Kid Amnesiac

I suppose the aphorism is true. On our flight from SF to Cleveland two weeks ago, Matt and I accidentally left Dirty Dog behind. We worried that its loss would complicate getting Simon to sleep that night, and indeed he looked a bit confused when we handed him a frog blanket and a taggie blanket that night. Thankfully, he fell asleep without too much fuss.

Our first day back in town, we went to the Whitworths’ house and collected Dirty Duck, Dirty Dog’s sibling, which they keep for Simon’s Thursday naps. Dirty Duck is made from the same fabric as Dirty Dog, so the feel in a sleeping baby’s hands is identical and the appearance is similar enough to make it effective as a lovey and part of our sleep-time ritual.

While Simon cozied up with Dirty Duck Saturday night, Matt went online and ordered two replacement Dirty Dogs. Frankly, we felt a bit silly about the thing, as we strongly suspected that we were more attached to Dirty Dog than Simon was.

“He’d be fine with just Dirty Duck” we told each other. “We’re the ones who are attached to Dirty Dog.”

How wrong we were! Several days later the twin Dirty Dogs arrived. I gleefully ripped open the box in anticipation of bedtime. Once 8:00 p.m. arrived and we went through our nightly ritual, we placed Simon in his crib and I handed him Dirty Dog. What I saw next surprised me, because Simon clearly recognized Dirty Dog and was happy to see him after a week’s absence.

He reached out for the blanket, but did not tuck it under his arm and snuggle up right away. Instead, he held Dirty Dog at arm’s reach, turned him around, and seemingly inspected his face. Satisfied that this was indeed his old friend, he made a part-sigh, part-laugh sound and snuggled up with him.

From that day on, Simon has been more attached to and in love with Dirty Dog than ever. He carries him around, he hugs and kisses him, we hear him talk about “dir doe” throughout the day, and he’s integrated Dirty Dog into his daily play. We have since taken to use Dirty Dog as a general comfort object and have him kiss Simon when he’s upset. It didn’t keep him from crying at the pediatrician’s office on Friday, but I’m sure it got him to calm down faster after the exam.

What a funny and endearing turn of events. All hail Dirty Dog!

Wednesday was the big intake interview with First Steps, Kentucky’s early intervention systems for children under three who need help to develop properly and be ready for school.

I self-referred based on my pediatrican’s advice and because Simon is now 18 months old and can’t walk on his own. Much of the interview was pretty straightforward, but there were a few surprises along the way.

First, our intake coordinator was extremely careful in her language. As Matt and I do not have the same last name, she referred to him simply as “Simon’s father” throughout the first half of our interview. In fact, for quite some time she didn’t realize he lived in the house with us. I didn’t realize this until she asked, “Does Simon’s father live here, too?” Once I understood what was going on, I casually dropped in the words “husband” and “mother-in-law” wherever possible to tip her off. I suspect this will be the first of many times our differing last names raise questions about our family’s status, but I suspect few will be as neutral and professional as this woman was.

Second, I was surprised to find myself at a loss for words a few times. When it came to describing Simon’s daily activities and all his abilities, I was my usual voluble self. But then Sheila (the coordinator) would throw a curve ball my way:

Q: “What daily activities does Simon’s delay prevent you from doing?”

A: “Um…. Well, none really. I just have to carry, push or help him walk everywhere. It’s just harder I suppose.”

Q: “What are your goals for Simon in the next six months?

A: “Um… walking?” Seriously, I haven’t thought six months ahead. I eventually, lamely, came up with “Walking, running, a little climbing, and whatever your physical therapists deem appropriate for a two-year-old.”

Q: “What activities does Simon not enjoy?”

A. “Um…We don’t really do things he doesn’t enjoy. Diaper changes maybe? Getting his face cleaned? Going down the slide if he’s not in the mood? Sitting in the stroller if he’d rather play?” It’s not like I’m forcing to take piano lessons, he hates math class, or he argues with me about cleaning up his room. I was grasping at straws here.

Last but not least, I was surprised by the complexity of the program. I knew there was a call, then an intake appointment, and then an assessment. But I thought once those three hoops were jumped through, they sent in the experts. Not so fast. You have the call. Then the intake appointment. Then the assessment. Then I’m referred to a primary service coordinator (today I met with an initial service coordinator). Then I attend an IFSP meeting with my entire IFSP team (I somehow missed what the acronym stands for) to review Simon’s proposed course of treatment. Then there’s an opportunity for me to accept, reject, or change this plan, possibly by working with a parent consultant. And then actual therapy begins.

Start to finish, from first phone call to first appointment with a therapist, I’m looking at 45 days.

It will surely be interesting to see where Simon is by this point.

Today Simon has his 18-month and 9 day check-up. He’s a growing boy! Stats are:

Height: 32 3/4 inches. Still in the 65% percentile. Now over half my height.

Weight: 25 lbs. 3 oz. This puts him into the 40th percentile, up from 30th. Dr. Newstadt was happy to see him continue to gain here. Interestingly, it puts his Body Mass Index (BMI) at what, for an adult, is a super-model-skinny 16.5.

Head circumference: Always the amusing high point of any vist: 19 3/4 inches, now back up to 96th percentile. No surprise here as I’ve had to search out brands of clothes that put shoulder, neck, or back snaps on clothes for babies up to 24 months. (Boden and Tea get high marks here). Otherwise, things get stuck on his noggin. This trip, even Dr. Newstadt joined in on the joking.

Dr. Newstadt watched Simon cruise and is not worried about the non-walking at all. He’s clearly very close, and we’ve begun the process with First Steps to help us out. More on that later. He also noted Simon’s considerable overbite, something my brother noted when Simon was only hours old, and suggested we start weaning from the pacifier to avoid making it worse. Oh boy.

Simon hated this trip even more than the last, shrieking once the exam got started and not calming down until it was time to leave. That part is getting old and got me so discombobulated that when I tried to jokingly suggest Simon might not cry so much if Dr. Newstadt were a young, pretty, woman, I instead managed to suggest Simon might cry less if Dr. Newstadt were just more attractive himself. I hear insulting your dedicated, talented pediatrician is a great way to get better care! While I’m at it, I think I’ll also call his home phone line at 1:00 a.m. with a question about vitamins…

Thankfully, we’re not due back for 6 whole months. Whew!

Spring has finally sprung in Kentucky. The trees are getting leaves, the Dogwoods are in bloom, and it was warm all day today.

Our household couldn’t be happier. After work today we headed out to the park and took a few pictures. Here’s to six months of similar outings.

And Happy Earth Day!

When Matt and I first wanted to help Simon learn to fall asleep on his own, I brought home Richard Ferber’s Solve Your Child’s Sleep Problems. I vividly recall reading the introductory section of the chapter on night terrors and thinking to myself, “Well, that sounds dreadful. I’m glad it’s rare and I won’t have to deal with it.”

I may have spoken too soon, because I’m almost certain Simon had an episode Sunday night, and if I’m right, he’s had one or two others besides.

The good news is that he would not remember a night terror and so has no fear of going to bed; the bad news is that they are truly awful to observe and there isn’t much to be done to prevent them besides keeping your child well rested and on a predictable schedule.

Here’s what happened Sunday night: I came home from our Passover seder at around 8:00 p.m. to put Simon down for the night. He jabbered away happily as I changed his diaper and put on his pajamas, he settled into my lap for story-time, and he was ready and eager to go to sleep when I put him in his crib at 8:30-a bit later than normal, but not terribly so. After I left his room, I didn’t hear a peep as he fell asleep.

At around midnight, Matt and I heard some fussing. More nights than not, Simon cries a bit at around 11:30 - 11:45 p.m. He usually settles back down on his own, and it’s so common we jokingly call it “the midnight squawk.” Only Sunday night he didn’t settle down. He seemed to grow more agitated over time, and when Matt entered the room and tried to soothe him, it escalated.

When this happened that I can remember in the past, I noticed that Simon had his eyes open, but didn’t seem to see or recognize me. And as soon as I touched him to pick him up, he arched away from me and thrashed wildly. Honestly, he looked possessed, and I was confused and worried that my attempts to soothe him only made things worse. Once Matt tip-toed into the room during a milder episdode to see what Simon was up to and described his motion as “swimming” in his crib.

Sunday night it took a good 20-30 minutes before Simon went back to sleep, a situation that sent me straight to the literature last night. Ferber described Simon’s behavior to a tee. Those midnight squawks? Those are mild confusional arousals when Simon gets “stuck” between his second deep sleep cycle and the lighter one that follows it. Most babies will awake briefly, roll over or shift in bed, and go back to sleep quickly at this juncture. But Simon gets a bit confused, and so often takes 1-5 minutes to fall back asleep, during which time he appears awake but isn’t.

And Sunday night? That was a more severe confusional arousal, and quite possibly a night terror. Despite the name, Simon wasn’t dreaming or terrified of anything. He was simply stuck in an odd physiological state made worse by our interfering with it. Here’s what one online source has to say about “helping” with a night terror:

Of course, your first instinct will be to comfort him, but your efforts will most likely be futile (remember, he’s not really awake and he’s not aware of your presence). You just have to wait it out and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. Don’t speak to him or try to soothe him, and don’t try to shake or startle him awake or physically restrain him - all of which could lead to more frantic behavior. In 15 to 20 minutes, your child should calm down, curl up, and fall into a deep sleep again.

Our new goal is to try an ounce of prevention. From now on, we need to keep the house quiet after 11:00 (no getting ready for bed and pacing over squeaky floor-boards then), and we really need to get Simon to bed before he’s totally shot. Household noise or interruptions can make it difficult for a child to transition from deep sleep to lighter sleep, and being over-tired to begin with contributes to children fighting the shift to lighter sleep during the night and therefore getting “stuck:” between cycles.

Finally, if things don’t improve, we may need to wean Simon off of his pacifier, as searching for it is his nighttime “job” and another possible contributor to his confusional arousals. I’m optimistic it won’t come to that as last night Simon went to bed on time, we tucked in ourselves at 10:30, and so far as I know our house was silent all night.

Tonight was our second ever Passover seder with Simon. I had hoped he’d behave well so I could spend my time and attention directing the Passover seder and so he could play baby Moses to my Yocheved* in our first-ever family Passover play. Given that Simon was coming off a busy weekend that already featured brunch with friends, a trip to their house afterwards, and a family birthday dinner for my nephew last night, continued peace was probably too much to ask.

But Stink-Pot delivered in a huge way! He sat at the table for ages, he tried all sorts of new foods, and he genuinely seemed to have a good time. During our play, he climbed out of the Moses basket, but that was spontaneous comic relief. And when it came time to “cast” plagues in act two of our play, he really got into it. Watching the big kids throw bugs, lice, hail, and frogs entertained him, but his absolute favorite was picking up afterward.

The little guy, bless his heart, was mesmerized by the pom-poms we used to represent hail. He sat in my mom’s family room and picked them out from among the fake lice, frogs, and bugs lying about and put them into a basket. Then he sat in the dining room, took them out again one by one, and replaced them in the basket. Had I not felt the need to take him home and put him to bed, I half-way think he’d still be there playing with the hail.

Tonight’s pom-pom obsession was part and parcel of a new behavior I’ve spotted lately: Simon is beginning to understand cleaning up, and he wants to help me do it. The two of us were sitting in the living room Friday afternoon when I noticed he was playing with his nesting boxes in a new way. Instead of stacking them, he nested them inside one another. He displayed quite a bit of patience, too. If one box was too big to sit inside the other, he’d take it out and look for the right fit. Once he had about five blocks nestled, he tried to put the entire stack in their carrying case and close the lid. I could hardly believe my eyes, and I’m still not sure if this was an example of simple container play or if he was imitating me. Regardless, I thought it super-adorable.

Which kind of sums Simon up for the past week. He’s been super social, super sweet, and super lovable. I know the era of tantrums has arrived and isn’t going away, but I’m beginning to suspect that the biggest trigger for last week’s fits was jet-lag and general fatigue.

* We had a bit of stunt-casting in our play. Yocheved was Moses’ mother. It also happens to be my Hebrew name, one I’ve complained about ever since I was about 9 and realized that it lacked the lilt of my friends’ names Leah, Renah, Hanna, Chava, Peninah, etc. Tonight, at long last, it seemed quite appropriate.

Goodness, I’ve been crabby lately. I looked over my recent posts yesterday and all I saw was moaning and griping. Who is that sour-puss? The fact is it’s not all bad over here. In fact, the last few days have been wonderful: Simon has been an active, happy little boy and I am delighting in some of his recent advances.

Sometime about two and a half weeks ago, a switch flipped. My happy-to-sit-for-hours baby got tired of sitting. Once he discovered how easy it was to pull up, he started pulling up all the time, and more adventurous cruising followed shortly.

Since we’ve come back from our trip, I’ve hardly seen Simon sit at all. He spends nearly all day, every day standing, squatting, and cruising. He typically sits only long enough to eat, splash in the tub, or have a position to pull himself back up from. Often when he’s not standing, he’s experimenting with crawling (we’re seeing more of this lately) and trying to get up by pushing off of the floor with his hands. If he’s having a quiet moment, he’s more likely to kneel than sit. The only thing Simon likes better than standing or cruising is climbing stairs or kicking a ball.

At eighteen months, Simon has finally decided that he wants to walk, and he’s pouring all his attention and energy into it. While I cannot state what the initial trigger was, we are both reaping immediate rewards from this shift. Simon giggles every time he kicks a ball, and he giggles and grunts every time he ascends or descends a staircase. He’s laughed himself into a fit of hiccups more than once this week.

These developments confer several advantages on me. At the most basic level, I’m less worried about him now. He’s behind, sure, but he’s also developing at a rapid clip. I’ve been referred to a group called First Steps that helps children with developmental delays, but I halfway think he’ll be walking before they complete their evaluation. What’s more, I think any therapy Simon does receive will be welcomed by him now that he wants to progress himself. Before, I worried as much about the intervention as the delay behind it. After all, we can’t want him to succeed more than he does….

There’s a strong aesthetic component to this, too. It sounds silly, but seeing Simon move in new ways is a thrill. He looks adorable when he sticks out his right foot (always the right) to kick a ball, and I love seeing little-boy feet tucked under his bottom when he kneels. Yesterday I helped him walk barefoot across grass, and I was reminded of a similar happy time a year ago when Simon first touched grass with his hands.

In fact, a part of me wonders if Simon deliberately held out until spring, when the rewards all the greater. It certainly is not lost on me that Simon is blossoming at the same time as the world around him.

Well now, that was a surprising way to wake up at 5:40 a.m. in Louisville, KY: we had an earthquake! I felt lots of these in California, and I vastly preferred the ones that happened when I was lying in bed to the ones that happened when I was standing up somewhere. Whenever I did feel one, my native Californian friends taught me the appropriate response: wait for aftershocks and/or to see if “the big one” is coming next.

Here in Louisville, my thoughts ran in a different direction: “Is St. Louis still standing?” From what I knew, the only earthquake to feel in the Ohio Valley would be from the New Madrid fault, one that does not let off steam very often and promises to trash St. Louis and Memphis when it next moves. To put the situation into perspective, please note that were the New Madrid fault a pregnant lady and a quake labor, well, she’d be about 15 months pregnant now.

But what do I know? This one was based near New Harmony, Indiana. No major injuries reported. So more of a novelty than anything else.

Begun 4/5/2008

There are days when this parenthood thing seems pretty easy and when I marvel at all the modern conveniences we have at our disposal, and days when the whole thing just tires me out and makes me feel spectacularly inept. The day I traveled to San Francisco and the day I returned home would be examples of the latter.

As I typed the first part of this, Matt was sitting next to me trying to get Simon to take a nap:

Simon is shot, having endured a bumpy and delayed first leg and now a bumpy, similarly delayed second one. If we were home, he’d be in bed in a half hour. As it stands, we’ll be doing good to get him in bed by midnight Eastern. [Note, we got him to bed at 2:00 a.m. Eastern.]

The thing is, on paper, we did everything right. We packed meals. We packed videos to watch on my laptop. We’ve got dirty dog and Pat the Bunny Sleepy Bunny. This trip, he’s in his own (expensive) seat, comfortably settled in his regular car seat. But none of this is making up for a very long day of tedium and restraint.

I have done a great job organizing us for this trip, and Matt is doing a spectacular job of attending to Simon now that we are en route, what are we doing wrong to have this fussy, miserable kid? And if the answer is “nothing”, then I have some questions.

Namely, how the he** have others pulled this off? Theoretically, entire peoples live on the road for much of their lives. The Himba do. The Wodaabe do. I think some Beduin still do. Entire peoples have also faced long relocations. Some are known to have been awful, like the Cherokee march to Oklahoma. But what about all those pioneers who headed West in the US with all that they owned crammed into a wagon? What about my own family, which came from Eastern Europe to the U.S. on a boat and with kids in tow? How did they do it? Did their babies wail the whole way?

I can’t help but think that we’ve either lost touch with how to do more with less or that airline travel offers a perfect storm of misery. Whichever it is, I’ll be happy when this particular journey is over.

I’m now back from the return trip, and not much has changed. We got lucky with better flights on the return, but it was still really hard. As we sat in the terminal at SFO, Simon threw a colossal fit that only constant walking in the stroller could abate. On the plane, he indulged his game of “do!” until I thought my back would break. To make matters worse, we accidentally packed up all his books, so he had little to do other than read Do Princesses Count ? (the one and only board book available for purchase our side of security) and throw stuff. Worst of all, we seem to have missed one launching of dirty dog and came home without him. [Two replacements arrived via Amazon today. Welcome back, dirty dog!]

I was amazed and angered by how ill-designed airports can be. To get from the rental car return to our gate at SFO, for example, we had to take 5 (five!) elevators. We were so crammed on the plane that Simon’s carseat blocked the seat tray from coming down. The proffered food was negligible and disgusting. And, holy cow, both our planes heading to SFO lacked changing tables in the lavatory. Matt had to change a poopy diaper with Simon sitting on his lap. If there’s a medal of honor for parenting, he gets it for that one!

This trip was all about the destination, and very little about the journey, I tell ya.

I think this week my baby became a toddler. I’m basing this assessment on the fact that Matt and I have both seen Simon grow increasingly frustrated by things he cannot say and cannot do, and also by the fact that we’ve witnessed two full-blown temper tantrums in the past three days.

I had honestly hoped that somehow I’d be able to watch a tantrum in action, recall what I’ve learned about them from books like What to Expect: The Toddler Years, Touchpoints, or Raising the Emotionally Intelligent Child and be able to understand their cause, appreciate their value, lesson their intensity, and keep my cool. Well, I’ve managed the second point OK, but have not been as successful with the rest.

Sunday night saw the first tantrum. Simon awoke from a late and long nap about an hour before dinner was planned. I gave him a snack to hold him over, and the minute I went to remove him from the high-chair, he began to cry. That crying quickly escalated into screaming, bending over in half, writhing on the floor, and violently resisting any attempts of mine to hold him or comfort him. I left the room for a while to no avail, then eventually got him to calm down a little by going outside and sitting on the porch swing. Once we came back inside, after the tantrum had lasted over 20 minutes, he was still upset but ready to begin calming down.

That night, the Monday morning quarterbacking began. Did he cry because he was still hungry? Did he cry because he was not feeling well? Was I not understanding him? Was he trying to tell me something or do something? I settled on the hunger theory and resolved that this fit was the result of a basic and fixable parenting error.

Then Monday happened. Simon awoke from a long and regularly scheduled afternoon nap and appeared to be in a fabulous mood. He handled his diaper change better than usual, and I got lots of smiles and giggles from him when I changed his clothes and brought him down for a snack. We were a full two hours away from dinner, so I had no reason to think he was terribly hungry. And yet, the minute I tried to play with him in the living room, he went berserk. Didn’t want to play with the ball. Or the stacking boxes. Or his animal train. Didn’t want to be picked up. Or left down. Or sit in my lap.

Mild crying quickly escalated into a violent fit. As I was feeling better (I’ve been battling a but since my SF trip), I was less angry about the whole thing, but I’m not sure if I was any more effective for it. First, I tried to distract him with new toys and new rooms. That failed. Then I told him I was leaving him alone for a bit, but would be back in a few minutes to check on him. That also failed. Finally, I told him that he would perhaps feel better in his room, took him upstairs, and left him in his crib. When I went back in to check on him about three minutes later, he seemed upset but willing to be helped to calm down. We snuggled for a bit, he cried out the rest of his frustration, and calm resumed 30 minutes after the fit began.

I spent the rest of the evening a bit fried, constantly concerned that the littlest thing would set him off, knowing I was feeling well enough to survive one fit but not two, and remembering well how I felt when Simon had colic.

I’m hoping that if I settle into a routine of how I handle fits, that we can lessen their severity and length. Thanks to the reading I’ve done so far, I also understand how frustrated Simon must feel by his physical and linguistic limitations, and I have genuine empathy for the tumult within.

But selfishly, I am also feeling a bit sorry for myself. For fifteen months I had a loving, compliant, happy baby who lived to love, be loved, and please. The contrast with this new person, this eighteen-month old boy who is learning to separate from his mother and is completely torn over the process, could not be more striking. I am also deeply aware of how this plays into my own limitations as a parent, for I have endless more energy and stamina for the physical intensity of early parenting that patience and wisdom for the rest. Fortunately, the empathy is there; I’m counting on my ability to harness that, dig deep, and grow right along with Simon. But I still want my baby back!

Footnote: Last night, shortly after I wrote this entry, I put Simon to bed and headed out to the grocery. When I came home, a frazzled Matt greeted me at the door. He was on a work call, and Simon had suddenly awakened shrieking about 20 minutes earlier. I ran upstairs a bit worried that Simon would react to my attempts to calm him from his nightmare the same way he had done during his tantrums. Instead, he immediately calmed down when I picked him up and positively melted when I glided in the chair with him. Twenty minutes later I was able to put a sleepy and serene Simon back in his crib, where he slumbered away for the rest of the night without event. It was gratifying to see that this new stage of his does not render all of my current parenting skills obsolete.