So here's the latest on my progress: So far, my personal and pitiful best is somewhere around 7 hours. Ugh.
I will not give up on my 7 day challenge of no complaining, but at this rate, I'm afraid it could take months.
I know. Clearly, I suck at this. But give me a break. I have a very
good reason! (excuse)
It's the 'squeaky wheel' theory! My complaints have begotten oodles of grease in the form of refunds, better seats, better tables, freebies and much more. Besides, it's not easy to break a lifelong habit.
Aren't we born complaining?
I know I was. I must have hated the idea of eviction from the dark warm comfort of my mother's womb, because I refused to leave. When the doctor yanked me out with forceps, I can only imagine how PO'd I was. Legend has it that I entered the delivery room with such earsplitting screams; I nearly woke my mother.
(Those were the good old days when expectant mothers were treated to horse tranquilizers to take the edge off. After which they languished in week-long respites in hospital rooms where ashtrays were more common than televisions.)
Think about it. If all healthy babies shriek their way into the world, then maybe complaining is just hard-wired into our DNA. Like a survival instinct. Granted, those of us who are fortunate to be born to loving parents get plenty of affection and attention. Yet, the
average baby cries a dozen times a day. Besides turning a
household on its ear, this serves a purpose. They get the undivided attention of an exhausted
mother who rescues them from sickness, hunger or a loaded diaper.
Yes, it is not lost on me that I am giving the mothers most of the credit. To the hands-on fathers out there who have embraced diaper duty; I salute you. I'm not saying my ex never changed a toxic diaper, but most times the proverbial ball (of you-know-what) was in my court. If he happened to notice her unfortunate situation before I did, he would mumble something poignant, yet subtle like: "The baby smells like she wants to be alone."
The point is, from the moment we are born, no matter who is taking care of us; complaining gets our needs met.
If our instinct was to grin and bear it would we be better off? Not in my experience. I screamed nonstop for the first two weeks of my life because my mother's breast milk lacked nutrients. My infantile complaints prompted a trip to the pediatrician that resulted in a new diet of formula and cow's milk that quite literally kept me from starving. I doubt the lesson in that escaped me. Babies learn.
As a new mother, I was warned against picking up my baby when she cried at bedtime, lest she never learn how to get to sleep on her own. Sixteen years later my 'baby' falls asleep most nights with the TV on, so you can guess how well I managed that directive. Yeah, I was a wimp who could not bear to hear her cry.
As we mature our complaining skills evolve. And it's a good thing they do. When was that last time you saw a couple out on the town burst into tears and stomp their feet when the hostess seated them at a table near the kitchen? Or a receiver throw himself down on the field, kicking and screaming because he missed a pass. (Okay. Maybe you have seen that one.)
Clearly, complaining is not always just about survival. We also complain to stand up for ourselves. But where do we draw the line? Is it sometimes better not to make noise?
I ask you: If the squeaky wheel gets oiled, does the squealing child get spoiled?
I will not give up on my 7 day challenge of no complaining, but at this rate, I'm afraid it could take months.
I know. Clearly, I suck at this. But give me a break. I have a very
good reason! (excuse)It's the 'squeaky wheel' theory! My complaints have begotten oodles of grease in the form of refunds, better seats, better tables, freebies and much more. Besides, it's not easy to break a lifelong habit.
Aren't we born complaining?
I know I was. I must have hated the idea of eviction from the dark warm comfort of my mother's womb, because I refused to leave. When the doctor yanked me out with forceps, I can only imagine how PO'd I was. Legend has it that I entered the delivery room with such earsplitting screams; I nearly woke my mother.
(Those were the good old days when expectant mothers were treated to horse tranquilizers to take the edge off. After which they languished in week-long respites in hospital rooms where ashtrays were more common than televisions.)
Think about it. If all healthy babies shriek their way into the world, then maybe complaining is just hard-wired into our DNA. Like a survival instinct. Granted, those of us who are fortunate to be born to loving parents get plenty of affection and attention. Yet, the
average baby cries a dozen times a day. Besides turning a
household on its ear, this serves a purpose. They get the undivided attention of an exhausted
mother who rescues them from sickness, hunger or a loaded diaper. Yes, it is not lost on me that I am giving the mothers most of the credit. To the hands-on fathers out there who have embraced diaper duty; I salute you. I'm not saying my ex never changed a toxic diaper, but most times the proverbial ball (of you-know-what) was in my court. If he happened to notice her unfortunate situation before I did, he would mumble something poignant, yet subtle like: "The baby smells like she wants to be alone."
The point is, from the moment we are born, no matter who is taking care of us; complaining gets our needs met.
If our instinct was to grin and bear it would we be better off? Not in my experience. I screamed nonstop for the first two weeks of my life because my mother's breast milk lacked nutrients. My infantile complaints prompted a trip to the pediatrician that resulted in a new diet of formula and cow's milk that quite literally kept me from starving. I doubt the lesson in that escaped me. Babies learn.
As a new mother, I was warned against picking up my baby when she cried at bedtime, lest she never learn how to get to sleep on her own. Sixteen years later my 'baby' falls asleep most nights with the TV on, so you can guess how well I managed that directive. Yeah, I was a wimp who could not bear to hear her cry.
As we mature our complaining skills evolve. And it's a good thing they do. When was that last time you saw a couple out on the town burst into tears and stomp their feet when the hostess seated them at a table near the kitchen? Or a receiver throw himself down on the field, kicking and screaming because he missed a pass. (Okay. Maybe you have seen that one.)
As our needs become more complex, we get better at articulating them.
 The baby's cry becomes the toddler's tantrum. "I don't want to take a nap!"The toddler's tantrum becomes the child's whine. "Mommy! You gave her a bigger piece!" The child's whine becomes the tween's groan. "Mom! You never let me do anything." The tween's groan becomes the teenager's accusation. "You're ruining my life. You're the worst mother in the world! " This is when we hit our stride. The teenager's accusation becomes the mother's gripe. "You don't appreciate anything I do for you. When I was your age.....blah blah blah..." And we've come full circle. |
Clearly, complaining is not always just about survival. We also complain to stand up for ourselves. But where do we draw the line? Is it sometimes better not to make noise?
I ask you: If the squeaky wheel gets oiled, does the squealing child get spoiled?
