(originally posted at domestic father)

Why am I the person to be writing this story?

I’m not.

I am not a doctor. I am not a scientist. I am not a child psychologist. I have absolutely no qualifications as a childcare professional.

This story is not my story.

I am still a skeptic, but that is not all that I am. Most of my free time for the past 9 months has been consumed by this subject, and I feel that it has had a larger role than perhaps it should have.

I have said more times than I can count that skepticism is a tool. I have begun to feel like a carpenter, writing a blog about his favorite hammer. It is time to stop talking about the hammer, and start building.

For the past few weeks, I have looked for a way to incorporate other aspects of my life into this blog, but to no avail. It is with more than a little bit of sadness that I announce that this is my last post at Domestic Father.

I have been overwhelmed by the success of [domestic father], and I cannot adequately express how grateful I am to all of you who took the time to read here, link here, and comment here.

But, there are other things I wish to learn about, to write about. These are for my other blog, evenlake, where I have decided to continue some of the topics of this blog. Just not exclusively.

I can only hope you will chose to join me there, but I understand that it may not be to your liking. If you want to know what it’s about, visit the About page. Or you can just trust me and subscribe to the RSS feed sight unseen.

I will continue to manage Skeptical Parent Crossing, periodically hosting and submitting articles as well. I will keep reading and commenting on your blogs, and will remain a member of the community. I just no longer have the time nor the inclination to maintain a blog devoted solely to skepticism. It is time for me to move on.

Thank you again for your time and your attention, and I hope to see you around.

As I said in my last post, skepticism is a tool, one of many we can use as parents. I have found it to be one of the more valuable tools, but it remains just a tool.

We can use it to evaluate claims made to us, the claims we parents hear on a daily basis. We can use it to explain the world to ourselves and our children, explanations that are based in reality rather than myth and tradition.

But it is still only a tool.

When I was talking with the story consultant, she suggested that I examine my own insecurities, see if they were the reason for the story I was writing in this blog.

My insecurities in a society that doesn’t yet value stay-at-home dads, my insecurities as a new parent, these were what underlay my choice in writing a blog about skeptical parenting. I used my skepticism as armor, a way to protect myself from the slings and arrows of an outlandish culture.

Researching and reviewing claims had taken up most of my free time. It gave me a sense of control, a feeling that I knew what I was doing, when in fact I mostly relied on instinct and common sense, two other tools in the parenting toolbox.

When I told Diane what I had discovered, that she was right, that perhaps I had picked skepticism as a subject due to my insecurities, she offered nothing but support.

“I’m so happy you were with me on where I was heading with that…. Sounds as if there might be room to explore your experiences and perceptions [of at-home fatherhood].

“You’ve got a real gold mine of material there, my friend.”

But how to extract it, in this niche of skepticism?

I am a skeptic, but I am not only a skeptic. I am a father, but not just a father. I am a stay-at-home parent, but that is not all that I am. Like everyone else, I contain multitudes.

Diane wrapped up our session by telling me, “the most important question to ask yourself is, ‘What am I writing, and why am I the person to be writing it?’”

Next post: Wherein This Story Ends

(cross-posted at domestic father)

A couple of weeks after my conversation with Diane from The Story Spot, I received an email from Nancy McDermott. Nancy is a fellow parent and fellow New Yorker, and had recently written an article for spiked.com called “Parenting: it’s not rocket science.” She thought I might find it interesting. More than interesting, I found it profoundly relevant to my situation.

She writes,

The idea that parenting is more complicated than ever before is an observation I hear often from my older relatives….

It’s not simply that parents are spending time deliberating things like whether their baby’s first food should be rice cereal or pears or avocado – once simple decisions that are now apparently terribly complicated. It’s the way we are deliberating. The whole language we use has undergone a transformation. We investigate. We research. We weigh the evidence.

Exactly what I had been doing almost every morning since Sally went back to work. Every claim I heard was subject to my scrutiny. Those that I thought were post-worthy would receive more attention. I would spend hours on each post, making certain my research was accurate, and that I had not fallen into any logical fallacies. Whenever CJ slept, I pulled out the Google and went to work.

Imagine my surprise when I read the next paragraph.

The highly technical language we use to discuss ordinary aspects of childrearing belies a collective lack of confidence.

Just two weeks before, I had an experience that I described as rare, and yet here it was happening again. Truth was revealing itself to me as I saw myself mirrored in McDermott’s writing.

We no longer feel comfortable justifying our beliefs about bringing up our children on the basis of ‘common sense’ or experience.

Sally and I live far away from most of our families. We cannot rely on the wisdom of our older relatives when confronted with commonplace parenting issues. We must find something else to help us with these questions. In the process of discovering our answers, we look back at our own childhoods and laugh uncomfortably at some of the things our parents did.

But, even with all the knowledge of the ages at our fingertips, modern parents can still only do what works for them. It is the same thing our parents did. McDermott writes,

The decisions we make as parents are reasonable: that is, they are the product of our judgement, synthesising what we know of the facts and our own child, what is expected of us by others and our own moral sensibilities, into a solution that is right for our individual situation.

Further, there is no Universal Infallible Theory of Parenting.

no scientific theory can ever serve as a guide to individual action. It’s like giving 10 people pots of yellow and blue paint and expecting them all to mix the same shade of green. It’s possible in the abstract, but the reality is far more complex.

Our parents had very little information. They relied on their pediatricians, their relatives, maybe Dr Spock, but mostly on their own judgment and common sense. And indeed, that is what McDermott thinks may be the greatest resource for modern parents as well.

It may be that the most ‘rational’ course of action for parents in these circumstances is to rely first and foremost on their own judgement and leave contesting science to the scientists.

Educating yourself is essential. But so many parenting issues have no definitive answers, only competing science. We can educate ourselves in the methods of science to assist us in evaluating all of the studies, but, honestly, how often does it change our behavior? I can think of at least 3 things we do with CJ that probably aren’t in accordance with the latest science.

Skepticism is a tool, an excellent tool, but it is not an answer. It helps us make decisions, but it cannot make them for us.

Next post: Skepticism Is a Tool

(cross-posted at domestic father)

“Maybe it’s your own insecurities.”

Words from the story consultant, they were an epiphany to me. She suggested my insecurities might have stemmed from being a new parent, but I knew they ran deeper.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea? It’s kind of a career-killer, isn’t it?”

Words from a well-meaning neighbor, when I told him I was staying home with CJ. He’s a great guy, just a little old school. And I could tell by the look on his face, the idea of staying home with his kids while his wife brought home the paycheck was anathema to him.

I had certainly considered this before quitting my job. I was a well-paid consultant, but Sally was more well-paid. Because we were upper-middle-class, we could afford to have one of us stay home, without a significant impact on our lifestyle. Ironically, a stay-at-home parent has become a luxury item.

“[He]‘s been a stay-at-home dad for years. What’s he going to do when he tries to go back into the workforce?”

Words from my mother, who, following her divorce from my father, and after 14 years as a stay-at-home mom, was forced to go back to work to support her 3 kids. In her early 40s, she started as an administrative assistant. Over the next 20 years, she negotiated with teamsters, steelworkers, and sexist bosses, ultimately retiring at 63 from an executive position at a public company.

She went back to work because she had to, but many women today face the inverse of what I was facing. If they choose to go back to work after having a child, they are asked, “Shouldn’t you be home with the kids?” They often feel guilt and insecurity because they choose to continue their careers.

“Dude’s a man-bitch. Takes care of the kid why she goes out and makes the money.” Drops (Method Man) -CSI “Drops’ Out”

Words from a hugely popular television show, spoken by a character who is the archetypal charming rogue. None of the main characters chided him for saying it, the line was meant to get a laugh.

By portraying the stay-at-home dad as an inept boob or a slovenly dunderhead, popular culture has yet to accept men as competent, capable caregivers.

“Mothers are natural nurturers. Fathers are not. It goes back to the hunter and gatherers type.” -Missouri State Representative Cynthia Davis

Words from an elected official, in an attempt to defend her bill that proposes a tax credit for stay-at-home moms, but not for stay-at-home dads.

Forget that the skeptic in me knows this to be utter nonsense, I find it incredibly amusing that a woman who believes “alternatives to evolution” should be taught in public school, would refer to “hunter and gatherers type” to support her argument. And apparently stay-at-home moms don’t escape her scorn either. According to the St Louis Post-Dispatch, in a committee hearing, “she suggested imagining a mother who stays at home — and ‘I hate to say it — but watches soap operas and eats bonbons all day,’ who might decide to pursue higher education because of this program.”

“You call yourself Mr. Mom. God calls you a bum.” -Reverend John Hagee

Words from a man of the cloth, whose church has nearly 20,000 members, and whose sermons are broadcast by over 200 radio and television stations around the country.

At least one major Presidential candidate sought Hagee’s endorsement in an effort to woo the large bloc of conservative Christians who are said to have won the 2004 election for Bush. John McCain ultimately repudiated the endorsement, but only after Hagee’s statements about Catholics, homosexuals, and Jewish people proved too poisonous for his campaign.

“Why go to work to earn money to give to someone else to raise my daughter?”

Words from me, when, after seeing my two-month-old in the hospital with an IV in her arm, I decided I was going to quit my job and stay at home to raise her.

I have never had a job that was more fun, more fulfilling, and at times, more exasperating than the one I have now. I have never regretted my decision, nor have I ever been ashamed of what I do. I love what I get to do.

But, when being assailed by a culture that questions my manhood, and at the same time my ability to be a nurturing parent, it’s hard not to feel a little insecure. My skepticism has been my armor.

Next post: A Theme Emerges

(cross-posted at domestic father)

A few weeks before we left for England, I started playing around with Twitter. I poked around, looking for people to follow: skeptics, writers, at-home parents, and generally people who would amuse me. On any given day, I might add 5 or 6 people to my “following” list, so when I received the following Direct Message, I wasn’t sure what to think:

I was soon in touch with Diane Wright, the founder and managing editor of The Story Spot, “an online resource for screenwriters and the story consultants who love them.” She offered an hour of consulting as my freebie, and though I am not an aspiring screenwriter, I figured I could use her as a sounding board for some ideas about this and my personal blog. [Editor's note: Wright's exact words are recreated from memory and notes of our conversation, and are therefore probably not exactly what she said. Below I'm paraphrasing for dramatic effect.]

“I’ve never consulted someone about a blog,” Diane told me. “It should be interesting.”

I gave her links to some of my favorite posts, and told her I was looking for a way to make a unified story within each of my blogs.

This is tricky. As Andrew Sullivan wrote last year in his article, “Why I Blog,”

As you read a log, you have the curious sense of moving backward in time as you move forward in pages—the opposite of a book. As you piece together a narrative that was never intended as one, it seems—and is—more truthful. Logs, in this sense, were a form of human self-correction. They amended for hindsight, for the ways in which human beings order and tidy and construct the story of their lives as they look back on them. Logs require a letting-go of narrative because they do not allow for a knowledge of the ending. So they have plot as well as dramatic irony—the reader will know the ending before the writer did.

So how does one construct a story for a blog, if one doesn’t know the end? This is what I wanted to talk about, but it wasn’t quite where the conversation went.

It started simply enough, with Diane offering suggestions as to how I could frame the overall narrative arc.

“You could draw specific parallels of you growing as a parent and a skeptic as you watch your daughter grow up as a person. Maybe use her growth stages as metaphors.”

Fairly straightforward advice, and we explored this for a bit. But, after about 20 minutes, she took me down an unexpected path.

“You know, Blake, there’s always something there, whether or not you see it.”

I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, and asked her to continue.

“Well, um…. Have you ever thought that maybe it’s your, well, your own insecurities.”

Moments like this are rare in one’s life, moments where time seems to elongate, when one’s vision narrows to a single point. Moments when truth becomes suddenly and dramatically clear.

“Hmm.” I replied, stalling for time.

“I mean, maybe part of the reason you chose the subject of skepticism, is based partly on your insecurity of being a father, feelings every new parent has.”

She was backing off because she thought my silence meant I didn’t like where she was going. To keep the moment, I had to reel her back in.

“No, you’re absolutely right.”

That thing that had been nagging at me for weeks, had just revealed itself. My reticence to speak, my feelings of inadequacy, perhaps even my entire blog, had been based in my own insecurities. Not just the standard new-parent insecurities, but ones that ran even deeper.

Next post: At-home Fatherhood

(cross-posted at domestic father)

As I mentioned in a previous post, we stayed with our friends Simon and Simone when we were in England. Simon is an MD and scientist, and, as such, is a professional skeptic. Talking with him about some of these subjects is a bit daunting, as he also has two children, and therefore has been both a parent and a skeptic for far longer than I.

When discussing parenting, and especially skeptical parenting, I was perhaps a little more guarded than I am with other friends. Fear of looking like an idiot was certainly part of it, but it was mostly because I know I can learn more by listening than by talking. Being around someone who has more experience at something can be enlightening; being challenged inevitably makes you better.

But, when we left Oxford and headed to London, I found that my reluctance to speak about my skepticism did not stay in Oxford. In fact, my reluctance to join in many conversations was heightened around friends with whom I normally would banter freely.

Never one to shy away from introspection, I ruminated on what might be causing this change in my behavior. When I stumbled on it, I was a little troubled by what I determined was the root of this reluctance: my status as a stay-at-home dad.

I have not talked about this much here. There are many other SAHD blogs, all of which address the subject better than I could. I have never really felt it was relevant to this blog. But, after the trip to England, it was no longer something I could ignore.

At the core, I felt as though I no longer had anything to add to a conversation. All of our friends had kids, and since my life was currently centered around raising our daughter, what could I say that they didn’t already know, hadn’t already experienced for themselves? When talking about the blog, I felt like I was being humored, like a child showing off his drawings.

Of course, none of our friends actually treated me this way. And when I was working for a paycheck, I never felt this way about other stay-at-home parents; if anything, I envied them. For some reason, though, I was projecting something on to everyone else, struggling with my own worries about how society perceives me because I left my job to stay at home with my child.

Now, all of this was not quite so well-constructed in my mind when we left the UK. It was more of an irritating nag just above my subconsciousness. But, it all came out, fully-formed like Athena from Zeus’ forehead, when, of all things, I won a contest.

Next Post: The Story Consultant

(cross-posted at domestic father)

“And why, exactly, are nitrates bad?”

This question, from our friend Simon, made me realize I had accepted the word of an authority figure without question. I had no idea why an elevated level of nitrates in CJ’s food was bad, but her pediatrician said it was so, and I accepted that.

Nitrates, I knew, are a naturally occurring form of nitrogen absorbed by plants through the roots. Some farmers add nitrates to the soil in the form of fertilizer, and some vegetables, like carrots, beets, and spinach, retain higher levels of nitrates after harvest.

But, after I couldn’t answer Simon’s question, and after Simon left the house, I jumped on the web. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics,

The gastric pH of infants is higher than that in older children and adults, with resultant proliferation of intestinal flora that can reduce the ingested nitrate to nitrite.

Once the nitrate is converted to a nitrite,

the nitrite ion oxidizes ferrous iron in hemoglobin to the ferric state. The resulting compound, methemoglobin, is incapable of binding molecular oxygen… which results in hypoxemia.

This is known as methemoglobinemia, and the resulting lack of oxygen in the blood leads to Blue Baby Syndrome, at which point it’s time for a visit to the hospital.

This is quite a terrifying prospect, and one I would certainly like to avoid. Wouldn’t it be safer to avoid these foods altogether?

The AAP’s policy comforted me a little. The Abstract states,

There seems to be little or no risk of nitrate poisoning from commercially prepared infant foods in the United States. However, reports of nitrate poisoning from home-prepared vegetable foods for infants continue to occur.

OK, but when could I start feeding her the same food we eat? According to the same policy statement,

home-prepared infant foods from vegetables (eg, spinach, beets, green beans, squash, carrots) should be avoided until infants are 3 months or older, although there is no nutritional indication to add complementary foods to the diet of the healthy term infant before 4 to 6 months of age.

CJ was 8 months old when we were in Oxford.

In other words, not only was it something we shouldn’t worry about, but according to the AAP’s own statement, it’s something most parents don’t need to worry about. If you’re not feeding your baby anything but breast milk or formula until 4-6 months, as they recommend, then you’re already out of the proverbial woods.

Apparently, the main problem is not with homemade baby food, nor is that even the main subject of the policy statement.

The greatest risk of nitrate poisoning (methemoglobinemia) occurs in infants fed well water contaminated with nitrates.

Well water.

Considering there haven’t been wells in Manhattan since 1842, I’d say I was over-concerned about nitrates in CJ’s diet.

(cross-posted at domestic father)