I am the designated discussion leader for this week’s chapter, and as it turns out, that’s a harder job than I expected. I am writing this on a Saturday night while simultaneously making sure a sleeping nine-month-old doesn’t roll of bed. She’s done it once before, and in doing so quite effectively caused her babysitters’ paranoia level to skyrocket. She knows I am here and keeps checking to make sure I’m not going anywhere…so I won’t. At least not while writing.
I am still a mom-of-the-somewhat-distant-future, thank goodness, and so I have time to compare and contrast models of baby care and see what works and what most certainly doesn’t. At this point, I am putting the pieces together from several wise aunties and grandmas and unrelated advisors, all of whom have something to say about the social-emotional upbringing of their niece/granddaughter/cherished little person. Little or no attention is given (in this baby’s circle, at least, and I have reason to believe that on this dimension she’s representative of a larger trend) to environmental impact or sustainability—to making sure this representative of the next generation at least has something in which to swaddle her own children.
And that’s where baby and Natural Capitalism, Chapter Three intersect. Ours is one of those kids that equals ten other kids—you know, because American moms and dads are consume resources at an astounding rate, making sure their little ones are taken care of. Carseats and cribs and diaper bags (not to mention diapers), oh my! And really, who can blame them? I would do anything to make sure this baby is happy, up to and including sitting here in the dark instead of putting her in her crib, where she would probably cry for an hour. I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault, per se, that the next generation in this country is unbelievably spoiled (at least materially); I wish they all received the level of attention our little one gets. But our collective focus is on other things.
H & the Ls don’t say anything I haven’t heard (such seems to be the trend lately, and perhaps I will write on that later), but do provide some food for thought in this chapter, “Waste Not.” For instance, they point out that environmental feedback is constantly occurring in nature, but not in our social institutions: for instance, when’s the last time you heard a parent say “oh, dear, the diapers my baby shat in last week are not decomposing, and I am concerned.” Moms don’t say those things, because along with everything else disposable, diapers get put out on the curb for collection each week—it’s one of the many miracles of modern life. (To be honest, garbage collection never ceases to amaze me; neither does the mail, for what that’s worth.)
The point of this chapter is one that I could explore further, though: the connection between wasting resources and wasting people. What does it mean that the U.S. is the largest penal colony on earth (54) and whatever we’re teaching our children isn’t working (55)? Whatever happened to wrapping the baby up and carrying her on your back while you did whatever you were going to do and then, when she became mobile enough, having her follow you around and showing (not telling) her the essential skills for survival? Why do we farm out that experience? And what change will be effected by the ameliorative measures being taken in (alternative) education these days, when even the best moms and dads don’t consider what the baby’s stroller is made out of, or where it’s made, or who made it?
I’m not interested in bleak statistics or dire warnings or predictions at this point. I am interested in what is compelling about the model of babyhood (and childhood and adolescence and adulthood, for that matter) that we currently work from. Something obviously is, and I can’t condemn folks for being compelled by it. I don’t know the way to fix what’s broken, but I know we’re broken and there has got to be a better way. Pressure’s on to figure something out, though: kids today are depending on us.