A Friend in Need...

Most mothers are challenged by healthy children who are ready to take on the world.  We worry more about unplanned pregnancies than the possibility that pregnancy might not be in our future.  The day-to-day stresses of mothering and trying to have a life wear on us.  And then things are put into perspective by a friend who is not so blessed.

Unfortunately, I have several such friends.  Friends who have struggled with infertility and abnormal pregnancies.  Friends who have successfully made it through pregnancy but find themselves months later with a child whose development just doesn't seem normal.  Friends who fill out hundreds of pages of forms to get their children the special education they need.  Friends who put their careers on hold to take their children to hours of various forms of therapy every week.  Friends who love their children dearly but cry every night about the hand they were dealt.  I know I'm not alone.  We all have these friends.

With Mothers' Day approaching, I am especially mindful of the great luck I have had in having a child who is brilliant and healthy and thriving with minimal work on anyone's part.  Despite coming up on two, we are having an amazing, wonderful time.  But I also realize the tinge of guilt I feel about this when I think about my friends who are not so fortunate. I am embarrassed to gripe about the normal everyday toddler stuff (number one on my list: the incessant babble) when I think about what my friends are facing every day. Working in a small community, I see this happen to my patients too; the scenario where one patient miscarries and her best friend, also a patient, has a completely uneventful pregnancy happens all he time.  The new mother feels awkward about the miscarriage and doesn't know what to say to her best friend.  It puts a wedge between them.

I know that in my own case, I am not the friend I wish I were.  I feel awkward, not sure what to say or what to do.  I know I can't fix the problem, and that makes me feel powerless.  I am afraid to share anything that is going on in my own life because I don't want my friend to compare.  I simply don't know what to do, so sometimes that means I just avoid contact.

What I do know is that real friends share in each other's joy and pain.  We are thrilled when a friend's child succeeds; we feel sorrow when a friend's child struggles.  And while we might feel a twinge of jealousy over one another's good luck, we never feel that the other's success is at our expense.  The reality is that as parents, we are all working and struggling to keep up, and every child has his talents and limitations, and every woman needs her friends to keep her afloat.

My pledge this Mothers' Day is to be a better friend.  I intend to stay mindful of the feelings of guilt that have kept me from providing the support my friends need.  And when my need to gripe about my own life creeps in, I WILL gripe...because I am a friend in need as well, and we're all in it together.

Bullies on the Playground

I am very confident about some aspects of parenthood: providing a healthy lifestyle, choosing a good education, teaching love for all living things, fostering a loving home environment.  There is one big aspect that leaves me quivering in my pumps (or clogs if I'm on call): discipline.  I would do almost anything to avoid confrontation, and even with my child, I am insecure at times.  Add another parent and her child to the mix, and I am totally hopeless.  Put me on a playground with a bunch of these people, and I want to cry.

Now, don't get me wrong.  We are actually really laid-back parents as far as the discipline goes.  We believe that children learn best when they experience the natural consequence of their actions.  We only intervene when there is actual danger.  We let Asher do all sorts of daring things that a lot of parents think are too risky.  We figure that if he gets a little bump on the head or is frustrated when he can't solve a problem, it  helps him learn about the world.  But we're also sticklers for manners and rules ("please" and "thank you," cleaning up after yourself, etc.) and are trying to teach Asher to use verbal communication to express his needs.  Too bad he's learning this from the queen of non-confrontation.

This problem became apparent about a year ago when I took Asher, who was just barely walking, to a playground in our neighborhood, where we met a little boy who was just a couple of months older.  They were interested in each other.  The little boy had a couple of big brothers running around, and Asher was fascinated by the three of them.  Until the little boy hit Asher.  And not by accident.  I had no idea what to do.  I quietly told the other boy that he wasn't being nice and then told Asher, half-heartedly, that it wasn't a big deal, hoping that he wouldn't freak out.  The other mother laughed it off, saying that he had learned that behavior from his older siblings.  Flustered and frustrated, I kept my mouth shut and, shortly thereafter, declared that my pallid child had been in the sun too long and that we needed to go home, and so we made a cowardly exit.  I realized that I had chickened out.

What I've learned in the last year is that I have a child who is by nature non-confrontational, just like his mother.  When other kids want his toy, he lets them take it.  If a kid pushes him down, he doesn't cry.  He might look bewildered for a second, but then he finds something new to do.  Similarly, if he's interested in someone else's toy and that kid won't give it up easily, he moves on.  He's one of those smiley kids that everyone wants to be friends with.  He's incredibly charming and incredibly versatile, and I never worry about how he's going to mix with other children. 

I know a lot of you are wondering right now how this could possibly be a problem.  Yes, having a child who is contented and easy-going and polite in his interactions with others does spare me a lot of the usual kinds of toddler discipline.  But it leaves me with a whole different set of problems: how do I teach my kid to stand up for himself without spoiling his happy-go-lucky attitude, and how do I keep the bullies from running all over him?  Today was a prime example.

I had the afternoon off after being on-call this weekend, so Nanny Becca and I decided to use a Groupon that I had bought a couple of weeks ago to take Asher to one of those bounce-house facilities where they have a bunch of inflatable slides and things to play on.  I was encouraged when we arrived that there was one other child there, a boy about a year or two older, and he seemed pretty energetic.  I thought he might be able to show Asher the ropes.  Unfortunately, I was wrong.  While his mother spent the whole outing on her phone, presumably checking email or playing a game or something, this kid set out to own the "playground."  Anything that Asher touched, he wanted.  And if Asher showed any interest in what the other boy was touching, the boy got physical.  I had no idea what to do, and this kids' mom was not doing a damn thing to teach her child how to play well with others.

At one point, I realized that Asher needed to learn to ask directly for what he wants, so we started learning a new phrase, "May I please...."  Amazingly, this bratty kid heard him and then responded by telling him what Asher could and could not touch.  I realized this was the key to teaching my less dominant child how to assert himself.  They were actually getting along.

Then Mom saw what was going on and, assuming that he was being his usual domineering self, yelled at the little boy and gave him a time-out.  And then she went right back to her phone.  And then he got up and again started taking things away from Asher and trying to push him off the equipment he was playing on.  And then, when Asher was happily running across the floor, he checked him (in the hockey sense).  I have no idea where the kid learned this move, but he was clearly an expert.  Again I was stuck in the same playground situation: what to do when another kid is nasty to Asher?  How do I make it not too big a deal for Asher while at the same time teaching the other child that the behavior is wrong? 

I am without an answer.  Again, I told Asher that the other boy's behavior wasn't nice but that he wasn't hurt.  Asher, who didn't cry or show anything besides shock at what had happened, started saying, "Sorry.  Sorry," because he knows that is what you say when you've done something hurtful to another person (or animal, as is most often the case in our house).  It broke my heart.  The little boy eventually was instructed by his mother to look at Asher and apologize "like he meant it," but I'm quite certain he doesn't really get it.

I don't want my child to learn to be a bully, but yet, I want him to learn to stand up for himself.  It's not my job to fight his battles, but I am responsible for giving him the tools to function in the world.  And here I am battling the enemy--the parent who doesn't provide these tools for her own child--myself.  What do I say to her?  How do I balance teaching my child how to get along in the real world without letting hers get away with nasty behavior?  How do I encourage mine to communicate his needs directly when all she does is punish hers for expressing himself physically?  How do I keep my kid "nice" without making him a target for the bullies?

Uncharacteristically, I am without an answer.

Let It Out

When I first started working in private practice, I was informed by someone that a bunch of websites listed me as a psychiatrist in Los Angeles (my awesome hubby has since fixed that error, thank goodness).  I found that a bit ironic, given that my least favorite rotation in all of med school was psychiatry.  And yet, it turns out that I deal with mental health issues almost every day both at work and (no shock) at home.

Today I jokingly mentioned to a couple of patients, who were both apologizing for breaking down in tears during their appointments, that I don't feel like I'm doing my job right if I don't make at least one person cry every day.  Obviously, crying is not exactly my goal.  But I guess part of me knows that I'm providing a therapeutic environment when patients feel comfortable crying in front of me and telling me how they really feel.  I can honestly say that it is a rare day that I don't see any tears or talk about sensitive, painful issues with someone. When I picked my specialty, I never realized how much of this my job would involve, and yet, unlike my psych rotation, which never really clicked for me, this feels a bit like my niche, and as much as I sort of dread appointments that are likely to involve tears because I know that they will be draining, I always feel a closer connection to those women.

Dealing with depression and anxiety and other big emotions can be intimidating, but I think the biggest hurdle for a lot of people is facing the person crying in front of them.  The tendency is the shove a bunch of Kleenex at her and hope she'll perk up.  The crying is uncomfortable to watch, especially when there is just silence cut by sobs.  All we want is for her to stop crying so that our discomfort will end, but, as you might imagine, just telling her to stop will only alienate her and teach her that her emotions are not OK and that you don't care.  On the other hand, if you can suck it up and sit through the crying and help her express what's wrong, you might be able to start to understand what the problem is, but it is not an easy thing to do.

The big news here is that it's the same with our kids.  We all hate when our children are upset and crying and throwing tantrums.  Most of us try to hush the offending child, telling him that he's fine or ordering him to stop crying or trying to distract him, but even if that diffuses the situation, which it often does not, it doesn't fix anything.  Worse, it just teaches him that his parents don't really care what's going on with him and that his feelings are unimportant.

Being mindful of our discomfort and feelings of insecurity when people are expressing big emotions can help us respond more empathetically.  If we can join in our children's tantrums in a more empathetic way, we teach them to process their feelings rather than just shutting them out.  They learn mindfulness, which is a key to being able to respond in a positive way to stress, rather than a way that emphasizes stuffing the pain away.  Imagine what it would be like if, instead of saying, "Oh, you're OK.  Get over it," you said, "I can see you're upset.  Tell me what's wrong."  Granted, what is wrong might be something that seems trivial to us, but asking your child to put the problem into words will start helping him learn to identify his emotions so that he can have some control over them.  Your toddler's tantrums probably won't stop overnight, but when he starts understanding better where his feelings are coming from and he starts to feel that his parents are really engaged with him, tantrums will become increasingly less frequent and more productive.

But the change has to start with you.  You've gotta let the tears roll down.  When you see tears, hold out the tissue box to offer help, but don't try to stop them.  Then, when the sobbing subsides, offer a caring ear.  It will connect you in ways you never imagined.

Carpe Diem(s)

OK, so my Latin isn't so hot.  No idea what the plural of "diem" is, but you get the idea.

Anyway, onto the real topic of today's post.  The other day I picked up a preschool application for Asher.  We have sort of planned all along that we would start Asher in preschool in January 2014, when he'll be a little over two-and-a-half.  Because he is an only child, we are always concerned about his exposure to other kids and the lessons they can teach him about getting along with others.  And because he is so energetic and physical, we are also concerned about him learning some self-control and order.  Both of those lessons are hard to teach to a kid who stays at home with a nanny and, therefore, whose world revolves around him.  Preschool is the remedy.

This preschool plan was mostly MY idea, but when I pulled into the parking lot and walked into the door of the school, I felt overwhelmed.  Like most parents, I couldn't believe my little boy was big enough to be taking that step, even though that step wouldn't come for almost nine months.

So, a little vulnerable and sad, we moved into yesterday, when my husband and I started talking a bit about trips for later this year.  I have been thinking for a long time that next winter would be a good time for a trip to Disneyland--Asher will be old enough to enjoy it but young enough to qualify for free admission.  In considering that, I realized that we would have to do it before school starts in January because I wouldn't want to pull him out of the new routine we were trying to establish.

And then the reality of him starting school set in.

The thing that is great about having a young child is that you aren't hampered by HIS schedule.  Sure, you've got your own stuff going on, so you aren't totally free, but you also don't have soccer games and cub scout meetings to muck up your plans.  I purposely keep Asher free of commitments on my Thursdays off and try to keep him out of weekend activities so that we have the freedom to do whatever we want with my non-work time.

 Then school happens.  And then it's the school schedule plus all the stuff that goes with it--birthday parties, fundraisers.  And then organized sports happen.  And then other extra-curricular activities.  And then you have no time.

Or at least that's how I imagine it.  Having never been a mother of a preschooler before, I wouldn't really know.  But that's my fear.  I see all of our carefree family days slowly vaporizing.  This year, our big family trip will be to a resort in Vermont, where we get a discount because we're traveling before the height of the summer vacation season.  Next year, Asher will be in school, and we'll be taking our summer vacation at the same time as everyone else.  So long, carefree days.

So getting back to the title of this post.  When Asher was a newborn, I got totally fed up with hearing from old women at the grocery store about how I should "cherish every moment" with him.  The reality is that there are a lot of un-cherish-able moments when you have a newborn, and as much as I thought I understood the gist of what they were saying, I was annoyed.  But now I feel like one of those old ladies in the checkout line: carpe diem.

Take advantage of those flexible, pre-preschool days. Take your vacations at odd times.  Don't over-plan your weekends.  Have fun with your freedom.  You might not cherish every moment, but those free days will be gone before you know it.   

Comfortable in Your Own Skin

Apparently, when I was a little girl, I decided to run out of the house and down the street naked. The older boy who lived across the street found me and delivered me home.  My husband has similar stories, although in his stories, the police are involved.  It seems that the cops were less busy in his hometown than mine.  At any rate, it turns out that kids like to be naked.  A LOT.

Since Asher has been potty trained, there has been a lot more naked time than before.  Part of this is because we don't worry about accidents all the time, but most of this is because we are a bit lazy--we don't have to help him with his pants every time he gets the urge if the pants are already off.  This leads to a lot of--ahem--self-exploration.  It turns out that toddlers like to touch themselves, and since they don't have the social training we do when we are older, they do it a lot, right out in the open for all to see.  As much as I understand the biologic reasons for all for all of this, it makes me undeniably uncomfortable.

Fast-foward to yesterday when I got home from work and sat down on the stairs to talk to Asher about his day.  Immediately, he flipped up my skirt to look for my (non-existent) penis.  This was a moment only slightly less embarrassing than the time my bikini top flew off on a waterslide when I was in high school (not sure who saw that, and, frankly, don't want to know, so if you were there, please keep the truth to yourself).  What is a mommy to do?

Clearly, I am no expert on child-rearing, but my work has taught me one huge thing: teach your children the names for their parts.  I saw a teenager the other day who had some concerns, and her pediatrician had told her that it was "just her fluff."  I was totally perplexed as to what the issue might be (not to mention somewhat horrified that she couldn't explain it better).  Kids need to know what things are called so they can communicate effectively and they need to know that their parents support this verbiage.  As awful as it sounds, if your child is abused in some way, s/he needs to be able to express what happened and feel comfortable talking to you about those parts.  

It becomes more complicated and uncomfortable when your child wants to talk about YOUR anatomy.  I don't have an educated answer to that.  But I do know that if you take a deep breath and explain things simply and logically, you'll probably get the point across without making it too big a deal.  My explanation: "Asher and Daddy have penises.  Mommy doesn't."  This seemed to do the job.   A friend just asked if Asher also knows about vaginas, and no, he does not, but my guess is that he will soon enough, given the kind of phone conversations I have from home when I'm on-call.  I'm sure we'll take the same no-big-deal approach to that one.

The bottom line is that we all need to be comfortable talking about our bodies.  It is uncomfortable for parents to talk about all of this stuff with their kids, but it is vitally important.  It has nothing to do with sexuality--that comes later--but everything to do with being familiar with your own body and being able to care for it.  Verbal communication is probably the most defining human characteristic, which means that we need to be able to talk about who we are physically.

Tonight Asher looked at me, both of us fully clad, and said, "Mommy, no penis."  Yes, my little buddy, you speak the truth.

The Perfect Day

Spring is always so busy for us, and this year has been no exception.  Between trips across the country to visit family and birthday parties and holidays, it seems like there is something planned every weekend.  Add to that me being on call every six weekends or so, and there just isn't much time left.  I try to plan just one big thing every weekend so that we aren't totally frazzled.  This weekend I made an exception, and I am really glad I did.

As I mentioned in my last post, we have all been crazy busy.  Crockett has been stressed with work piling up, and he expressed a need for some time this weekend.  We had plans on Saturday to spend the evening with some close friends to celebrate the impending arrival of a new baby boy, and normally this would mean an unscheduled Sunday.  But because I knew Crockett needed quiet time, I decided that Asher and I would have the first "Mommy-Ashie Adventure Day" in a while and go to Gilroy Gardens, a toddler-oriented amusement park about an hour from our house.  We had heard great things about it and had bought a season pass sight-unseen when they went on sale at Costco, so I was anxious to go.  I had doubts this morning when Asher woke at 6:20 after a restless night, but I decided to throw caution to the wind, and at 9:30, we were off.

My grand plan involved a nap in the car on the way there, and that didn't happen until 5 minutes before we reached the parking lot, so I was pretty sure we were screwed.  I was going to just wait it out, but it was 10:30 and sunny and getting rather hot, so I took a reckless course once again and decided that if Asher needed to sleep, he could do it in the stroller.  Come Hell or high water, we were going to do this thing.  Of course, he woke up immediately, and we were off.  First stop, the carousel for rides on several different horses.  Next, a ride on a swinging strawberry.  All were enjoyed with an ear-to-ear smile throughout.  Pizza lunch up next, and then the train, more rides, a run under the waterfall, a hot dog, another trip the carousel before we left.  Smiles and laughs all around.  The best day ever.

The funny thing is that if you dissect the day, you probably wouldn't understand how it was perfect in any way.  I forgot to put a pull-up on Asher before we got in the car, and, for the first time in ages, he had an accident during his short nap on our way there.  There were brooms and dustpans in every bathroom, which he always wanted to play with, and there was a small amount of screaming when I led him away every time.  Lunch took half an hour to eat, most of which was spent spacing out and counting trash cans.  He was trying to be so naughty while in line for the train, and yet, there was just enough going on to distract him into submission.  I almost had a panic attack on the ferris wheel (not a fan of heights), and then Asher tried to take a nap on the seat as the attendant came to let us out of our cabin.  The hot dog request came completely out of the blue, less than two hours after lunch, and was revealed on a whim as we were passing by a restaurant that does not serve hot dogs; I had to walk nearly the entire park to find the damn hot dog--there is only one restaurant that serves them--but we got it, and life was good.  Last, but not least, on the final carousel ride, I was told to "LEAVE!!!" by this increasingly independent child (unfortunately for him, he isn't tall enough to ride alone).  Such love.  And then I had to fight a little to get off the carousel; he wanted to try a horse in every color.  During the five minutes it took at the end of the day to convert our Costco voucher into a real season pass, the few remaining bits of hot dog went flying, a protest for taking away the fun.  On our way out of the parking lot, a pitiful, exhausted utterance, "Back in....Back in...."

That's the most amazing part of living these experiences: there is nothing particularly wonderful about any of it, and yet it is all wonderful.  There is some sort of magic chemistry that makes it perfect.  How often do you spend eight hours with a two-year-old and not get frustrated?  Almost never.  This was one of those rare days.

But I know life is short and childhood even shorter.  His yearning for independence is a blatant reminder.  I feel a need to commemorate it all.  I'm usually the one behind the camera, trying to preserve the memory.  I tried to capture the moments, the smiles, the laughs.  However, unlike most outings, on this one, I had no back-up, and my only camera was my phone.  I became more aware of how I usually miss the full experience of the moment by trying to preserve it somehow.   In the process of accepting my limitations, I became more whole.  Contrary to what I expected at the start of the day, by not being able to record it audio-visually, our outing became better recorded emotionally.  I was more there, and because of that, I will never forget it.

It was the perfect day with the perfect iPhone self-portrait to prove it.

PeePEE!!!

I had just sat down to start writing and wasn't sure what topic to start with--full of ideas for my new blog--when I was interrupted by Asher waking up from a nap, and the topic became clear. Previously, this was generally a serene event, which involved a lot of rolling around with his blankets, drinking some water, and reading some books to himself. That all changed about two months ago with potty training. Now he wakes with a full bladder and plaintive cries to urinate. Part of me really misses those gradual, peaceful wake-ups. Most of me loves being diaper-free.

 I know what you're thinking, "He's so young!" Yes, he is young. We got rid of diapers at 20 months. That said, no, I am not concerned about him having any sort of Freudian issues. For the record, back in the day, they used to strap kids to the potty and hold them down until they went. For hours. Seriously. Kids at any age would have issues after that. We took a more natural, less pressured approach. It worked, and though he probably will have a million other issues related to his upbringing, I don't think any of them will be scatological. 

So why a blog post about this? As with all families, this was as huge landmark for us. Asher is officially a little boy, freed of the constraints of infancy. We don't have to pack a bag full of diapers. Wherever there is a toilet, we're fine. Huge change from the newborn days when a weekend away meant a SUV bursting at the seams with baby equipment. Bittersweet in some ways, but mostly just awesome. Having potty-trained one kid, I am certainly no expert in the matter, but reflecting on it and talking with a lot (basically every mother I know, which is a lot of moms considering what I do for a living) of people about it, I think there are some basic concepts that parents need to get in order to get the job done.

 First off, don't worry so much about whether or not your kid is ready. Very few kids come out and just start using the potty consistently on their own.  If this happens, you are very lucky, but you also might be waiting until that child is almost ready to start kindergarten, which is not a reasonable option for most of us.  For the rest of us, we just have to jump in. If your kid can follow simple directions reasonably well, there is a very good chance, he can figure it out. If you are actually considering potty training, he is certainly ready (I am convinced we underestimate our kids' abilities all the time). It's really a question of whether or not YOU are ready. Seriously. This is a big deal. Your baby is no longer a baby. There are GREAT things ahead, but that's a big emotional speed bump to get over.

When Asher first showed up to his "mommy and me" classes (which he attends with the nanny...more on that in the future, I'm sure), after missing just one week, everyone was sure we had failed in our endeavor.  He was a bit of a phenomenon among the not-quite-two crowd.  None of the other kids had attempted this, and it was a shock to everyone when it worked.  And I think that is mostly because no one wanted to admit that our kids are growing up.  Admittedly, I cried the first day (I cried a lot the next few days too, but for different reasons--even when training goes well, it is not easy).  I couldn't believe he was ready for this, and yet, there he was sitting on the potty and running around diaper-less.

Beyond the emotional aspects, you've got to commit the time. I don't care what some books say, three days of "boot camp" are not going to have your kid potty-trained sufficiently put undies on him and just let him go. You've really got to clear your calendar, I mean REALLY clear it, for at least a week. Which means that you take a day or two off of work, or you get your partner or some other relative to stay home with your child. You use vacation time. Yes, I mean that. This is way more life-altering than that trip to Disney you were prepared to take a week off for. And you clear your weekends for a while after that. No birthday parties or weekend trips or any other unbreakable plan. You keep things low-key and close to home (and familiar potties) as long as it takes.

And you've got to accept that there WILL be accidents.  And that's OK, just messy.  The accidents are learning opportunities, not failures.  At some point, you'll feel like there are so many accidents that it's not working.  You will be wrong.  Stick with the program, and it will work.  Trust me, we've all been there.

As for the particulars, there are a lot of different methods, and I can't have an opinion about any aside from the one we used. In fact, I'm not sure it really matters. We used the "Oh Crap" method, chosen as much for its name as for a big two thumbs up from a good friend (http://www.jamieglowacki.com/).  I personally don't think that big rewards or peeing on Cheerios does it.  I like the matter-of-fact approach, the concept that doing your business in the potty is the way all of us do it and now a child is mature enough to handle that too.  But if stickers or drowning the Cheerio works for your kid, go for it.  Whatever you do, just be consistent and put in the time.

Eventually, you will be rewarded in ways you never imagined.

  (Photo taken on Day 1, which happened to be Valentine's Day--note the monster with hearts on Asher's shirt and daddy love.)