It Takes A Village

If there is anything the last twelve weeks have taught me, it is that parenting is hard. Sure, everyone said so, but I didn’t really have any idea what it meant until I did it. Breastfeeding hurt, and it wasn’t until week eight or so that the little one and I finally hit our stride there. Hours spent comforting a screaming baby with no apparent reason to be screaming caused even my inhumanly patient husband to throw up his hands in frustration. Worries over whether the baby is eating enough, pooping enough, exercising enough, hitting his age-appropriate milestones plagued my exhausted brain, cutting into my precious little time for sleep.

Everyone also said it is all worth it, and so far I have to agree. But there is no way that I would have made it this far without help. My husband, of course, has been wonderful, but I don’t mean just him. I have a church family that supplied me with almost everything a new mother could need, as well as much appreciated hints and tips and personal experiences. They’re also quick to jump in and hold the baby when he fusses while mama is in the middle of playing a hymn–in fact, they fight over the opportunity! We are a continent away from our families, but I know I can offer my son a community of people who love him and will shepherd him as he grows. I’m so grateful for all of their help and I fully recognize how much I need it.

What I don’t need, however, are government parasites telling me how to raise my child. I don’t need handouts designed to make me dependent, I don’t need government schools to indoctrinate my son into official allowable opinions, and I don’t need bureaucrats deciding what is best for me and my family. Until he is able to make decisions for himself, there is no one more qualified than myself and his father to choose what is in my son’s best interest.

So yes, it takes a village, but not the way they mean it. My son does not belong to society at large, and he does not exist so that he can serve the “greater good” by bowing to the ruling class. He is not a cog in a machine or cannon fodder for a politician’s ambition. Now I just need to figure out how to raise him to believe that as fervently as I do!

A Mother is Born

I officially became a mother on July 22, 2017 at 8:50am, though as any woman who has experienced pregnancy will attest, I was mothering my unborn child long before that moment. In the instant that my doctor invited me and my husband to meet Miles John (and not Winter Helen, the name we’d chosen for a girl) we transformed from married couple to family; from individuals to parents. Suddenly our world revolved around the tiny–well, not too tiny, at eight pounds, four ounces–human entrusted to our care. Our own needs and desires would take a permanent backseat to the demands of the angelic little tyrant we had decided to bring into our lives.

Leaving the hospital with a new baby is a scary thing. One can be shown how to bathe, feed, change, and swaddle a newborn, told to expect periods of constant crying and given soothing strategies, and made to listen to seventeen different lectures on safe sleeping arrangements, and still feel utterly unprepared for the road ahead.

As it turns out, keeping the baby alive is not all that hard. But as my wrinkly newborn turns into a little boy with a personality all his own, I begin to think of the more challenging aspects of parenthood. How do I raise a son who is kind, compassionate, and fully grounded in good moral principles? How do I teach him about the dangers that exist in a world increasingly hostile to white males? How do I ensure that he respects the autonomy and agency of all human beings, and values voluntary interaction rather than coercion or violence? How do I instill in him a lifelong desire to keep learning and growing?

The Free Baby Project is the story of my journey into parenthood, and my successes, failures, and insights along the way. Join me for the ride! It is certain to be messy, frustrating, and heartbreakingly beautiful!