cat-tachment parenting

Della and Woodles

We did it full bore. When we had babies we were 'all in'. Some call it attachment parenting. In a nutshell, it means adopting a focused and unswerving nursing, co-sleeping, baby wearing mania. Matt calls it full-immersion parenting. Whatever you call it, we did it. I nursed three kids for seven years, at one point we had two king sized beds pushed together, and Max did not leave my side till I went to the hospital to birth Lewis. I imagine that I was unbearable to be around at the time, being all militaristic about the whole thing, but there you have it. Praise God I didn't have a blog back then. It would have been awful. So serious and dour. Can you even imagine?
And then came child number three.

When people are ruminating on whether or not to have a third child, I always like to throw in my two cents. "Of course you should. Why the hell not? Make it a party. The third one is so easy! It's old hat by then, no worries." And it really does seem that way to me. Perhaps that's because I changed my ways a bit. We were tired of heels, elbows, and knees in our ribs. I had come to believe that I would never again experience a morning with verve or vigor. We bought a crib. Gulp. I let the cat raise the baby.

You think I'm joking.

I'm not.

Della was agreeable straight out of the gate. She was born happy. She was luscious and peachy and sturdy. She came home and was at once one of us. Laughing and wanting to be a part of it all. The crib was new for us. I looked at it with scorn, but truly longed to turn over in my sleep without having to spend forty five minutes analyzing which limb I would move in what direction without waking a being that would then want to suckle for two hours.

So I put her in the crib and left the room.

MON.U.MENTAL.

No child o' mine had ever cried it out. But now, I was oddly intrigued with that very notion. Would she die of heartache? I thought not. Would I? Maybe.

I stood at the door just to torture myself, but there was not a peep. I could hear some moving around but no crying. Hhhmmmm. I waited and finally went about my business. About a half hour later, I could no longer stand it. The boys had NEVER gone to sleep without my vigilant attention, my warm body, my motherly coos. I snuck in the room and peaked into the crib.

Nestled over, around, and beside my newborn baby was Woodles, our enormous cat. They were both purring. Both were so dang happy. My first thought was of the bizarre wives tale maintaining that cats like to kill babies by sucking their breath. My second thought was that he could easily lay across her head and suffocate her, but that seemed unlikely. My third thought was HELL YES!, that cat is doing my job and doing it well. He was soft and fairly clean, sweet and always tired. Why had I not thought of this sooner?

The cat and I shared similar philosophies and he was not burned out on the job. He seemed to know his role and was diligent. Where ever and when ever I set her down, Woodles would take over. He would walk all over her till he found just the right position and then wrap himself around her and settle his considerable soft bulk onto her. Skin to fur.

And so I founded the movement called Cat-tachment parenting. I was featured on Sixty Minutes and interviewed by Morley Safer...such a dear man.

Morley: At what point did you realize that your cat offered an enriching dynamic to the parent child relationship and why don't we hear about this more often?

Me: It has always been something that I felt strongly about. (Total bullshit, it was the cat's idea, but I wanted to appear 'in control' of my parenting pedagogy) It is so alienating for a pet when we bring a new child into the home and this was an organic melding of so many vital needs at a potentially stress filled time. I was able to HEAR my cat and honor his needs while simultaneously providing a plush, womb-like, nurturing environment for my child. Win-win you know. It's sure to catch on when parent's realize that they can share their jobs with the family pet. My only chagrin is that Woodles was not lactating at the time. 

Morley: I'm sorry, I thought Woodles was a male cat.

Me: Yes, yes he was. It would have been a miracle.

tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick

Parenting is serious business. It really is. But sometimes it gets too serious. This break with reality was brought to you as a screwed up reminder to step back and take a deep breath. Our children don't always need us to be analyzing their every whimper. It's OK to be sad, mad, frustrated, or bored. Hand them a book or a peach or a crayon.

Or the cat. 

And walk away.

Words aren't always best.

Let them be with themselves to sort and shuffle their thoughts.

We shouldn't try to solve or address every hiccup...growing requires bumps and tumbles.
They know we're there for them.

***

The cat really did co-parent Della. No joke. Never left her side.

Gave me hours of delightful rest.

Loved that cat!