They tuck you up, your mum and dad
They read you Peter Rabbit, too.
They give you all the treats they had
And add some extra, just for you.
Sunday 27 November 2011
Wednesday 16 November 2011
Body confidence and the lesser-known benefits of monogamy
I've written before about how I liked what pregnancy did to my body. That's really only part of the story: I liked it until the ninth month, and then I was too big to do much, and I got stretch marks.
I thought maybe that I had escaped, but then, only a few weeks away from my due date, they grew like a climbing vine up to my bellybutton. I didn't care that I had put on weight in pregnancy - weight can be lost - but stretch marks are permanent. I was upset, but I pulled myself together and decided that as long as they stayed below my bellybutton, I'd be okay with them.
Of course, they spread above my bellybutton. At 41 weeks pregnant, I had an angry red crack of lighting spreading up from my knickers.
Where polyamory comes into this is with potential new partners, or even current occasional lovers. If Gaius and I were monogamous, I wouldn't need to worry about what anyone else thought of me naked: his would be the only opinion that mattered. And as far as he is concerned, the fact that I carried and birthed his daughter can only make me more beautiful. If our relationship was sexually exclusive, I wouldn't have had any of these wobbles.
And even if Gaius, Jemmy and I were poly-fidelitous, my body troubles would be gone. Jemmy has an exceptionally catholic taste in women (physically, at least) and even if that weren't true, he has always made me feel beautiful for more than just my body. So it wasn't his admiration waning that troubled me either.
The reason for my (rather uncharacteristic) worries was that my two current partners are not "it" for me. New lovers are an unknown quantity. Will they be secretly turned off by my soft, wrinkled belly? Disappointed by my sagging breasts? These are fears that just wouldn't bother me if I were monogamous.
A few days before I actually gave birth, I am ashamed to admit, I obsessed a little bit about all this. After my friend Lori blogged about body confidence, I mentioned that I was dealing with it, and she and another friend were so sweet to me, that I cried. I am pretty sure now that I was actually in early labour at the time, which might explain my emotional knife-edge, but still. Their kind words were very reassuring.
What they told me was something I was trying to convince myself of at the time: our bodies change, but we shouldn't see changes as losing attractiveness, but as the mark of the things we have survived and achieved. They talked about the beauty of laughter-lines, and the story that scars can tell. They were, of course, right. Two months after Small was born, I looked down at my soft, wrinkled belly with its network of scars, thought "fuck it", and bought a bikini.
I still think that there is a chance that new lovers might find my body less appealing than they would have done before the baby. And while that is not ideal, it is okay. Between my lined belly and my lower, softer breasts, I have completely nourished two people for well over a year. My daughter is happy, healthy and thriving because of my body, and these changes will be a permanent reminder of this. I look down at my belly, with its network of scars and think "there was a baby in there", and that is miraculous and wonderful to me. If people can't see that when they look at me, then fuck 'em. I know that my body is amazing.
I thought maybe that I had escaped, but then, only a few weeks away from my due date, they grew like a climbing vine up to my bellybutton. I didn't care that I had put on weight in pregnancy - weight can be lost - but stretch marks are permanent. I was upset, but I pulled myself together and decided that as long as they stayed below my bellybutton, I'd be okay with them.
Of course, they spread above my bellybutton. At 41 weeks pregnant, I had an angry red crack of lighting spreading up from my knickers.
Where polyamory comes into this is with potential new partners, or even current occasional lovers. If Gaius and I were monogamous, I wouldn't need to worry about what anyone else thought of me naked: his would be the only opinion that mattered. And as far as he is concerned, the fact that I carried and birthed his daughter can only make me more beautiful. If our relationship was sexually exclusive, I wouldn't have had any of these wobbles.
And even if Gaius, Jemmy and I were poly-fidelitous, my body troubles would be gone. Jemmy has an exceptionally catholic taste in women (physically, at least) and even if that weren't true, he has always made me feel beautiful for more than just my body. So it wasn't his admiration waning that troubled me either.
The reason for my (rather uncharacteristic) worries was that my two current partners are not "it" for me. New lovers are an unknown quantity. Will they be secretly turned off by my soft, wrinkled belly? Disappointed by my sagging breasts? These are fears that just wouldn't bother me if I were monogamous.
A few days before I actually gave birth, I am ashamed to admit, I obsessed a little bit about all this. After my friend Lori blogged about body confidence, I mentioned that I was dealing with it, and she and another friend were so sweet to me, that I cried. I am pretty sure now that I was actually in early labour at the time, which might explain my emotional knife-edge, but still. Their kind words were very reassuring.
What they told me was something I was trying to convince myself of at the time: our bodies change, but we shouldn't see changes as losing attractiveness, but as the mark of the things we have survived and achieved. They talked about the beauty of laughter-lines, and the story that scars can tell. They were, of course, right. Two months after Small was born, I looked down at my soft, wrinkled belly with its network of scars, thought "fuck it", and bought a bikini.
I still think that there is a chance that new lovers might find my body less appealing than they would have done before the baby. And while that is not ideal, it is okay. Between my lined belly and my lower, softer breasts, I have completely nourished two people for well over a year. My daughter is happy, healthy and thriving because of my body, and these changes will be a permanent reminder of this. I look down at my belly, with its network of scars and think "there was a baby in there", and that is miraculous and wonderful to me. If people can't see that when they look at me, then fuck 'em. I know that my body is amazing.
Tuesday 8 November 2011
The Poly Tribe
A little while ago, I stumbled across a book called "The Continuum Concept", by Jean Liedloff. This book is one of the forerunners to Attachment Parenting, which is a parenting style that we found ourselves adopting to some extent before we knew that it existed.
Attachment parenting, however (as is nearly all modern parenting advice), is based on the concept of the nuclear family. In the Contiuum Concept, the emphasis is on sharing your life (including parenting) with a tribe. Because babies are at their most content when being carried, for example, you carry your baby in your arms or in a sling. Unlike parents who are doing this alone, if you need to put your baby down, you pass her to another tribe member. In the Amazonian society that Liedloff examined, parenting was shared, and so were the tasks of everyday life.
The parenting books and websites that I read when I was pregnant all warned about the stress that having too many visitors can put on new parents. Instinctively, we ignored this advice, and for the first few weeks, we had near constant streams of family and friends staying with us. This was partly because we are both extroverts, but also because we knew that those we loved could be called on to help. And many of those that came had children of their own, so they knew what would be useful to us: they cooked our meals, cleaned our kitchen, changed nappies, and cuddled our restless newborn while we slept. This support meant that I could concentrate on little more than breastfeeding and rest. And really, this is how millions of people around the world get through the difficult neonatal period. We're not meant to do this alone.
We are lucky that we have a large, supportive and loving extended family who were helpful without being smothering. But because we know how lucky we are, we also know that relying on family is not enough. We need a tribe.
Which is why both Gaius and I love the idea that Small will have Jemmy in her life. He can be relied on to offer support to us, and in the future, we all hope that she will consider him to be part of her tribe. More than this, we have friends, lovers and potential new partners whom we would like to share our family with in a million little ways, big and small. Similarly, I see a future where some of those we love will have children of their own, and having had such wonderful support offered to us, we can pass it on. We will know to cook their meals, clean their kitchen, change nappies, and (most importantly) bond with our newest tribe member by cuddling him or her, so the parents can have a break.
I know that many in the world think that lifestyles and sexual proclivities such as ours make us unsuitable parents, but I see the possibility that our lives are growing towards something even more wonderful and supportive for our family than the more traditional childhoods that Gaius and I were privileged to enjoy.
Where the concept of the tribe and my ideal differs, is that the people I surround myself with are here by choice. Even our families, now we are adults, are part of our tribe because we want them to be, not just because we are related. And my partners, lovers and friends are all people that I respect, love and cherish for their input in our lives. This is where polyamory comes in, because the bonds that we make when we love each other are not only as strong as a loving family, but they are all with people that we have chosen, and we value for their contribution to our lives, in many different ways. Some of these people will be our relatives, but others will not. Polyamory means that our tribe does not just create love, it is built on it.
Attachment parenting, however (as is nearly all modern parenting advice), is based on the concept of the nuclear family. In the Contiuum Concept, the emphasis is on sharing your life (including parenting) with a tribe. Because babies are at their most content when being carried, for example, you carry your baby in your arms or in a sling. Unlike parents who are doing this alone, if you need to put your baby down, you pass her to another tribe member. In the Amazonian society that Liedloff examined, parenting was shared, and so were the tasks of everyday life.
The parenting books and websites that I read when I was pregnant all warned about the stress that having too many visitors can put on new parents. Instinctively, we ignored this advice, and for the first few weeks, we had near constant streams of family and friends staying with us. This was partly because we are both extroverts, but also because we knew that those we loved could be called on to help. And many of those that came had children of their own, so they knew what would be useful to us: they cooked our meals, cleaned our kitchen, changed nappies, and cuddled our restless newborn while we slept. This support meant that I could concentrate on little more than breastfeeding and rest. And really, this is how millions of people around the world get through the difficult neonatal period. We're not meant to do this alone.
We are lucky that we have a large, supportive and loving extended family who were helpful without being smothering. But because we know how lucky we are, we also know that relying on family is not enough. We need a tribe.
Which is why both Gaius and I love the idea that Small will have Jemmy in her life. He can be relied on to offer support to us, and in the future, we all hope that she will consider him to be part of her tribe. More than this, we have friends, lovers and potential new partners whom we would like to share our family with in a million little ways, big and small. Similarly, I see a future where some of those we love will have children of their own, and having had such wonderful support offered to us, we can pass it on. We will know to cook their meals, clean their kitchen, change nappies, and (most importantly) bond with our newest tribe member by cuddling him or her, so the parents can have a break.
I know that many in the world think that lifestyles and sexual proclivities such as ours make us unsuitable parents, but I see the possibility that our lives are growing towards something even more wonderful and supportive for our family than the more traditional childhoods that Gaius and I were privileged to enjoy.
Where the concept of the tribe and my ideal differs, is that the people I surround myself with are here by choice. Even our families, now we are adults, are part of our tribe because we want them to be, not just because we are related. And my partners, lovers and friends are all people that I respect, love and cherish for their input in our lives. This is where polyamory comes in, because the bonds that we make when we love each other are not only as strong as a loving family, but they are all with people that we have chosen, and we value for their contribution to our lives, in many different ways. Some of these people will be our relatives, but others will not. Polyamory means that our tribe does not just create love, it is built on it.
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