Parenting 101 - letting them go

Naveen will be 14 months in less than two weeks. We still have our most special times when he’s nursing. Unlike with Deaglan who still clings to me every chance he gets, I sense this kid will tell me when it’s time to stop.

I have to be honest. I'm not ready.

He’s made tiny steps toward big-boyhood already. Last week two mornings in a row, when I set him down on the floor at the daycare, he looked up at Ms. Debbie, waddled over and grabbed her pant legs to let her know he was ready to be picked up.

Just like that. No thought to me, his own Mama, standing there, crumbling inside.


She peered at me apologetic while I staged bravado. I smiled through tears, and chirped about how grateful I was that he had somebody special he was connected to. The mother of two grown boys, a pioneer in letting go, she pushed him toward me, asked him to give me kisses.

And you know what he did?

He turned his little face away. As if my shift was over.
Punched out.
Not relevant. 

I laughed it off, hugged Deaglan and marched out of there. In the van I slumped into the seat. Felt carved out. Emptier than I’d been in some time. I chatted myself out of sobbing, reasoning that this is what I wanted all along, for him to be okay at the daycare. Worry-free days at work. 

But I knew better than to believe it. I quietly sat at my desk those mornings. I thought about the forever it seemed to take me to get my degree in university, find a decent job, build a life. The millennium each work week felt to reach the weekend.

And yet when it came to these boys, time was elusive and cunning, slipping through my fingers.

Shrewd. Merciless.

I'm pouring my heart out with Shell.

Hands are for hugging

Deaglan has been hitting. Mostly Shaune and Crash. We know it's an age appropriate phase but it's still worrisome.

I've read that it has mostly to do with the lack of skill in verbalizing his needs. Once he is able to tell us clearly what he wants or needs, the hitting should stop. That's a lot of hitting between now and then.

We've been responding in all the "right" ways. We say things like Deaglan, hands are for hugging, or Hitting hurts, please can I have a hug or a kiss instead? Smack! NNNNOOOOOO!!!!

We do things like give him positive attention in these situations. So if he starts to hit Shaune, then Shaune gets down on the floor with him and tries to get Deaglan involved in some activity like building blocks or race cars.

The other day just as I was entering the playground at the daycare, I see Deaglan raise his hand and smack his fellow toddler Caelynn. The educators see me coming so they wait for me to respond. I get down, level with Caelynn and gently grab her shoulder and say that must have really hurt Caelynn, you don't like it when Deaglan hits you, do you?

This gets the desired effect. Deaglan starts to cry and reaches out for me. I pull him to me and like a record say Deaglan hands are for hugging, hitting hurts and give him a hug.

It's a fine line you gotta walk - this parenting gig.

Today

I couldn’t shake my bad mood today. I could blame it on the person at work who insisted on getting under my skin. I could claim that until that first encounter with her I was feeling alright. But that’s not completely true.

I woke up dreading the day ahead. No real reason. Just didn’t want to face it, would rather have stayed under the covers or at least under my own roof.

I drove toward the daycare without enjoying the ride. Instead I imagined different encounters I would have later that morning or afternoon. Imaginary conversations preoccupied me – angry conversations I couldn’t fight.

At the daycare, I noticed that Deaglan’s jacket was in another child’s cubby. I grabbed it and brought it to the toddler room where I put Deaglan down and asked with a slight hint of accusation – if it was possible that Deaglan’s jacket could be in Roger’s cubby. The young educator looked up a little surprised to hear this in my voice – usually I am pleasant and light. Yes, she laughed nervously, we couldn’t remember who the jacket belonged to and took a guess. Ashamed, I caught myself and apologized for not having labelled it and asked if I could borrow a sharpie to do it now. Bidding her a good day I walked to the car berating myself for letting my hateful disposition guide my actions.

Even coffee failed me. Several incidents left me feeling either angry or misunderstood. Anger rose so easily. I felt small and invisible. Underappreciated and oh so irritated with all of it.

Some days if I’ve had enough sleep, and feel good in my clothes, and am indifferent about how much I weigh, and know Deaglan is healthy and safe and Shaune is having a good day at work and the sun is shining but it’s not too hot - on these days I can shake off a negligent comment or refrain from wanting to cry because my efforts were overlooked.

But not today. Today I could not change my mind. Today I was not grateful. I could not see the silver lining or be convinced that the glass was half full. Today, I did not want to get along. I did not want to avoid gossip. I did not feel generous or charitable. Today I could not convince myself that she deserved my sympathy. I could not imagine her as an innocent young child. Today I am glad that I found enough professionalism to keep quiet. Because today was not a good day.

Love letter to a toddler

Dear Deaglan,

It isn’t because I had nothing to do on the eve of your 18 month birthday that I looked up the word “toddler” in the dictionary and found the meaning to be disproportionate to the event in real life. It said that a toddler is someone who toddles, a young child learning to walk. I think that this is equivalent to saying that water is wet – sorely lacking in the rich and finely wrought details that embody the idea.

If I was going to define toddler I would include particulars like the definitive way you’ve been letting us know when you are finished with a specific toy or food these days – and of course, like with all things there is room for refinement here – a screechy cry, and then vehement head shaking followed by throwing that particular item on the floor will not always be acceptable forms of expressing your censure. And just on a side note, your Dad spent a lot of time and effort making those chicken nuggets, meatballs and perogies you so easily brush off of your highchair without so much as a courtesy nibble. You have no idea the lengths to which he went to puree the vegetables he concealed within them. I, for one, thought they were delicious. I’m just saying – would it kill you to take one bite just to humour him??

And speaking of my opinion, I’m not sure that you are old enough to be graduating into the Toddler Room at daycare this week. I mean if we go back to the dictionary definition of this point in your life, how can they justify moving you to a class with one less educator if you are just learning to toddle???

On the other hand they just might know what they’re talking about because their cribs have high enough sides to prevent you from climbing out. This issue has recently come to our attention at home – something else missing from Webster’s scant definition of toddler-hood. You are now sleeping in a big boy bed because last week we noticed that you are a monkey-climber and can balance your entire little body on the ledge of the crib making it possible for you to break your little neck which panicked me to the point where my worst fears flashed before my eyes and I had to sit down just to catch my breath but not before I demanded that your Dad take down one of the sides that very minute.

And so Deaglan it isn’t that I’m frustrated with all of these recent changes that just happen to coincide with this first rite-of-passage (which hasn’t been properly defined by Webster’s Dictionary if you ask me), the one they say is when a child first learns to leave the safety and comfort of his primary caregivers. It’s just that I’m watching you grow taller, stronger, smarter, braver, definitely and heartbreakingly cuter and my worry (and this is most likely just first-time-mother anxiety in me) is this. That you may someday outgrow me.

Love Mom

One rule fits all

It's quite wonderful to witness this small human learning. He surprises us with something unexpected daily.

On Saturday morning I was lagging a bit. I thought I had covered the basics - fed him breakfast, changed his diaper, closed the right doors, had water and milk within his reach and then settled on the couch to nurse my ailing body while he played around me. A few minutes later he came, stood in front of me and made a hand gesture. I had seen this before but had to think for a second about where. Then it came to me. It was a sign for 'more'. He put his little fingers together and then touched his two hands together. Then he sat down in front of me.

I was delighted! The daycare staff had mentioned that the kids learn some sign language but I had never seen any of it. I glanced over at his sippy cups and noticed the milk one was empty. What a genius I had given birth to!

There have been countless other brilliant little feats too. I don't want to get carried away by listing them all but don't think I wasn't considering it. For instance, you can't imagine the precision with which he is able to indicate the body part I ask for. Bellybutton. Ears. Feet. Tongue. Hair. Some of these he picked up on his own; neither we nor the daycare drilled it into him.

But equally enchanting (to us parents anyway) are instances where we have been trying to teach him something and he finally learns. This was the case with the blowing of a kiss. Whenever one of us left the house the other would show Deaglan how to blow a kiss and wave bye-bye. It took several weeks for this to really materialize but when it did, it was as if we had won some long-standing civil suit or lost enough weight to finally fit back into our highschool jeans. Now when grandparents visit they are treated to a goodbye wave and a sailing kiss.

But our jubilation was slightly short-lived when on Monday, Deaglan seeing the neighbour across the street getting into his Ford Explorer and pulling out of the driveway, began to wave and blow kisses. In the parking lot of the doctor's office, he felt it was appropriate to blow kisses to the construction workers who were getting into their trucks to go for lunch. On our drivehome from work and daycare, he blows kisses to anyone passing by.

I guess we could learn a lot from his love thy neighbour attitude!

Why?

My hairdresser Sara has a four year old boy named Marshall. I've never met him but I know a lot about him. I love hearing stories about children through their parents' perspectives. They're usually funny tales laced with a bit of frustration.

But at my last appointment, the frustration was aimed somewhere else. Marshall goes to daycare one day a week, and spends the rest of the time his parents are working with his grandparents.

The daycare hasn't been too happy with Marshall lately and have made this very clear to Sara and her husband. Apparently Marshall likes to pretend he's a character from one of his Wii games named Timbok.

One morning after he was dropped off, when one of the educators said good morning, he replied:

"I'm not Marshall, I'm Timbok!"

The educator shook her head and said:

"No, while you're here, you are Marshall."

This upset Marshall and he argued it a bit. When he saw that she wasn't going to call him Timbok, he put his hand down his pants and comforted himself by holding his penis. The educator without hesitation got down to face level with the four year old and calmly but firmly said:

"We don't do that here Marshall, please take your hands out of your pants."

"Why?" he asked.

"We just don't."

Sara heard this story secondhand from her husband. He was the one whose turn it was to pick Marshall up from daycare. All this was reported to him by the educator without apology or even much affect. She wrapped up her account by asking him this question:

"Is there anything going on at home that we should know about?"

Sara's husband Jay being a man of very few words mumbled something like:

"Not that I can think of."

He then grabbed Marshall and his coat and drove home.

This daycare is a government funded operation - not a home daycare centre. I won't tell you the name of it but it's not much different than the question Marshall asked when he was told not to grab his penis.

Making friends

There is a journal that gets passed back and forth between us and the daycare each day. They write a brief passage about what Deaglan was up to during his day and then we take it home and write down something about our evening. I had to share this entry with you from yesterday:

One of the educators wrote about Deaglan and his little friend Darius:

Deaglan and Darius gave each other a morning hug. It was not long before they were both rolling around on the mat giggling and laughing together.
Deaglan often holds a toy up in the air and babbles loudly. As soon as we look at him he breaks out in a huge smile full of mischief.

My heart

I still miss Deaglan when I'm at work. I have my work space covered with snapshots of him as you can probably guess. But there are moments each day when I feel a wave of separation that feels like a physical wound. Last night after work as we were all three playing in the living room, I felt such joy just watching him laugh at my husband's antics. I feel so grateful for the two of them in my life!

Fever

Since Deaglan started daycare, he has been sick almost everyday. I'm not exaggerting. And I know that it is actually very good for him - I've heard a thousand testimonials from other parents swearing that once they pass this "immunity building" stage, kids rarely get sick ever again. My back-to-work schedule has come in handy since I work from Tuesdays to Fridays. Today Deaglan was really sick with very high temperatures. I called telehealth and they told me that what I was doing was right (giving him lots of fluids and tylenol and motrin to bring down the fever) but there were times when I contemplated taking him into emergency. His fever came down and I was able to bathe him and put him to bed. But there was something that I noticed about him that had me again realizing just how much we can learn from babies. There was no drama to his illness. As soon as he felt even a tiny bit better, he was up and playing, laughing and chasing the cat. So in the moment. So all about joy.

B2W

Well...we survived our first day. Me back to work, Deaglan at daycare. It felt like the longest day ever to me. I felt crazy and emotional and irritated with the happy people. Some people had real empathy, especially the newer mums. The veterans just smiled sympathetically and assured me he was fine and I was going to be fine. Here are a few things I missed and some I begrudgingly have to admit I didn't mind so much:

I missed:

• Kissing his sweet, sweet wonderful face whenever I wanted to
• Making him laugh
• Holding him close
• Okay I just missed everything about him
• Oprah, Y&R and General Hospital (I never claimed our time together was totally educational)
• Bare feet
• Staying in my pyjamas
• Not worrying about appearances

I didn't mind so much:

• Freedom to go to the washroom without coming up with some grande elaborate scheme that would keep him safe and contained
• Having lunch (I mean really eating my own lunch - not scarfing down a piece of bread with peanut butter while the baby ate)
• People thinking I was so thin (the last time they saw me I was 185lbs with an enormous belly - anyone would look thin compared to that)