I’ve been on quite the hiatus from This is Not Advice because it is crunch time for the preorder campaign of Not What I Had in Mind: A Motherhood Origin Story.
Soon, you’ll be able to order my debut memoir, but I have a lot of work to do before that happens. So please excuse the interruption of my regular programming.
This is Not Advice (TINA) is weekly publication by me—Laura Freeland, blogger, soon-to-be-published-author, the world’s okayest mom, and avid plant eater—where I explore motherhood, the creative life, and other topics I know almost nothing about.
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“Vivienne, do you know what happens if you don’t eat?” I asked my daughter a few weeks ago.
As soon as our doctors were satisfied with the twins’ growth, I stopped weighing them at home. The scale has historically been a measure of self-worth in this society, but it will not be my daughters’ measure of self-worth.But a few weeks ago, we went to the gastroenterologist. W and w the medical assistant weighed the girls, anxiety churned my insides.
The numbers were so low. I thought they had to be wrong. In the six months between visits, the girls had grown over two inches, but they had not even gained a pound.
Their physician—bless him—told me not to panic. He acknowledged it wasn’t ideal, but he assured me their BMI was still great. It’s unlikely there is a medical condition preventing them from gaining weight, so he was optimistic that a few extra calories here and there would solve our problem.
This is how I found myself in front of a bowl of rice and lentils piled with sweet peas and asparagus and topped with crunchy garlic oil asking my toddler what would happen if she didn’t eat. I thought she would say something like, “I have to go back to the doctor.”
Instead, she looked me right in the eye and said, “my life will end.” She pursed her lips and tilted her head for effect.
She is not wrong, and she is absolutely my kid.
She didn’t come up with that phrase on her own. When she tries to dive headfirst into a shallow bathtub or tries to peek at oncoming traffic, I have often told her that moves like those will end her life. But the moment when she repeated my words back to me were sobering. Not just because she’s listening—she’s been listening for a long time—but because she’s making connections.
On the surface, diving headfirst into a bathtub has nothing in common with a bowl of lentils and spring vegetables. But when she put it into the context of the conversation she heard at the doctor’s office that morning, she understood there are consequences to bathtub diving and to not eating.
My daughters are doing more than just listening and repeating, they are drawing conclusions. They won’t always tell me what those conclusions are, and those conclusions will not always make sense. Everything I say within ear shot shapes them. And if I’m not careful, they can misunderstand me—that will shape them too.
No pressure, right?
For those of you who are drowning in the responsibilities of motherhood and thinking yeah, yeah, your kid is a wise little owl, I come with a peace offering: At two o’clock this morning one kid peed the bed; the other woke up for the event. They partied with their dad on the couch until 4:30am, and now I have to take one to get blood drawn. This is parenting.
Cheers!
In other news:
I’m having Cocktails with Carlisle & Co live in Instagram on June 27th! Sign up for their newsletter to get more info on this event, plus a lot of other interesting tips. ALSO, they’re doing a week of giveaways soon—as am I!—so be sure to stay tuned to Instagram.