The Comparison Game

Well, it's been a week since my last post. I guess I've moved into the "bloser" realm along with LilCherie (and Tingle, this week anyway). Must be a rough one for everyone.

Updates
*I sent the letter mentioned in my previous post and am waiting to hear back.
*Bubba is walking around without problems--his leg is healed and he is tooling around like nobody's business. It's wonderful and sad all at the same time.
*J. and I are getting along quite well this week. I get the sense that he is really trying. He's had two individual therapy appointments and has set up another for next week, and actually did his homework assignment, writing a letter to his parents. They both died within a week in 2000, and he is trying to work through some unresolved grief. He has set up all these appointments on his own and seems committed to trying to help himself, which is such a relief to me. He shared his letter with me and it was heartbreaking. I'm so glad he's doing this and hope it leads to some real healing. He has also been putting forth more effort at home, both housework-wise and also in communicating with me in loving ways. I'm cautiously encouraged.

Topic of the Day
There's a woman at work whom I used to refer to as The Breastfeeder. Her son was born (full term) two months before mine. I called her The Breastfeeder because she was SO into it and didn't want to stop and always had to tell me about it, blah blah blah, feeding into my own insecurities about my inability or, rather, my choice not to continue the harrowing ordeal for more than 6 weeks.

Well, she's not breastfeeding anymore, as the boy is now 20 months old, but she is focused on her child in a way that seems to me almost unhealthy. I mean, it's all she talks about with me. She stops by my office almost every day to tell me about him -- we'll call him Nigel. I guess I could start calling her The Bragger, because more and more that's what it seems like she is doing. She has been telling me for several months now about all the wonderful, smart things her child is doing. "Last night Nigel said "Nigel wants cookies." Or,"The other day, Nigel pointed to the crib and said "Nigel wants to go night night." Or, here's a story I heard not once, but twice this week because she'd apparently forgotten she'd told me: "Last week we dressed Nigel in blue pants and he said 'No blue pants.' So I asked him "What color pants do you want to wear, Nigel?' and Nigel said, 'Nigel wants brown pants.' And once we put him in the brown pants, he was completely happy!" Another one: "Last night Nigel said, 'Put bear in rocking chair.' "The other day, Nigel said 'Watch animals on TV' because he wanted to watch his animals DVD--and then, he named them all when they came on!"

Meanwhile...J. and my conversations with Bubba usually consist of trying to figure out the inflection and context of his numerous "bah!" noises. Yes, they mean things--he says "bah!" for balloon, ball, SpongeBob, bath, bus (okay, that's more of a "buh!") but you catch my drift. Often times his main form of communication is crying until we figure it out. He has words, yes: most impressive right now is "Hi" and "Bye" and "milk" and "more," and he says other ones like "hi kitty" and "Nuk" for his pacificier and "No" for the answer to any question posed to him. But for Christ's sake, my 18-month-old doesn't know his colors, knows three animals (kitty, crocodile and puppy), doesn't refer to himself by name or otherwise, and hasn't mastered his fucking prepositions, okay?

These conversations don't worry me. I am fine with Bubba's development, happy that he is learning how to talk and walk and that he's a happy, fun kid. Mostly, happy that he is simply alive and well and here for us to love. I don't feel jealous of super-genius Nigel in the least. I just abhore these conversations. I can't stand the "let's compare our kids" game. It is so transparent and so...well, I guess the word seems to be cruel to me. It's all about making oneself feel great and trying to make someone else feel lesser than.

To me, it's one of the most common and insidious ways that women work against each other rather than banding together. On the surface, it looks like you're bonding over stories about your children. But really, it's a war. It's a "my kid is better than yours" war. I refuse to participate in this. If Bubba does something totally exciting, like the first time he walked on his own or slept through the night, or more likely, does something completely hilarious like walk around with my pink bra thrown around his shoulders, yes, of course, I'll share it. But I don't offer a day-by-day running commentary of every word he says, every skill he masters, every color he learns and every wonderful thing he does. I don't counter her stories with a "well, Bubba did THIS last night." (Okay, usually it's because Bubba cried and grunted his way through dinner before we finally figured out he wanted to watch SpongeBob instead pf eat. Sidenote: The Bragger's kid only watches Baby Einstein. Close your eyes now and imagine the sound of me puking.)

I just don't want to play the game. I can't very well tell her to stop talking to me about him--but I can stop the cycle when it gets to my turn. Usually I just smile and say something like, "Oh, that's so cute!" or "That's great!" and leave it there. It's funny though. She'll come down to my office for no other reason than to tell me that Nigel did this or that.

Why do we do these things to each other? Ever since Bubba was born, it's been a never-ending stream of the Comparison Game. "Are you breastfeeding?" "Is he sleeping through the night/rolling over/sitting up yet?" "Is he on solid foods yet?" "Has he said any words yet?" "Is he crawling yet?" "Is he walking yet?" Maybe these are honest conversation starters between parents, but why couldn't we ask questions like "What's your favorite thing your child does?" or "How do like being a parent?" Or "How have things changed in your life since your baby was born?" Or "What's your favorite activity with your child?" or just anything more relevant, more interesting, and less judgmental?

Something I find interesting in The Bragger's case is that she readily admitted to me, during and after her pregnancy, that if they had found evidence of Down's syndrome or any other neurological problem they would have terminated the pregnancy. I can't get into an abortion discussion here because I don't know how I feel about it. After losing my daughter at 21 weeks, the issue got a lot dicier for me. But--and I'm not bragging or judging here--I know that with both my pregnancies, by the time I'd reached the point where such conditions could be detected, I'd already fallen in love with my baby, to the point that the only way I would consider termination is if there was no way my child would ever enjoy any part of life. The Bragger and her husband's stance suggests to me just how important "smarts" were to them, and her ongoing comments reinforce that.

I guess I just find it amazing that for some parents out there, intelligence is of so much importance. Yes, I want my child to be smart, to excel, to succeed. But more than anything, I wanted, and want, my child to live, to have fun, to enjoy life, to be happy.If that means he will be an "average" child with a great sense of humor or a passion for bowling or whatever, that's fine. If it means he will be a "delayed" child with a heart that can love and find happiness in affection and play, that's fine. If things had gone differently and it meant that he would be a child with Down's syndrome who could still enjoy hugs and smiles and swimming and swinging and watching a funny movie, that's fine.

The fact of the matter is, you don't get to choose what you are given when it comes to children. You can choose to keep or discard what is given to you, but you can't choose who or what your child will be--and I wonder if people who want that choice should really be having them. I got what I most wanted, and to me it was a pretty simple, basic want--for my child to be alive. Everything else--his wonderful sense of humor, his adorableness, his funny gestures, the way he begs for SpongeBob and flirts with waitresses and waves the stink away from his own farts--are wonderful extras that I am lucky, LUCKY, to have.

So what it comes down to, for me, is that I don't really give a shit that Bubba doesn't know his colors yet or all his animal noises or whatever. He's happy. What more could I really ask for???