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doing so costs the organism its life. Though our genetic imperative is to survive, an even greater imperative is to preserve our genetic lineage, and our children are the vessels in which this lineage resides. As far as our genes are concerned, child trumps parent every time.

      The parent-child bond and the forces that forge it form the crux of attachment theory, which we discussed in a previous chapter. We often think of the parent-infant bond as something originating from the minds of mothers, but proponents of attachment theory argue that the infant has a part to play as well. Mothers may set the tone, but their children respond accordingly. As a result, we have the three major classes of attachment behaviour (or four, if you subscribe to the Main and Solomon school of attachment theory),[36] each of which corresponds to a different type of parenting behaviour. Type B children are called securely attached, comfortable with short separations from their parents but eager to see them return. Their parents are consistent, supportive, and attentive to their children’s needs. Type A children are called avoidant, and true to their name, they tend to ignore their parents even when feeling insecure. Their parents are often inattentive, having never paid much heed to their cries, causing children to seek comfort in themselves rather than waste energy calling for their caregivers in vain. Type C children are called reactive/ambivalent, and they display a consistent yet curiously contradictory pattern of behaviour: though extremely agitated by short separations from their caregivers, they derive no comfort from them upon their return. Type C children cling to their parents while thrashing and crying, seemingly unsure whether they want to be comforted or left alone. This paradoxical reaction is the result of inconsistent caregiving; parents of Type C children may come running at their child’s first whimper in one instance only to let them cry unattended for hours in the next.

      When attachment theory was first created, its conclusions were drawn solely from observation. Dr. Bowlby, the theory’s founder, knew maternal behaviour altered child attachment strategy because he’d seen it do so, but he didn’t know why. At the time, the question seemed almost irrelevant. The important thing was to observe the cause and effect relationship between parent and child; the engine driving it was a mysterious biochemical transaction, relied upon but not understood. Gradually, this has begun to change. Researchers have started mapping the neuroendocrine responses of new mothers to pregnancy, lactation, and childbirth, and have already found a vast network of hormonal signals responsible for “priming” mothers for motherhood. The epigenetic changes dutifully observed by Meaney and company do not flow unidirectionally from mother to child through mom’s nursing behaviour, as was once assumed. The child, simply by being born, triggers a number of profound changes in a mother’s brain, not the least of which being a surge of oxytocin production.

      Oxytocin is a hormone responsible for our sense of camaraderie, our capacity for empathy, and our ability to bond with other humans. Not surprisingly, it is released in copious amounts during and immediately after childbirth. One can hardly blame mothers for providing themselves with a little chemical compensation, given the gruelling nature of childbirth (it’s called “going into labour” for a reason), but after the birth is over and the new baby has been swaddled and handed squalling to mom, oxytocin’s work is only just beginning. It floats through the mother’s bloodstream at elevated levels for months, its ebb and flow intimately tied to lactation. Each time a baby feeds, mom gets a fresh dose, a Pavlovian encouragement to keep it up. Oxytocin is the reason why a new mother will often report a profound sense of kinship with her children when breastfeeding; her brain is bribing her with tiny hits of bliss. It’s a cynical way of looking at things, perhaps, but such crude tactics are hardly limited to childbirth. Just about everything we do is the result of biochemical bribery or threat. We keep our bodies nourished, hydrated, and rested, and our brains reward us with dollops of dopamine. We procreate, and our thankful genes reward us with an even bigger burst of the stuff. We come across a fire or a steep ledge or a predator and our brain reprimands us before we do something foolish. “Don’t touch it,” our cerebellum warns, “or you’ll be sorry.” Should the memory of past pain not suffice and we prove ourselves in need of another lesson — by touching the fire or tottering gleefully over the ledge or prodding the large and irascible predator with a stick — the brain is all too willing to deliver. Pain is a warning, alerting us to a potential problem we must attend to (“Hey! You’re bleeding!”), but it’s also a threat. “Smarten up,” it growls, “or you’ll get another.”

      Therefore, it should come as no surprise that when we engage in something as evolutionarily beneficial as motherhood our brains praise our noble behaviour with a burst of mood-enhancing hormones. Oxytocin is one of them. Dopamine is another. Though both are pleasurable chemicals, oxytocin and dopamine have distinct characters, and thus serve different purposes. Oxytocin, as mentioned above, promotes bonding and empathy — feelings that, though pleasant, emphasize the importance of connecting with others. Dopamine is far more self-absorbed. It is the id molecule, hedonism concentrated into a few choice atoms and released in tiny, intoxicating doses. Which is not to say dopamine works solely to selfish ends; mothers get a taste of it simply by looking upon their child’s smiling face. Their varying characters make oxytocin and dopamine great partners in parental motivation. Oxytocin provides the softly harmonious sense of rightness about child-rearing, while dopamine offers ephemeral but potent moments of joy. Together, they comprise the parent-child bond studied by attachment theorists and are thus largely responsible for the continued existence of our species.

      But sometimes these bonds loosen or break. The hormonal adhesives binding parent to child weaken, dissolved by competing chemicals that change the way a mother’s brain responds to her infant’s laughs, cries, and gurgles. A lot of things can derail mother-child attachment, but perhaps no force is as destructive and insidious in this regard as addiction.

      Neural Solvents

      No one would argue that drug addiction makes for better parenting. We’ve all heard horror stories of children living in squalid apartments, playing on a floor littered with syringes while their junky parents sprawl unconscious across the couch, of mothers leaving babies in trash cans, incapable of caring for them and afraid of putting them up for adoption lest the authorities cast a disapproving glance their way, of fathers murdering their children in a drug-fuelled rage. Such actions seem to us unconscionable, nefarious, and downright evil. How could a parent treat an innocent child that way? We resist the very thought of it, as if the idea itself was a rotten, repugnant, physical thing capable of dripping its slime onto the floors of our subconscious.

      Mercifully, these are extreme examples, but addiction inarguably takes its toll on a person’s ability to be a successful parent. Mothers addicted to cocaine are more hostile, are less emotionally engaged in maternal activities (e.g., feeding, bathing, and playing with their babies), and exhibit little to no pleasure in interacting with their children. It’s as if their mothering gene had been switched off. Of course, we’ve learned enough about genes by now to realize that there is no mothering gene, just as there’s no gene for depression or gene for addiction. Yet certain neural switches are being thrown, and certain connections rerouted, causing a dramatic shift in the way addict mothers view, interact with, and respond to their offspring.

      Remember Marcy and Melissa, the twins we discussed in chapter 6?[37] Let’s pay them another visit. Marcy, you’ll recall, was ushered into a life of wealth and privilege while Melissa wallowed in emotional neglect. Now in adulthood, the two sisters have both become mothers.

      Marcy’s labour wasn’t easy, but when she first laid eyes on her baby girl the pain and frustration and fear of the past 12 hours washed away. Her heart seemed to swell, infused with a love more primal and pure than anything she’d experienced before. It was like a drug, Marcy thought — though having never tried any substance stronger than a glass of wine, she could only guess that this was true. She named the girl Chloe.

      The first few months were a challenge, and the sleepless nights and 3:00 a.m. feedings took their toll. Marcy was a driven woman, married to her career as much as her husband, and the endless days spent at home sometimes felt more like a prison sentence than a well-paid six-month maternity leave. She missed the bustle of the hospital, the patients and the dizzy chaos and the rush of adrenaline she felt whenever she stepped into an operating room and snapped latex gloves onto her steady, talented hands. Those hands felt wasted changing diapers and scrubbing baby spit-up

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