Baby Guppy finally stopped pivoting on his considerable belly and is crawling at 9m+. He is also using the pincer grasp to pick up things. Both of these are typical developmental milestones. What’s discouraging is that he’s combining these to move away from where I set him, then pick things up off the floor and put them in his mouth. I caught him eating individual coffee grounds yesterday. I’m pretty sure those aren’t recommended for babies.
My doc confirms that I am doing much better with my post-partum depression. It was good to get her perspective, since I’ve seen her every couple weeks. Two visits ago, I had several of the symptoms of PPD. Last visit, I was better, but had trouble concentrating, not least because I had both boys with me. This time, I only took Guppy, but my concentration was much improved. I still feel periodically angry and constantly tired, but those are normal, given that I’m the primary caregiver for a 3yo and a 9mo.
Is parenting one long string of “I swore I’d never do/say that”? Sometimes it feels like it. Yesterday I locked up the books in Drake’s room. He stopped napping a while back, and instead would page through many of his books. But he’s been sick and slow to recover, and I suspected that he needed the rest more than the reading. So I locked his book closet and removed other distractions from his room. Lo and behold, he slept. I know better, though, than to exult over a one-time occurrence. I did it again today, and he has been singing for 25 minutes.
My husband G. Grod and I were at our wits end last weekend with Drake’s behavior. He threw extravagant tantrums (e.g., a twenty minute one on the front lawn of church), he did WWF-style body slams on baby Guppy, he hit and kicked us repeatedly, and he laughed when we punished him by taking away his cars or giving him a time out. Things were so out of hand that I even checked out parenting books from the library, something I have avoided almost entirely until now.
Then on Tuesday, I picked him up from pre-school, and the teacher and his friend’s mother said he’d complained that his ear hurt. I’d been asking for days if it did; he always said no. So I made an appointment for him and found that the ear he wasn’t complaining about was infected, and the one he WAS complaining about was not only infected, but had a blister on his eardrum. I didn’t know whether to be happy that he told SOMEBODY, even if it wasn’t me, or aggravated with the proof against the parental platitude of “oh, when they’re older it’s easier because they can tell you what’s wrong.” But I was definitely relieved that there was an explanation for the downturn in behavior. After a few days of antibiotics, though, I’m still wishing for a more dramatic upswing.
G. Grod, Drake and Guppy have ear infections and are in various stages of an amoxicillin regimen. Baby Guppy is teething. We’re all rather grumpy.
Baby Guppy finally got his first tooth at 9 months+. He is crawling now, and not just pivoting. And he got his first ear infection last week, after having (as did Drake and I) three colds in six weeks.
Today I have been:
peed on
smeared with poop
stabbed at with a pen
hit
kicked
smeared with snot
coughed on
sneezed on
screamed at
I don’t know why I’m depressed. Motherhood is SO rewarding.
Kidding. I can tell I’m doing better because today has merely bent, not broken me. I got a long, hot shower in, and that made a world of difference.
So far, my 3yo son Drake enjoys preschool. I appreciate that he’s meeting other kids and making cute crafts. But I exclaimed in excitement when I picked him up last week. Book club order forms! While I’ve enacted draconian cutbacks in book purchases for me and the husband, I am beside myself with excitement as I page through the options. I am overcome by nostalgia for one of the few things I remember fondly about school–these book order forms.
So many books! So cheap! How will I decide?
Another of my bizarre theories is that we’re born knowing yoga. Baby Guppy did an extraordinary bound angle pose this morning. Last week, I was watching 3yo Drake at the park. He flopped down, and I thought, oh, look, he’s in plank position. He then moved his chest forward into upward dog, then shifted his weight back into downward dog, doing the moves in sequence from a sun salute. And no, I don’t and haven’t done these yoga poses in front of him. I tried to teach him triangle pose, and that was a complete flop. But every so often he’ll bust out another move, so I continue to believe that yoga classes merely remind us of skills our bodies have forgotten from childhood.
People who know me may be familiar with my habit of forming bizarre theories. The fact that I have had little scientific education does not deter me.
Three fourths of our little family is in the throes of a nasty cold, and one of my theories is that viruses are sentient life forms, intent on propagating themselves on a microcosmic level. I only have to observe toddlers with colds for supporting evidence. My usually introverted son Drake suddenly becomes very physically affectionate, far beyond needing some extra physical comfort because he’s sick. He especially becomes more physical with baby Guppy, giving sticky hugs and snotty kisses. He also becomes even more enamored of things in the kitchen. Yesterday I caught him licking the lid of the honey bottle, sticking his hand into the salt dish, and groping food in the refrigerator.
The health cautions of magazines primly advise parents to wash hands, and keep hands away from faces. But I’m pretty sure the only way a toddler can resist the biological imperative of that virus to spread is through quarantine.
I wrote yesterday about my trouble coming up with book ideas for my friend who wants to find longer books that aren’t violent, scary, or disturbing to read to her son.
One suggestion I had was to read longer picture books than the ones usually recommended for three year olds. I found this article from Child magazine helpful, and Drake has enjoyed many of the books they recommend.
Easy reader chapter books are also a good bet. I forgot to mention the Frog and Toad books by Arnold Lobel, which have been favorites of Drake’s. Also, there are some classics that may not have troublesome passages. Mr. Popper’s Penguins, The Cricket in Times Square, and Caddie Woodlawn are all good possibilities.
A friend wrote to suggest the Beatrix Potter and Roald Dahl books. The Potter books have some of the same issues as the Milne books, though they do portray a wonderful tenderness to animals. And the Dahl books are also problematic. They’re funny and dark, and they empower the child characters, but they can be scary. Also, I found James and the Giant Peach positively creepy in its fear of female physicality.
But the one thing I’d recommend above all is to make friends with the children’s librarian at your local library. S/he is likely to be the best and most constant resource for book ideas.
A friend stumped me recently. She said her 3yo was able and interested to listen to longer books and ones without pictures. She didn’t care for the Pooh books because she felt they were too violent, but they had read and enjoyed Because of Winn Dixie by Kate DiCamillo. Since she knows I’m a bibliophile, she asked my advice for other chapter books that would be good for a 3yo, yet not violent.
First, I had to get my head around her complaint that the Milne books were violent. I consider myself a pretty aware reader, yet that adjective had not occurred to me during any of the many readings we’ve done of that book in our house. Yet my friend isn’t wrong. Christopher Robin has a toy gun with which he (accidentally) shoots Pooh, the animals kidnap (joeynap?) Roo when he and Kanga move to the forest, and Tigger bounces Eeyore into the river. These are just the examples I can think of off the top of my head. I’m not going to stop reading Pooh, because I cherish the humor and sweetness of the stories, as well as the childish roughness, though my friend terms it violence, inherent in play.
Still, though, it took me some time to come up with even a few suggestions, and neither were without pictures. I recommended DiCamillo’s Mercy Watson chapter books, which are fun and silly, as well as longer picture books like Jon J. Muth’s Zen Shorts.
Other books that occurred to me later were the Laura Ingalls Wilder books and The Facts and Fictions of Minna Pratt by Patricia MacLachlan, and The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. These are ones that I’ve read that I’ve enjoyed. I worked for a year in the children’s section of a large used bookstore, and I became familiar with some of the other popular titles and series, though I haven’t (yet) read them myself that might be good candidates: Stuart Little by E.B. White, The Magic Tree House series, and the Junie B. Jones series.
But what was most interesting to me was the number of books I thought of that had immediate difficulties. The Narnia, George MacDonald, and Tolkien books are violent, as are DiCamillo’s more recent novels. Charlotte’s Web has an ending that must be discussed, which would be tough with someone only three. After further thought, I still think picture books are the best fit. Just because a child CAN sit through a book without pictures doesn’t mean picture books should be left behind. They’re one of the best things about childhood, in my opinion, and their experience should be drawn out and savored.
Halloween went a bit better this year. Drake was excited to dress up as a cowboy, but when it came to trick or treating, he asked G. Grod to carry him between houses, so what with that and the cold, they weren’t out very long. Nonetheless, along with the slew of candy he got at preschool, Drake had PLENTY of candy.
An aside: what’s with all the candy at preschool? THEY’RE THREE. Their little bodies can’t handle much sugar. I was the odd mom out and gave organic dried apple slices. I don’t think the kids are old enough or cynical enough to resent me for that, yet.
I told Drake that he could go through his candy, pick six pieces, then put all the other extra candy in our Halloween tin. Then overnight, we’d get a visit from the Sugar Sprite (got the idea from A Toy Garden), who would take our extra candy and leave a special gift.
Drake seemed to buy this, and picked out six pieces, and put the others in the tin. I was nearly breaking my arm patting myself on the back. But this morning, he opened the tin, found the 3-pack of Guido, Luigi and a tractor from the movie Cars, and only seemed mildly excited. A little later, he asked, “Can I have the extra candy?”
I reminded him the Sugar Sprite had taken it.
“Can you call her?”
“Um, maybe. But if you want the extra candy, you’ll have to give her back the cars,” I said, thinking this would settle the matter.
He called my bluff, gathered them up, and held them out. I told him the Sugar Sprite wouldn’t be home till later, and felt very fortunate when he got attached to the cars, and agreed to enjoy his one treat (a Tootsie pop) for the day, and finally stopped asking about the extra candy.
I don’t think this stands a chance of working next year. And I bet the dried apple slices won’t, either.
Though 3yo Drake is not napping anymore, I still follow the routine and he goes into his room for quiet time. Drake’s version of quiet time involves yelling “mom” repeatedly into the monitor, kicking the wall, and hollering the ABCs while stomping along on the floor. Unsurprisingly, this ruckus often wakes baby Guppy, and any semblance of a break for me is brought to an abrupt end.
We’ve had a rough couple weeks with many night wakings (croup and nightmares), so patience is low and tension is high. Last week during lunch, I urged Drew to finish eating so we could go up for quiet time.
“NO!” he yelled.
“But Drake,” I responded, in what I hoped was a calming voice, “quiet time is our friend.”
“NO!” he yelled again, then continued. “QUIET TIME IS _NOT_ A FRIEND. IT. DOESN’T. HAVE. A. FACE.”
I paused and stifled a laugh. “I see. Do friends have faces?”
“Yes,” he said in a normal tone, nodding for emphasis.
The boys had croup recently. Baby Guppy’s lasted longest, and I was beginning to fear an ear infection because he was waking each night. If he woke again, I vowed, I’d take him to the doctor the next day. Of course, Guppy slept peacefully that night. But at 1:23 a.m., Drake’s crying woke me. I stumbled into his room, and patted him on the back.
“The M was scaring me, Mom,” he wailed.
I sighed. “Yeah, that’ll happen sometimes.”
Book Moot, which I found via Mental Multivitamin, and MotherReader, which I found on Pages Turned, are two of many kid lit sites with great recommendations for children’s books to read aloud.
Because of Book Moot we’ve read Hi Fly Guy, Farmer Duck, and Snip Snap! What’s That?. At Mother Reader I found out about Happy Bees and Duck and Goose. My 3yo son Drake loved all of these, and demanded numerous re-readings. They were so well written and illustrated, and so humorous, that they were a pleasure for me as well, even multiple times.
Darwin Awards are given to silly humans who behave foolishly enough to remove themselves from the gene pool. Before having kids, I thought the warning on plastic bags was ridiculous–that’s common sense; what idiot wouldn’t know to keep bags away from a kid?! Since having kids, I think it’s a good idea. My kids LOVE plastic bags–they’re crinkly and they float! The other day, 3yo Drake was playing with one while I supervised. I turned my back for the proverbial one second, then heard him say, “Mom, look at me!” What I turned back, he had the bag over his head. I shouted No over and over, and then we had the talk about how mommy wasn’t mad, just scared, etc.
Drake’s other new behavior is to take a whisk or butter knife off the counter, open the toaster oven, stick in the utensil and start banging. We’ve taken to unplugging it, but haven’t yet found a positive way to discourage him.
The good news is that the behavior will change. There are things he used to do that I thought he’d do forever, and then he stopped, like insisting on being the one to use the microwave and flush the toilet. The bad news is that there will probably always be some annoying, dangerous thing he wants to do. I just hope the bag and toaster phase ends soon.
I meant to include a link to Lynne Jonell’s Mommy, Go Away with my recent post on empathy for 3yo Drake’s struggles. Mommy Go Away is the story of Christopher at bathtime. His mom wants him to take a bath, but he doesn’t agree, so he makes her small. She’s forced to experience some of the same difficulties that children go through all the time (”Be good! Mind your manners! No hitting the other mommies!”) and ends by agreeing that it’s hard to be small. This and other Jonell books, like When Mommy Was Mad and Mom Pie, have a sweet sense of humor, and are good stories as well as gentle lessons for both parents and children.
Our parenting class instructor says it’s best to leave junk food in the store. My favorite baby book, Baby 411, advises that parents foster healthy eating habits by eschewing the four Cs: cookies, candy, chips, and cola. I saw this when I flipped through the book the other week, and kept it in mind during last week’s grocery trip, and didn’t buy any of those items. That week, Drake may not have known what he was missing, but I did, and it made me cranky.
The next grocery trip I bought a bottle of black cherry pop, a dark chocolate bar, a bag of Kettle chips, and a bag of chocolate Newman O’s. I’ve kept all but the chips out of 3yo Drake’s hands. While I agree that the ideal is to not to have them in the house, I’ve found my mood improves appreciably when I have access to an occasional treat.
My musical horizon, never particularly broad, expanded a bit during my last semester of college. I met new friends who had different musical tastes, and I began to listen to an “alternative” radio station, WHFS. I’d previously leaned more toward classic rock. One of the first CDs I bought was the Indigo Girls. I liked the whole album, but “Closer to Fine” was a particular favorite. A friend of mine joked that it was my panacea song, one I played whenever I felt anxious or blue. When that song’s appeal faded, I moved on to a succession of others, such as Peter Gabriel’s Solsbury Hill. (Hey, I never professed to be cool. I leave that to my friends like Rock Hack and her husband.)
Over the past year or so, my panacea CD has been Nick Drake’s Pink Moon. It was the CD we played in the car as my husband and I drove to the hospital for baby Guppy’s birth, and it’s been the CD in most frequent rotation in our car ever since.
Even three-year-old Drake likes it, and asks for it by name. Some of its power to calm is lost, though, when Drake shouts “Pink Moon” repeatedly until we put it in. Also, Drake is more enamored of the numeric display than he is with the songs, so he keeps insisting that we replay song one over and over. For now, that’s OK. But it’s a good thing we don’t use the car often, and then only for short trips. I sense that our Pink Moon phase will be over soon.