To me, TV was a loud, blaring, potentially harmful nuisance I wasn’t even sure I wanted to own. To Charles, it was a co-parent. He felt it helped him take care of D. It gave him a sense that she was being stimulated at times when he was not free to play with her.
I didn’t think she needed to be stimulated—even on those rare nights when I watched her alone. Instead, I gave her some bowls and spoons and let her bang them while I made dinner.
When she was a few weeks old and we were vacationing in Wellfleet, D got a blocked tear duct and we took her to the doctor. After the appointment, just as we were about to leave, I turned and asked the pediatrician, “What are we supposed to do with her? I mean, what games do we play to stimulate her?”
The doctor, a blonde mother of three, just blinked and said, “You don’t have to do anything. At this age, everything is stimulation.”
I have never forgotten that. I believe that what she said holds true at least for the first three years. Development is not something you make happen. It just happens. TV wouldn’t help, and it might hurt. So why watch?
But if I wanted my way as far as D’s TV watching was concerned, I would have to “wrangle” when Charles asked me to. This has been our compromise: Some mornings he puts the TV on and I let him, although I try to limit her to half an hour of Sesame Street. I rationalize that I watched Sesame and turned out all right. (Of course, Thomas points out that most Gen-X parents with fond memories of watching Sesame Street probably watched it at 4, not 2.)
Other mornings, as he reaches for the remote, I shake my head no. On those days, I give up on reading the paper and entertain D as he reads quietly. The extra effort is a small price to pay for a temporarily TV-free apartment. I never thought I would be this zealous about any aspect of parenthood. But as I learned long ago on Sesame Street, everyone makes mistakes.

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