Baby Meets World: A Conversation with the Author

Yesterday, I posted an excerpt from Nicholas Day’s new book, Baby Meets World. If you missed it, check it out to learn how modern hunter-gatherer societies raise children, and how that task is supported by not just by hard-working mothers but the entire culture. It’s good stuff.

After reading his book, I had lots of questions for author Nicholas Day. Today, I bring you our conversation about his book and on the roles of science, culture, and instinct in parenting.

Alice: Becoming a parent changes all of us. What was it about your particular transition to fatherhood that made you want to research and write this book, to dive into the history and the science of parenting in a way that extended beyond your own reality of parenting?

IMG_4413Nicholas: In a way, I think it was the part of me that wasn’t changed that led to this book: I had stupid questions about babies in the same way I have stupid questions about everything else. (It’s a personality flaw.) I didn’t see why I had to think of babies as simply problems to be solved. Most baby books have what I think of as the leaky faucet approach: if your baby is dripping, we recommend this socket wrench. And there were many, many times when all I wanted was that socket wrench. But I also thought babies were interesting subjects all on their own. I wanted a book that acknowledged that. And I wanted a book that was wide-angled. The study of infancy is highly compartmentalized: the different disciplines don’t talk to each other. The few good books about babies tend to be highly focused: they look at babies through the lens of a cognitive scientist, say, or a developmental psychologist. But there are so many lenses out there! It seemed a shame to only see a baby as like this or like that. There’s so much left outside the frame. So this book tries to show readers the many different versions of a baby that people have seen—and still see today.

It’s strange. You wouldn’t think that babies would be an obscure subject: they are everywhere. (In our highly fertile neighborhood, I sometimes feel like Hitchcock’s The Birds is being reenacted—but this time with babies.)  But they’ve been weirdly neglected. This is sort of hard to believe: any book about babies has to clear the high hurdle of being another damn book about babies. (Right? Like that’s what we need. Also, we totally need more diet books.) But I concluded that we really did need that. Babies are still strangers in our midst.

Alice: Your book focuses on four basic facts of infancy: “suck, smile, touch, toddle.” How did you choose these topics? Why not “eat, sleep, poop, cry,” for example?

Nicholas: I joke about this at the end of the book—that there’s so much going on in infancy I could easily have chosen spitting, shitting, screaming, sharing.

Part of why I went with these topics was that I actually wanted answers about them: I really wanted to know where a smile comes from and what a first smile might mean, for example. But I also thought these subjects had been overlooked. There’s been an enormous amount written on sleep, for very obvious reasons: any new parent is obsessed with sleep. But there’s very little written about smiling or walking. It’s the leaky faucet problem: because a smile can’t be fixed, no one writes about it.

Alice: Your book is not at all intended to be a parenting advice book. It fact, it reads at times like a history of bad parenting advice. There are examples of medical authorities being horribly wrong in the advice that they gave to parents (such as the idea that newborns and sick babies should have little contact with their parents, to prevent the spread of germs). In hindsight, we can say that these crazy ideas were based more on opinion and personal theories than on any data. But after doing your research, what do you think is the role of science and medicine in guiding parents today?

Nicholas: This is a very hard question—I struggle with it even after writing the book. (I also have a soon-to-be-published piece about this in Motherlode over at the Times, and I don’t want to scoop myself.) It may seem like a cop out to quote you here! But I want to anyway—and don’t you dare delete it out of modesty—because I think your “what evidence-based parenting means to me” post is very sensible and nuanced in a way that discussions of science in parenting rarely are. You write:

“It is an attempt to understand the questions as well as the answers. It isn’t a search for the One Right Way so much as it is a quest to understand the variation, complexity, and bias inherent to real life. After all, no scientist will tell you that their research has answered all the questions; instead, they know that every new experiment uncovers both new knowledge and new questions. To me, it is this spirit of curiosity that defines evidence-based parenting.”

That’s wonderfully restrained. I rarely see that sort of humility in how people talk about the role of science in guiding parents, and I think this blog is a model for how to write about science and parenting: cautiously, rigorously, with a keen eye for the limitations of the research and an awareness of the role of culture. And a distaste for ringing pronouncements.

[Alice is totally blushing now.]

Nicholas: I’d add a caveat to your statement that no scientist will tell you that their research has answered all the questions. This is true. But scientists are often so deeply immersed in their work that they lose perspective. That’s not a bad thing: if you study something, you’d better believe that it is important. But it means that they are highly unreliable guides to the overall terrain. If you ask a geologist to lead you out of the wilderness, you’re going to hear an awful lot about rocks.

Parenting is a dizzyingly complex ecosystem: reducing it to single variables and then pronouncing on their rightness or wrongness, their goodness or badness, is really, really hard. Something is always being left out. The science has never been better, as you say, and the new evidence-based parenting promises a lot: for many years we have been told that “science” says things that science doesn’t actually say—and finally people are pointing this out. But we should be cautious about how much we think we know; we should be less certain about our certainties.

The promise and peril of science is that it can convince us that some things we feel are wrong are actually right. The power to convince someone against his or her better judgment is an awesome power.

Alice: Sometimes I think that modern Western parents are uniquely worried about parenting. We don’t feel like we have a strong parenting culture to guide us, so we’re all struggling to define our own philosophies about raising children. After your research on parenting through history and across cultures, do you think we really have it harder? Or are we just another in a long line of generations of parents full of angst?

Nicholas: My rough answer to this is twofold:

1) Most Western parents have lives that are easier, materially speaking, so to counterbalance that we’ve decided to make parenting harder. I’m halfway serious: the angst expands to fill the available space. We’re also around our children less, so we worry more about getting the most out of the time we have.

2) We live in a fractured age: at no point in human history has anyone had as many parenting choices as we have now. I think a lot of those choices are actually the illusion of choice—that we’re more influenced by the dominant culture, and less free to discard it, than we might believe—but there are still many real choices every parent is faced with. In a way, that’s what this blog is about: you’re trying to sort through, in an evidence-based way, all these choices. And that’s why this blog is so useful: we’re all paralyzed by these choices. There are too many yogurt brands in the yogurt case.

As I write in the book, the point of a culture, in a way, is to hand down the right answer to everyone in it: this is how you raise a baby. Many of these right answers weren’t actually right, of course. (Colostrum is semen!) But that didn’t matter. They were the answer. They kept parents from going crazy.

For us moderns, that’s no longer the case. And sometimes that’s good: the accumulation of knowledge and perspective has been hugely beneficial. (We are now pretty sure that colostrum is not semen.) But it also means that it is now a lot easier to go crazy: there are so many choices—so many potentially right answers—out there.

If you trawl through the diaries of parents past, you can certainly find lots of anxiety, lots of dread. But I think the core uncertainty that marks contemporary parenting is relatively new. Before this point, it simply wasn’t possible. And I as write in the book, it is profoundly ironic: never has having a baby been less perilous than it is now.

Alice: Is there such a thing as instinct when it comes to raising children?

Nicholas: Only when it comes to screaming at them. (Kidding! Mostly!)

So over the years a lot of people have thought about that question, looked at the past, and answered: NO. Reading through the history of childhood, you come across very serious, very rigorous researchers whose response to the parents of the past is basically: OMG. WTF.

But I think there is. I think the parents of the past, as monstrous as they might seem, almost always had really good reasons for doing what they did. And I also think there are really good evolutionary reasons for the existence of parental instinct. That said, if you talk about the evolutionary roots of that instinct, you don’t necessarily end up in a good place. (See Sarah Hrdy’s work on the adaptive logic of infanticide.)

So I’d argue that we have a tremendously powerful instinct when it comes to raising children. But that instinct is highly malleable. My book traces, in part, the many ways that culture and science have bent and deformed that instinct. As you say up above, approximately a century ago the conventional wisdom was that touching your baby was dangerous and should be avoided. Can you imagine how that affected the parents of the time—how wracked, how inside-out they must have felt? If we have any sort of parental instinct, it is surely to touch—to hold, to squeeze—our children. Many parents surely did just that. But it is clear that many didn’t: they obeyed the authorities. They withheld their affection.

Even now it is heartbreaking to think about. And it suggests that our instinct for raising children, as powerful as it may be, may not always matter all that much.

~

Thank you to Nicholas for sharing his time and thoughts on these fascinating topics. Check out Baby Meets World to learn more about the culture and science of parenting. It’s a thought-provoking and entertaining read. I think you’ll enjoy it.

What do you think about our conversation? How do culture, science, and instinct come together in your parenting?

What Would the Kung Do? An Anthropological Perspective on Intensive Parenting

Baby Meets World- finalI recently had the pleasure of reading Baby Meets World, a new book by Nicholas Day. (Full disclosure: I received a free review copy of this book.) Baby Meets World is a mix of history of parenting advice and modern, fascinating science about some of the most fundamental truths of infancy (as the subtitle states: “suck, smile, touch, toddle”). You may have seen the author’s recent blog on Slate, called How Babies Work. I liked the blog, but I like the book more. In a world of conflicting parenting advice, Day’s many examples of how wrong or just plain weird the expert advice has been through the ages is refreshing perspective. And even as this book describes the modern science of infancy – highlighting just how amazing babies are – it cautions us that we can’t understand babies, even in the most empirical way, without putting them in the context of the culture into which they are born.

Reading Baby Meets World led me to an email conversation with the author, which I’ll post on the blog tomorrow. He also offered to share an excerpt from the book with you. I chose an excerpt from the “Touch” section of the book – my favorite of the four sections. Since it comes near the end of this section, it requires a bit of an introduction to put it in context.

We know touch is important to babies, but Western parenting culture has had a complicated relationship with touch. Just a century ago, parents were barely allowed to visit their children in newborn nurseries or pediatric hospital wards. That history is now, thankfully, behind us, and skin-to-skin contact and baby wearing have become mainstream practices.

Part of the renewed interest in touch over the last fifty years has come from anthropological accounts of hunter-gatherer societies. We figure that maybe we have lost touch with our roots, that maybe we could re-learn the right way to parent from modern hunter-gatherer societies, who presumably parent the way we were meant to.

Day describes some of these modern hunter-gatherers, including the Kung of the Kalahari Desert. Kung infants are carried and held almost constantly. They are breastfed frequently, as often as every fifteen minutes. If they’re not being held by their mothers, they’re being passed around between community members, showered with kisses and constantly entertained. They’re hardly ever set down on the ground to move of their own accord; the Kung believe this impairs motor development.

I’ve read about the Kung before. They’re sometimes held up as an ideal for modern parents in the same conversation that chastises us for relying too much on gadgets like strollers and baby swings. But in this chapter, Day tells us how the culture of the Kung supports this kind of intensive parenting:

“The entire structure of a Kung community supports the (many) demands of Kung parenting. A Kung mother is virtually always around other adults, who take turns holding the child. The situation is the polar opposite of that of many American mothers, who can feel marooned on an island with no one but this ferret-like creature around.”

And this:

“Almost half the time a Kung infant cries out, he is comforted by someone who isn’t his mother or by his mother plus someone else. When the mother responds alone, other people offer to take the child later on. The Kung mother isn’t abandoned with a wailing infant. But despite this shared caretaking, the Kung, as Konner notes, “have often been misrepresented as having almost exclusive maternal care.”

In other words, the Kung practice what we might call intensive parenting, but the mother does not do this alone. She has lots of help. And this is where our excerpt picks up…

Excerpt from Chapter 13: “In Which Touch Gets Perhaps a Little Too Much Power” (from Baby Meets World by Nicholas Day)

It’s worth dwelling on the distinction between exclusive maternal care and alloparenting— the term for when someone who isn’t a parent acts as a parent, as the Kung do when they respond to any crying baby. If the most important messages to get across to a baby— love, security, commitment— are communicated through touch, then the obvious follow- up question is: does it matter who’s doing the touching? The parent or the alloparent?

From the perspective of attachment theory, all child rearing is aimed at the same end: the tight bond between mother and child. There aren’t multiple different strategies toward a successful outcome— there’s only that one. (Bowlby waffled on this a little bit but not much: his hypothetical caregiver was clearly a mother.) The mother is supposed to be doing the touching. This argument wades into the evolutionary past for evidence— the low fat content of human milk, for example, which required infants to nurse frequently, for which they needed a mother right there, all the time. In devising his theory, Bowlby cited the behavior of primates like gorillas and chimpanzees, for whom child care is exclusively maternal— no one else need apply.

But studies of hunter-gatherers like the Kung, the very people you’d expect to be closest to our deep past, have shown that caregiving by someone in addition to the mother is common, even if other people rarely supplant the mother as the primary attachment figure. The amount of alloparenting varies widely, but the existence of it is the rule, not the exception. And as scientists learned more about primates, Bowlby’s conclusions were undermined: fully half of all living primates do not provide exclusive maternal care.

As more research of hunter-gatherer cultures was published, a pattern emerged. For the Efe, who live in the northern Congolese rain forest, alloparenting is completely ordinary. Up until toddlerhood, an Efe infant rotates among multiple caregivers several times during a single hour; she nurses from multiple women.

Even when the mother is present, she isn’t necessarily the primary caregiver. Alloparenting is a cushion against the excruciatingly high mortality rates of the Efe: the more alloparents an infant has at a year old, the more likely she is to still be alive at age three.

Among traditional societies that are not hunter-gatherers, alloparenting is no less unusual. In West Africa, Beng mothers return to physical labor in the fields when their infant is only a couple of months old. How do they manage this? They hire someone in the village, often a young girl, to carry the child for part of each day. But because such a girl is usually only available part time, any Beng mother has a long list of sitters who can fill in. “Given frequent changes of caretaker,” writes the anthropologist Alma Gottlieb, who lived with the Beng, “it was not rare for a mother to be unaware of where her baby was, and in whose care, at some points in a typical day.” According to Gottlieb:

“A mother may hand her baby to her first- morning baby holder knowing that the latter is likely to pass the baby to another person if she herself becomes tired or if the baby fusses or if another person requests the child. By the time the infant is brought back to the mother to breast- feed—depending on the child’s age, this might be up to a few hours later— the little one may have been passed around to several people as caretakers. The mother may not even hear the full list of who was taking care of her child during this period.”

What do we make of all this extra-maternal care? The psychologist Edward Tronick, who has studied the Efe, argues that the whole idea of a “living” evolutionary past is a fiction. There isn’t a more “natural” way of life, Tronick says. “Biology is no more the destiny of the Efe than it is for us.” Instead, he says, the Efe philosophy of child care is just an adaptation for their environment: “These adaptations are neither more nor less biologically based than those of other cultures. That is, the Efe lifestyle is no more or less genetically based than the lifestyles of other peoples.”

For Tronick, there isn’t an answer to the question, How are we meant to take care of our children? There are many answers.

“Our decisions about child care practices are really decisions about cultural values: about what we want our children to become.”

The Kung aren’t a time capsule of Homo sapiens parenting. They’re a time capsule of parenting in the Kalahari Desert. If you are in search of parental wisdom, this is bound to be disappointing. It is extremely unlikely, after all, that you too live in the Kalahari Desert. A few academics have written that the longing for the “original” mode of parenting is a parochial, patronizing idea— it insults the complexity of the age- old cultures that it claims to venerate.

That’s true, of course. But there’s a less academic, more boring objection, too: we don’t live in the Kalahari Desert. Or the Amazon. Or the Congolese rain forest.

Margaret Mead’s hope— that the many cultural variations in child rearing would be a tool kit for Western parents to use— suffers what might be called the Kalahari Desert problem: the fact that all those variations evolved in their own cultural context.

Outside of that context, they’re meaningless or dysfunctional or worse; at a minimum, they’re frustrating. It’s puzzling that Mead of all people convinced herself otherwise: when it came to child rearing, she was a cultural anthropologist who somehow forgot about culture.

In this omission, she was way ahead of her time: many decades later, culture is what always gets erased from the practicalities of parenting. No parent tries to emulate hunter-gatherer societies in any other sphere of life: for sustenance, we do not go foraging instead of grocery shopping. But with our children, we start from the premise that all things are possible and that parenthood is the only relevant fact in the world, the shared experience that overrides all differences. Our child allows us access to the Amazonian within. But the choose-your-own-culture version of parenting has a stubborn problem: no parent is a culture.

DSC_9800-tweakedCopyright © 2013 by Nicholas Day.

Nicholas Day’s book on the science and history of infancy, Baby Meets World, was just published. His website is nicholasday.net. He is @nicksday on Twitter.

Do these examples of shared caregiving in modern hunter-gatherer societies surprise you? What can we learn from them? Do your children have “alloparents” – other adults that contribute to their care?

Guest Post: What the World Looks and Sounds Like to a Newborn Baby

Hi-ResBrinkCover I am delighted to have a guest post from Author Susan Brink today. Susan’s book, The Fourth Trimester: Understanding, Nurturing, and Protecting an Infant Through the First Three Months, was released a few weeks ago. I really enjoyed this book. It is billed as an “operating manual” for newborns, but it read to me more like an “understanding manual.” This is actually more helpful, because if you can understand why your newborn is doing the things she’s doing, you’re on your way to figuring out how you and your baby will survive and thrive in this period. The Fourth Trimester includes chapters on crying, sleeping, feeding, sound, sight, touch, physical development, and stimulation. Each is full of both science (well-cited, I might add) and stories from real parents. The sight and sound chapters were two of my favorites, so I’m happy that Susan chose these topics for her guest post on Science of Mom. Enjoy!

WHAT THE WORLD LOOKS AND SOUNDS LIKE TO A NEWBORN BABY

By Susan Brink

Imagine yourself in Paris, and you don’t speak French. Pretend for a moment that you’re from rural America, have never seen a big city much less the elegant capitol of France, and you’re trying to cross the Champs-Elysees at the Arc de Triomphe. You dare not step into traffic, you can’t read the street signs, and you cannot understand what people are trying to tell you. Sights and sounds overwhelm you. Nothing makes sense.

That’s something to think about when wondering what the world looks and sounds like to a newborn baby. But there’s more. Dr. Alison Gopnik, professor of psychology at the University of California, Berekley, adds two elements to the confusing mix: love and caffeine. “You want to know what it’s like to be a baby?” says Gopnik. “It’s like being in love for the first time in Paris after four double espressos. It’s fantastic. It’s a wonderful state to be in. And very likely, you’ll wake up at three a.m….crying.”

We look into a newborn baby’s eyes and wonder what he sees. We watch her reactions and wonder what she hears. But now we’ve got a wealth of recent research into what newborns see and hear that adds scientific chops to what parents have been imagining for ages.

Vision

After counting fingers and toes, the first thing most parents do is gaze into their infants’ eyes. We tell ourselves that they’re looking right back. But what, exactly, do they see?

We know that vision is the least developed sense at birth. Babies have heard their mothers’ voices through layers of flesh and organ for nine months already, and they recognize her voice at birth. But they have no similar recognition of her face. Already, they can discern contrast and are drawn to the shadows of eye sockets and the edges of faces. But vision has multiple components, including focus, contrast, coordination between eyes, depth, distance, and color. Their developing brains must lay down dendrites and create synapses between cells in visual areas of the brain, the networks that send and receive signals.

Even as that important brainwork is going on, parts of the eye itself must physically develop. At birth, an infant can project a clear image onto the retina, the light-sensitive tissue at the back of the eye. The images are converted to electric signals and sent on to the brain to interpret. But the fovea, the part of the retina that gives good, detailed vision, is not yet mature. The muscles controlling coordination of binocular vision aren’t yet strong. And the brain architecture that will eventually interpret the signals is not yet up and running. So when a newborn baby looks at an object, the clear image received by the retina falls on a fovea too immature to transmit a clear image to visual areas of the brain. And those visual areas are themselves just beginning to form. In time, the fovea will mature and pass on clear images. And with every visual sensation, the brain adds structure to enable more complete vision.

With every open-eyed observation that passes their way, information is making its way from the eye to the developing visual centers of the brain.

In other words, vision develops through the inevitable practice of looking around.

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What Infants See Right Away

Almost from birth, infants are drawn to contrast. We tell ourselves that the baby is looking right into our eyes. If she is, it’s because she notices the contrasting shadow of the eye socket. But it’s equally likely she’s looking at the edge of our face because she’s drawn to the contrast of head against background. For example, newborns can see measurable contrast between very light and very dark objects. At a distance of one foot, they can see high contrast black lines on a white board—lines only 1/16” wide. They notice movement of large, high-contrast objects. In another month, they’ll see some reds and greens. By two months, they’ll be drawn to all the details a loving face, not just the edges and shadows; and they’ll begin to respond to more subtle motions, like the movement of a hand in front of their faces.

There is important visual work going on in the months before a baby actually sees. If the visual pathways, ripe for development early in life, are completely blocked during crucial early periods, the result will be permanent visual impairment. But relax. A healthy baby living within anything resembling a normal human environment will not have those critical pathways blocked.

Research using animal models in the 1960s showed why early visual experience is so important. In experiments done with newborn kittens, scientists sewed shut one eye of each kitten and left it that way for several weeks. When the sutures were removed and the eye allowed to open, the kitten still could not see from that eye, even though the eye was perfectly healthy. What the experiment showed was that if the eye and brain fail to make connections during crucial periods of development, the visual cortex undergoes dramatic reorganization and vision never develops normally.

David Hubel and Torsten Wiesel, Nobel Prize–winning scientists who pioneered this vision work, repeated their work with monkeys. They found that in the normal monkey brain, there are columns of neurons in the visual cortex. Each column receives input from one eye, and the columns alternate between those dominated by information sent from the left eye and those dominated by information from the right eye. The alternating columns allow the brain to start putting that information together as binocular vision.

But among the monkeys deprived of vision in one eye, the neural columns dominated by the seeing eye became wider. The neural columns associated with the blinded eye became narrower. It became clear that in order for monkeys or kittens to see normally, they had to have visual experiences during the earliest weeks of their lives. Without it, the brain’s capacity to make the necessary neural connections was gone.

But the world provides exactly the right visual stimulation for healthy infants without the need of special toys or mobiles. We all have blue sky above, and green trees below and the view of the firmament through branches is a glorious feast of vision. And quite simply, there is nothing an infant likes better than a close-up view of a parent’s face.

It’s a difficult and imprecise business, knowing what a baby is seeing or recognizing. But parents and babies have always gazed into one another’s eyes. It’s deeply rooted, it’s bonding, it’s complex—and it’s important.

Sound

A fire truck screaming, a vacuum cleaner roaring, a talk show host droning, grown-ups chattering, children nattering, dishes clattering. For a newborn baby, the sounds are all there, but the brain isn’t ready to assign more or less importance to any one of them. As a fetus, he heard most of it before, but in utero the sounds were mercifully muffled, almost soothing. The most soothing of all sounds in the new world no doubt is also the most familiar—mother’s voice. Newborns recognize their mothers’ voices, turning toward them more readily than toward any other voices.

Hearing is the most highly developed sense at birth—but newborns cannot yet discern what is worth listening to and what can be safely ignored. They don’t yet have the skill to know where a dog bark ends and a screaming sibling begins, much less to know where one word ends and another begins.

But during the first three months of life, they set about the work, bit by bit, of organizing the sounds around them.

Sorting Through the Din

Think of newborn hearing as a passive exposure with the baby’s brain soaking up sounds and being bathed in the acoustics of his surroundings. Just as each little peek of vision is sculpting new brain circuitry to enable sight, each phrase and sentence sets up the brain wiring that will soon allow the baby to understand where one word ends and another begins. Long before she utters her first “ma-ma” or “da-da,” she’s building the foundation for speech and understanding language.

Babies begin to learn language by listening. And they need to hear human voices. Television and video doesn’t work. That’s because part of what’s needed to learn is human interaction. They learn early on that even their accidental sounds—a burp, a sneeze, a hiccup—get a reaction: a back pat, a gesundheit, a startled look. Soon, another kind of accident happens. The baby leans his head back, the tongue hits the roof of the mouth, and a “g” or “k” sound emerges as he exhales an “oo” sound. It’s a coo! And research tells us that when parents coo back, infants respond by babbling more.

All babies around the world are born with the ability to recognize every sound made in every language on earth. But within months, we lose that ability. The brain is an efficient organ, and just as it’s busy building the connections it will need, it also works at pruning away those neurons that will not be needed.

Dr. Patricia Kuhl, a neuroscientist and professor of speech and hearing at the University of Washington and a leading expert on speech development, discovered why it is that Japanese people have difficulty mastering the ra and la syllables of the English language. Dr. Kuhl and her colleagues tested infants using special pacifiers connected to computers. The infants loved new sounds, and sucked up to eighty times a minute to keep the sound going. But infants, like all of us, get bored with repetition. They eventually slowed down after hearing the same sound over and over. Then as a new sound was introduced, they again sped up their sucking.

Using these special pacifiers, researchers found that infants as young as one month of age heard all sound distinctions— the ones that would become part of their native language, as well as others that they were unlikely to hear as adults. The Japanese babies in the study could tell there was a change in sound when they heard rake and then lake. Japanese adults cannot make the distinction—even the Japanese scientists involved in the experiment couldn’t do it.

When tested at ten months of age, the Japanese babies could no longer make the distinction. If they heard the ra sound long enough to get bored, and then the sound changed to la, they remained bored and inattentive. Whatever inborn ability they had to make the distinction was lost to brains that were preparing themselves for the sounds that would be needed in Japan.

And so it is around the world. A French baby and an American baby have the same ability, for several months, to hear the guttural, rolling r of the French language. Within ten months, the American baby has lost it, and if she tries to learn the French language as a teen or an adult, the unnatural attempt to say rouge or après can be challenging, if not downright embarrassing.

Babies love the sound of voices, the lilt of language. They want it to be interactive. They want to connect facial expressions to words, and every word you utter—for this brief period of time—will be completely fascinating to this listener.SusanBrinkHeadshot

It seems that, once again, nature and biology know what they’re doing in giving sound a head start on vision The world is a confusing enough place to enter with good hearing. It’s probably best that infants are more able to begin understanding sounds as their brains quietly go about the business of developing vision.

Susan Brink is a freelance medical writer. Her book, “The Fourth Trimester: Understanding, Nurturing, and Protecting an Infant Through the First Three Months,” is published by the University of California Press and was released March 20, 2013.

Your Baby Talk Questions… Answered

beyond baby talkWe had just an incredible number of interesting questions about language development submitted on the Beyond Baby Talk post. I love how our kids make us so curious, how they compel us to think about things that we’ve probably taken for granted for most of our lives.

Congratulations to “Dukes Haven Homestead” on being the commenter chosen at random to win the giveaway of a copy of Beyond Baby Talk! I think she’ll find the chapter on siblings and birth order especially interesting, since she has a baby and a toddler to talk with now.

As promised, the authors of Beyond Baby Talk, Drs. Kenn Apel and Julie Masterson, took the time to answer a few of our readers’ questions. The rest of your questions certainly gave me some ideas for future blog posts, for that time in the near (truly!) future when I have time to research and write another post!

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Your Baby Talk Questions Answered

by Drs. Kenn Apel and Julie Masterson

What gets more bang for the buck– variety or repetition? Should I be singing the same songs over and over or always surprise my baby with new songs?

                                         ~ Tara Sutherland

They both get you bang! On the one hand, you get bang for your buck with some repetition in song, and in language that accompanies daily routines (using the same kind of phrases and routine language when engaged in bath time or changing time) because your baby begins to “catch on” when she hears the same words and phrases attached to the same contexts/movements/objects. On the other hand, variety is good because it allows your baby to experience different words and phrases that make up language. Continue reading

Beyond Baby Talk: A giveaway and a call for your questions!

You can’t be a parent and not be fascinated with development. A child’s growth – from newborn to toddler and into childhood – it’s such an incredible transformation. It’s quite a privilege to witness it, and from the front row, too.

During the first year, I was most interested in Cee’s gross motor development. I loved watching her move her body in deliberate ways, from the way she turned her head away from something too stimulating as a newborn to sitting up for the first time, to pulling up, cruising, crawling, and then boldly to walking, climbing, and running.

Now, nearing her second birthday, the most fascinating development frontier for me is Cee’s language. She surprises me with new words everyday. It’s exploding.

It was perfect timing, then, that I received a copy of the newly revised book, “Beyond Baby Talk” by Drs. Kenn Apel and Julie Masterson, professors of Communication Sciences and Disorders at University of South Carolina, Columbia, and Missouri State University, respectively. (The American Speech-Language-Hearing Association sponsored the book, and they sent me a review copy. As always, I only review books that I’d recommend to my friends, and I receive no compensation for doing so.)

I’m super excited that Drs. Apel and Masterson have agreed to do an author interview with Science of Mom readers, answering your questions about language development. Just leave your question in the comments below, and the Beyond Baby Talk authors will answer several of them in a follow-up post in a couple of weeks. Plus, we’ll also be giving away a copy of the book!

Now, let me tell you a little about Beyond Baby Talk (but let’s call it BBB). Continue reading

Baby Unplugged Books: A Review and Giveaway!

I received a delightful package last week. Dr. John Hutton sent me the seven books in his Baby Unplugged board book series, each about a wonderful, old-fashioned piece of childhood: Pets, Blanket, Yard, Ball, Book, Beach, and Box.

BabyC and I read through the books together, and we both enjoyed them so much that I wanted to recommend them in a review and pass five of them on to you as a giveaway. We’re keeping “Yard,” because it is my favorite, and “Pets,” because BabyC chewed on it.

{You know I don’t do many reviews or giveaways. I’m selective about them – I only review books that I can truly recommend. Dr. Hutton sent me these books as samples, and I haven’t received any compensation for writing this review.}

Dr. Hutton is a pediatrician at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital, the owner of an independent children’s bookstore in Cincinnati called Blue Manatee Books, and the father of three children. He’s also a passionate advocate for keeping childhood screen-free and encouraging good, old-fashioned play. He wrote and self-published the Baby Unplugged series of board books. You can read more about Dr. Hutton’s screen-free mission on his blog, Baby Unplugged (also on Facebook). He often writes about the science of play and research on the effects of screen time, so I am following his blog with interest.

I’ll get to the books in a minute, but first I want to tell you about how they arrived. They were packed in a special Blue Manatee box. When I opened the box, I was greeted by a piece of paper that read, in large font, “attention, grownup!” OK, box. You have my attention. This piece of paper reminded me to please not throw away or recycle this box, not just yet. Continue reading

How Eskimos Keep Their Babies Warm (Review and Giveaway)

As a new parent, still finding my way, I’m drawn to stories from other parents. I think I am looking for some commonality in our experience. I want to read stories that make me think, “That’s how I feel, too!” I also want to read stories that might enlighten me to a different way of understanding my child and motherhood.

Mei-Ling Hopgood’s new book, How Eskimos Keep Their Babies Warm, is full of these types of stories. On the surface, this book is about cultural differences in parenting practices around the world. But by the end of the book, I was left with a feeling of kinship with parents around the world. I might have gleaned a few new parenting ideas from this book, but more importantly, it broadened my perspective of the many wonderfully different ways to raise a child.

I first heard of this book through a cool blog I discovered recently, Ms. Mary Mack. Created by the fabulous Nicole Blades, Ms. Mary Mack “takes an anthropological approach to motherhood.” A couple of months ago, Ms. Mary Mack hosted an interview with Mei-Ling Hopgood about what she learned from writing the book. I was intrigued and actually won a copy of her book through that post. Lucky me! I enjoyed this book so much that I wanted to review it myself and share it with you. (Nicole and I have also talked about exchanging guest posts, so stay tuned for more from her. In the meantime, definitely check out her blog, especially her Global Mamas series if you want to hear more cross-cultural parenting stories.)

How Eskimos Keep Their Babies Warm is Hopgood’s exploration of parenting practices from around the globe. Continue reading

Guest Post: Mothers With One Child Are Happiest (and a Giveaway!)

Today’s guest post comes from Dr. Susan Newman and discusses the support for choosing to have just one child in the modern family. Dr. Newman has written a book on the same topic, and she is giving away a copy of it to one lucky ScienceofMom reader. See below the post to enter the giveaway. I’m looking forward to some good discussion on this one!

Mothers With One Child Are Happiest

Resisting the temptation and pressure to have more children

by Susan Newman, Ph.D.

Having an only child is desirable from a wide range of viewpoints and practicalities, but that doesn’t make decisions about family size any easier. Going from one child to two (or two to three or more) is a dilemma single parents and couples wrestle with, sometimes for years.

The mother of a three-year-old child talked to me about whether or not she really wants a second child. She is not an isolated case of men and women who are asking the same question.

The husband of an almost 40 year-old wants to give their five-year-old a sibling. His wife doesn’t. She told me that she has weakened and agreed to see a fertility specialist, but isn’t sure she can cope with another child or fertility treatments.

A friend, age 34, has been teetering on the second baby fence for four years, but her resolve is being undone by pressure from her family to have another. She hesitates knowing her job (and promotions) will be in jeopardy if she takes another maternity leave.

Although each situation is unique, the profound confusion surrounding the question of having more children is similar. Some people begin with a very practical approach and ask themselves questions like these: What will we give up in time, money, freedom, intimacy, and job advancement with another child in the household? How thin will we be able to stretch our financial resources? Continue reading

Do Chocolate Lovers Have Sweeter Babies? A Review and a Giveaway!

I just finished reading the new book, Do Chocolate Lovers Have Sweeter Babies? by Jena Pincott. Before you jump to the conclusion that this is a completely fluffy book, consider the subtitle: “The Surprising Science of Pregnancy.” It turns out that this book is chock-full of science, some of it admittedly fluffy but some of it rock solid. I enjoyed the book and thought that you might, too. I tweeted Jena Pincott to see if she was interested in donating a copy for a giveaway, and she enthusiastically agreed.

(By the way – if you aren’t on Twitter and wonder what the point of it is, then this gives you a good example of why it is cool. I can take a break from the book I am reading and tweet the author a message. Within minutes, we’ve had a little conversation about her book, doing a giveaway, and remarked that our daughters were born just a few months apart and how much we are enjoying this age.)

So here we are – the first-ever giveaway on Science of Mom. I don’t know if I’ll make a habit of this, but I like the idea of reviewing books occasionally, and if I can put together a giveaway to share a book that I like with you, that seems like a win-win. Just to be perfectly clear, I purchased my own copy of Chocolate Lovers. The author is donating a copy of the book, but I haven’t received any compensation. I am not obligated in any way to write a positive review, but I also wouldn’t bother giving away a book or product that I didn’t like myself.

Formalities out-of-the-way, let me tell you what I think of Chocolate Lovers:

Chocolate Lovers is a book about the science of pregnancy, birth, parenting, and newborns. It focuses on understanding the magical transition to parenthood from a biological and evolutionary perspective. Pincott tackles old wives tales, quirky observations, and serious science. The book is by no means a comprehensive guide to pregnancy, but it is way more fun than any book I have read on the topic. It won’t explain every pregnancy symptom, but it will make you think about pregnancy as the product of millions of years of evolution. You will envision yourself as one of a long line of pregnant mothers, and Pincott will help you understand that your first trimester nausea probably happens for a reason. Continue reading