a shred of guilt.

Yes. I was an attachment parent.

I gave up the title when we cried-it-out. Two weeks later, Jack was blissfully sleeping 9 and a half hours. All through the night. He also began taking naps in his crib. Now. When he gets tired, he walks over to the baby gate at the bottom of our stairs and points upwards towards his crib. Can I get an AMEN!!!

Having had success with making my little love more independent of Mommy, at least when it came to sleep time, I was certain not to make the same attachment parenting mistakes with Molly. Even if I had wanted to keep Molly glued to me at all times, it would be virtually impossible.

Having two children under two means that sometimes one child has to cry. Sometimes they both do. Sometimes a child that wants his or her Mommy has to be put down somewhere safe and made to wait. Sometimes it takes Mommy a while to get the sippy cup, the bottle, the clean diaper, to wipe the boogie, to give the hug, to read the story, to put on the sock, to pay attention, to sing the song, to look, to see, to be there. And frankly, that is just the way things are in our house now.

This morning is a perfect example. Molly had woken up earlier than I expected. This meant her bottle was not waiting for her eager mouth. At the same moment that Molly was mounting her assault of cries stacked upon louder more aggressive cries and I was working to make the bottle, Jackie was tugging at the bottom of my pajama leg and making the sign than means he wants to play with me. This was followed by his favorite sign of More, More, More. This sign was punctuated with stamps from his angry feet on the kitchen floor.

"There is just one of me, my darlings." I spoke calmly to my children. "And right now, Mommy has another more pressing priority."

I left Molly hollering in her exersaucer and Jackie flinging his toys over the kitchen gate in protest of my lack of attention to his needs, and I walked straight to the bathroom where I enjoyed a child and guilt free pee. When I returned, Molly was busy sucking her fingers and giggling at her brother who was rolling his truck up and down the back of the living room chair. Not one of my children even looked up when I entered back into the room.

Clearly, attachment parenting is a thing of the past!