As I mentioned yesterday, I've loved reading
Bringing Up Bébé
this week. I've had my eye on the book ever since it was
reviewed in the New York Times earlier this year. I don't know what made it so instantly appealing to me. Maybe because of the idea of a cross-cultural study in
mothering? We live in Italy partly because we'd love to raise our kids
overseas as much as possible. Or maybe because it's a study of mothering in
another culture in general? Or maybe it was just because it promised
to discuss the lives of obedient little gourmands. Set in France.
Sounds like non-fictional chick lit. Is there a name for that genre?
Anyway, finally it came to a library near me, and I read the whole
book in two days. I honestly wish I owned a copy so that I could mark
it up and remember all my thoughts and revelations as I read, but
c'est la vie. This is my version of notes in the margins.
I should say that
Bringing Up Bébé has received its fair
share of criticism, partly because it's written by an American trying to
summarize an entire subset of French culture, and because the author
Pamela Druckerman focused only on her social niche in France (namely,
middle class Parisians). However, as I know next to nothing about
French culture and middle class Parisians, I chose instead to enjoy the
book as a study of some parents that Druckerman knows who have gotten
some things very admirably right.
Although the book discusses much
more than I will cover here, the main take-away topics for me were the attitude of French mothers towards themselves and their children, their infants' sleep habits, the French emphasis on waiting, their young children's varied palates, and the authority that forms the backbone of French parenting.
French Mothers
The
author points out that the major difference she sees between
American and French pregnant women is
that "American women typically demonstrate our commitment [to our unborn
babies] by worrying and by showing how much we're willing to sacrifice,
even while pregnant; whereas Frenchwomen signal their commitment by
projecting calm and flaunting the fact that they haven't renounced
pleasure." (p 23, emphasis mine) For instance, the author notices that Frenchwomen are
much more relaxed about what they eat during pregnancy than American
women are (and have better birth statistics nationally). Frenchwomen
also don't read every book, magazine, or manual available to handpick
their pregnancy style, delivery style, parenting style. Nope, that's classic American mothering for you. (And yes, I was a prime example of
everything American in this paragraph.)
This attitude continues into French mothers' parenting style.
"What's different about French moms is that they get back their pre-baby
identities, too. For starters, they seem more physically separate from
their children. I've never seen a French mother climb a jungle gym, go
down a slide with her child, or sit on a seesaw--all regular sights
back in the United States and among Americans visiting France. For the
most part... French parents park themselves on the perimeter of the
playground or the sandbox and chat with one another." (p. 129) Later in
that section Druckerman notes, "I'm also struck by the near-universal
assumption that even good mothers aren't at the constant service of
their children, and that there's no reason to feel bad about that." (p
130) That struck me as true. And freeing, both for me and my child.
I tried out French parenting on the playground today with Lena. I
didn't follow her up the stairs, I didn't coax her through the
tunnels. I left her to her own devices, and, what do you know, she loved
it! She also figured out the slide, which I'd been too frightened to
let her slide down independently at all before. Thank you, French
parenting.
Le Pause
I remember the look on the face of a
friend when I told her Lena still wakes up once a night. She couldn't
imagine it, couldn't conceive it, and was panic-stricken just to imagine
years of her life with young children where she wouldn't get to sleep
through the night.
Well, apparently the French also find this idea somewhat
inconceivable, as they train their babies to sleep through the night by
an average of about 3 months old. Druckerman learned that this is
because French parents learn to pause whenever their baby
cries out in sleep during the night. They might wait as long as 5
minutes, observing if the infant is just between sleep cycles or if the
infant is truly awake and needing comfort. If the baby is wailing, the
parents will pick up the baby and comfort him or her back to sleep. But
over time this pause allows a baby to learn self-soothing techniques
and the baby will increasingly learn to sleep through the changes in
sleep cycles and eventually will learn to sleep through the night.
According to Druckerman's observations, French adults of all ages will
ask if your infant is "doing her nights" by around 3 months of age with
the full expectation that the child will learn to sleep from about 8pm
to 8am.
Sign me up! I think I'll try this with our next baby!
Wait!
Have you heard of the
marshmallow experiment? The children in the experiment that
were able to wait to eat the marshmallow controlled themselves and their
impulses through distraction techniques (little songs, playing with
their toes, picking their ears, etc.). Down the road, those children
that were able to wait demonstrated better reasoning and concentrating
skills when revisited as teenagers. The author talked to the researcher behind the marshmallow experiment and compares the techniques the successful children used to the waiting habits instilled naturally in French children.
Druckerman believes that French children are taught to wait on a
regular basis. One big example of cultural waiting is the French
children's meal schedule. They eat breakfast, lunch, a snack around
4:30pm (called gouter), and dinner, and that's it. They do not snack throughout the
day. No baggies of Cheerios in their mother's purse whenever they're
hungry. They learn to wait. The result, the author found, is a national culture with a lot less whining and a lot better table manners.
Let Them Eat Bleu Cheese
I think any American reader
will be dazzled by the delicious descriptions of French food in this
book, most notably the food that is served at the author's daughter's
day care center. "A typical menu," Druckerman describes, "starts with
hearts of palm and tomato salad. That is followed by sliced turkey au basilic
accompanied by rice in a Provencal cream sauce. The third course is a
slice of St. Nectaire cheese with a slice of fresh baguette. Dessert is
fresh kiwi." (p 112) This is the sort of food that French children grow
up eating. In fact, Druckerman herself says she has learned over time
to serve food in courses to her children, especially because serving
vegetables first often ensures the veggies get eaten.
There are many ways that French parents inspire their children to
love food, all kinds of food, prepared in many different ways. It
begins when French parents don't serve bland rice cereal to their
infants. "From the first bite, they serve babies flavor-packed
vegetables. The first foods that French babies typically eat are
steamed and pureed green beans, spinach, carrots, peeled zucchini, and
the white part of leeks." (p 201) From there they continue to encourage a
love for food by preparing fresh foods at home from scratch. (Admit it:
we all know this is perhaps the #1 difference between American and
French eating habits.)
A favorite takeaway for me: French parents traditionally bake
with their children on weekends, beginning at a very young age. Can you
think of a better activity that teaches patience and waiting (measuring
ingredients, baking the cake, waiting until their afternoon gouter to eat a
slice)? I copied down the recipe for the classic Gâteau au Yaourt (Yogurt
Cake) that parents often make with their children. They reuse the
empty yogurt container to measure all the other ingredients. Lena,
let's start baking!
Authoritative Parenting
Of course, all of this hinges on
the parents. How do you teach your child to deal with frustration and
learn to wait patiently? How do you teach your child to sit quietly at
the table through four courses of food? It seems to be that French parents
believe in an idea called cadre, or framework: "setting firm
limits for children, but giving them tremendous freedom within those
limits." (p xvi) Children are taught at an early age what those limits
are, whether they be staying inside the sandbox at the playground, not
throwing their food on the floor during dinner, or waiting to eat the
candy at the birthday party until all their friends are also present.
Within those limits, however, Druckerman describes a lot of
freedom, such as children generally being permitted to eat as much candy
as they so desire once the birthday party actually starts. Pushing or
disobeying those limits, though, is absolutely non-negotiable (unlike
with most American parents, often including myself).
The way these limits are enforced is also through saying "non"
("no") and meaning it. This is so simple and so revolutionary.
Druckerman describes a scene in which she was sitting with her French
friend by a sandbox. Her friend's daughter was playing quietly.
Druckerman's son ran out of the playground every two minutes. Her French
friend instructed Druckerman that she needed to say "no" to her son and mean it.
After about four tests and a great increasing in the conviction behind
the "no," little Leo obeyed... and played happily and peacefully within
his cadre in the sandbox. Druckerman had a calm and uninterrupted conversation with her friend.
Elliott and I use "no" with Lena. He frequently reminds me that I
need to speak with more conviction, to use the word once (not "no no
no!"), and not to use her name as part of my command. He's right. A
simple, convicted "no" leads to an amazing response from my daughter. I
am inspired to speak with more authority. In fact, I might even learn
to employ les gros yeux, but you'll have to read the book to figure out what those are!
*****
In this summary I've skipped so much of the book, including the
lengthy discussions of excellent French daycare, the fact that French mothers rarely
stay at home, and the early emphasis on childhood autonomy. There are parts of French parenting that are definitely not for me, and I don't want to pack up and move to Paris. (Well... at least not this very minute.) Also, it's obvious to me that Druckerman is focusing on a small subset of the population; she admits often how difficult it is to truly get to know French families in their homes, and so I know she doesn't have a pool of thousands of mothers from which she collected her data. So I take it all with a few grains of salt. But those grains of salt pack a lot of flavor, and I'm excited to sprinkle them on our parenting style and see what happens.
What do you think? Does it sound like a worthwhile
read? Overall, the book was fascinating to me, and I recommend it.
I'd love to know your thoughts after you read it!
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