child development

All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust. – Peter Pan

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 4 Comments

I’ve been working to win back Sprout’s trust since I returned from my work trip two weeks ago. Since then, he’s been somewhat skeptical that I wouldn’t leave him again. While Chris and I connected on FaceTime every night, seeing Mommy “in the box” just wasn’t the same as being in my arms.

When I first arrived home, Sprout’s reaction was subdued. It was close to his bedtime and Chris hadn’t been able to play with him much because he was sick, so Sprout was already in a bit of a mood. When I lifted him out of his car seat, he hardly cracked a smile. Certainly not the enthusiastic welcome I’d hoped for.

The next morning, once he realized I was back for good, his whole attitude changed. Then it became All Mommy, All the Time. When Chris was holding him, he’d reach his arms out to me. If I was present, I’d be the only one who could comfort him. If I was in the same room and not paying direct attention to him, he’d soon make sure I was. While I dislike Family Guy, I started to realize how true the bit where Stewie just says “Mommm, Mommmmmy” over and over again is. In general, his clingyness was getting really annoying. But because I appreciated Sprout’s need to feel attached to me and be reassured, I tried to be there mentally and physically for him as much as possible.

Of course, the worst was at night. At first, I tried to pick up where I left off on our sleep routine. When I left, he was able to fall asleep completely by himself with a little bit of babble-whining. After needing to go in and reassure him several times the first night, I realized I needed to back up a few steps on the sleep training. I think he associated me leaving him alone in his room with me Leaving Him. So I went back to sitting next to his crib with my eyes closed, present but not engaged. While we played the up-down game more than I would have liked (Sprout stands up, Mommy puts him down, Sprout stands up again, repeat up to 30 times), he eventually got used to the idea that I’d still be there when he went to sleep.

While we gradually worked our way back to a level of independence at bedtime, his reactions in the middle of the night have been far more unpredictable. While I was gone, he actually slept through the night a couple nights, much to Chris’s relief. The first few days after I returned, he either slept through the night or only woke once and went back to sleep after a reassuring hug. This calm lulled us into a sense of security and then his sleep schedule totally fell apart. He would fall asleep at bedtime, but then wake up in the middle of the night and not go back to sleep for hours at a time, no matter what we did. If I was holding him, he wouldn’t cry, just look at me with his big blue eyes. Nursing, rocking, holding – none of it worked. By training him not to rely on any of these methods, we seemed to immunize him against them being effective. And if we put him in his crib by himself – especially if I put him in his crib – he would start hard crying. As I really don’t believe in cry-it-out, it was horrifying. I either had to listen to my baby scream or not go back to bed – either way, I wasn’t getting back to sleep. I chose not to go back to bed, dragging Chris in for reinforcement. Because he takes much longer to fall back asleep than I do, I hate having to wake him in the middle of the night, but I didn’t have a choice.

We thought we had moved beyond this last week, but then Sprout got a cold and it reared its ugly head again. A few nights ago, I was so desperate that I tried to bring him into bed with us, but he was even less interested in sleeping there than he was in my arms. Instead, he thought it was playtime and promptly pulled Chris’s hair. I ended up sleeping on the couch for three hours with him in my arms.

As I respond to him during the day and night, Sprout’s feeling of security in my presence should continue to increase. In the meantime, I hope that we’re past most of the growing pains.

Just Saying “No!”

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 3 Comments

Sprout is wobbling on the edge of being a toddler. While he isn’t walking yet, he’s cruising from piece to piece of furniture and has more and more non-basic wants. This emotional development is leading to the introduction of the dreaded D word – discipline, along with its cousin, “No.”

For the most part, we try to limit how much we need to say no. Although Sprout is starting to understand what no means, he doesn’t really grasp it yet, so we don’t want to overuse it. It doesn’t mean that Sprout can do whatever he wants. Rather, we try to avoid the negative situation in the first place or change it. Instead of telling him not to put the remote control in his mouth, we just put it out of his reach. Other situations may be annoying, but are tolerable and not worth fighting over. We gave up on putting a bib on him because it became a tug of war where he ended up with more food on his shirt with the bib than without. Sometimes he wants to be picked up when I need to get ready for work, so I at least try to give him a hug even if I can’t carry him around.

On the other hand, there are certain behaviors that are simply intolerable and that Sprout actually can control. When he was first born, he would randomly flail his arms and legs. But now even when he doesn’t have the capacity for self control, but he does have the necessary fine and gross motor skills to avoid hitting me in the face.

Along these lines, most of the intolerable behavior is actions that hurt other people. I’ve been saying, “No biting,” “No hitting,” and “No scratching” a lot. But the most common one is “No pulling!” He loves playing with my hair while nursing, but I can’t tolerate him yanking it.

The other two behaviors are really annoying and gross, albeit not physically harmful. The first one is blowing raspberries while he has a mouth full of food, spraying it all over himself and whomever is feeding him. Similarly frustrating is his insistence on flipping over when we’re trying to change his diaper. While neither are the worse thing in the world, they both interfere with essential activities and we want to discourage them.

With all of these behaviors, I truly believe that Sprout doesn’t have ill intent. He doesn’t understand that other people have thoughts or feelings yet, so the idea that he’s causing someone else pain is pretty incomprehensible. Being gentle or careful requires a lot of focus, so when he doesn’t, he’s just in default mode. This is especially true when he’s really tired and just wants to flail. As he gets older, we need to keep reminding ourselves that he doesn’t always understand how the world works or have the emotional maturity to make certain decisions.

Also, I realize that the things we’re asking him to do are relatively complicated and difficult to understand. He can touch my hair or face – as long as it isn’t too violently. He can blow raspberries – except when he’s eating. He can flip over and crawl – except when we’re changing his diaper. Putting together the “if-then” combination is pretty challenging for him to comprehend, even though adults do it all of the time.

With this in mind, we’re generally taking a “positive parenting” approach, with some tweaks as necessary. While there’s a lot written on positive parenting, the Bible of the movement (as far as I can tell) is How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk. While I adore this book, most of the tools require your kid to speak fluently and as such, are of limited use with a not-quite-yet toddler. Fortunately, Dr. Harvey’s Karp’s The Happiest Toddler on the Block provides some good advice on transferring these skills to parenting toddlers, even if I wish he would acknowledge his sources far more.

A major aspect of positive parenting is setting the stage by encouraging and praising good behavior. When he touches my hair without pulling, I tell him, “Nice, gentle hands!” When he allows us to change his diaper without flipping over, I blow raspberries on his stomach, which makes him laugh.

If he starts up with the frustrating behavior, our first step is to respectfully acknowledge and if needed, voice, his needs and desires. Unfortunately, even Sprout’s non-verbal communication skills are limited, so sometimes we don’t know what he wants. This part is often about us figuring out what he’s trying to tell us through the annoying behavior. While sometimes he’s blowing raspberries to be silly, other times it’s because he’s done eating. Although I thought he was hitting me in the face for no reason, it turned out he wanted me to turn my head to reach my hair. We don’t want to reinforce the behavior, but at the same time we shouldn’t ignore what he’s trying to express, even if it’s not in quite the right form.

Next up, we provide alternatives. When he’s too tired to keep himself from pulling my hair, I offer him my hand to high five or slap. If we make funny sounds while feeding him or let him hold onto a toy bird, he doesn’t spit out his food everywhere as much. And a steady round of funny noises and This Little Piggy keeps him focused enough while changing him that (sometimes) he doesn’t want to turn over.

If he continues with the annoying behavior, we then communicate our feelings to him, saying “No!” and when appropriate, combined with “Ow!” (sometimes involuntarily!). We try to use a stern voice and facial expression to express how serious we’re being; I summon up the voice I used when I was substitute teaching.

If Sprout still continues the behavior after a couple of warnings we then proceed into mild discipline territory. The most common approach is taking away whatever is causing the problem, like tucking my hair behind my ear if he keeps pulling it or putting him down if he’s biting us. If it isn’t an object that’s a problem, but our attention, we remove that for a moment. We just turn away from him briefly to communicate that what he is doing is not acceptable. (This is especially important when what he is doing is genuinely funny but something we don’t want to encourage!) Dr. Karp calls this “gentle ignoring,” and I think it’s a useful tool.

As Sprout gets older, we don’t anticipate integrating punishment into our methods except in the most extreme circumstances. Instead, we hope to work our way towards participating in more joint problem solving and allowing natural consequences to work themselves out. Positive parenting requires a lot of patience and empathy, but I think all of us will be better people in the end.

Raising Sprout

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 4 Comments

Gardening has been on my mind a lot lately.

Last weekend, we visited the White House Garden, during one of the two days a year they open the gates to the general public. While Chris had previously been there for a sustainable food event in culinary school, I had never been. Although I was temporarily confused by the presence of tulips in the Rose Garden (roses are out of season), I enjoyed seeing the location of so many big announcements. I eagerly peered around crowds for a view of the White House kitchen garden and tried not to be stung by an occupant of the White House beehive. Meanwhile, Sprout was completely uninterested in the plants. However, he was enamored with holding on to the black lacquered security fence. No accounting for taste!

The next day, I worked in my own garden while Chris played with Sprout on the lawn. I planted sunflowers, arugula, chives, and peanuts, all of which are new to my garden this year. Next week, I’ll be transplanting my seedlings and sprouts of tomatoes, peppers, melon, beans, peas, and squash.

Because everything relates to parenting for me, I started thinking about how starting seeds is like parenting: you need to build good soil, be willing to get your hands (and everything else) dirty, and provide gradual transitions.

I believe a gardener’s job is more about cultivating good soil than growing plants. It’s all about creating the right conditions – plenty of light, the right amount of nutrients, the right amount of water, and the right temperatures. Not too little or too much of any one element. If you’re thoughtful about where you place your garden and prepare the soil well, even a large garden doesn’t need they much upkeep.

Just like I can’t actually make the seeds grow, I can’t and don’t want to have complete control over my son. I want him to develop at his own pace, without rushing or pressuring him. I want to model and create the circumstances around him that inspire a love of learning, enjoyment of nature, and compassion towards people. I see a child’s ideal soil as lots of hugs, physical and mental space to explore, play with kids of various ages, time spent outside, exposure to arts and music, and quality time with parents and other caring adults. While parents should try to provide as much of this as possible, they can’t do it alone. Fortunately, we have wonderful parents ourselves, a strong church community, activities offered through the town, and friends that support us. As with a garden, we hope a thoughtful approach and hard work up front will pay off later in a capable, caring kid.

In both cases, building good soil involves getting your hands dirty. My gardening style is literally earthy – I’ve always enjoying playing in the dirt. I don’t wear gardening gloves because they make me feel clumsy. Sometimes rather than use a trowel, I scoop potting soil out of the bag with my hands. After I garden, my hands and nails always have dirt ground into them.

Similarly, you can never escape the mess as a parent. Sprout has peed on me, sneezed ground bison on me, sprayed tomatoes and beef on me while blowing a raspberry, wiped snot on my shirt, and caused me to get poop on my hands. He has bit me on the nipple, knee, and arm. I’ve wiped drool off of his chin more times than I can count and have already committed the ultimate mom sin of using own spit to clean his face. (I swore I never would!) I’m far too familiar with the sticky pink goo that is Ora-Gel. I’ve looked like the walking dead after near-sleepless nights. I’ve been in my pajamas far too late in the day and changed into them far too early in the evening. Not that I was ever fashionable, but pumping and nursing drive a surprising amount of my wardrobe choices. I happily sit in the grass, watching Sprout rip up weeds and inspect leaves. Getting dirty is what we do around here.

Lastly, I think we need to respect the cycles and transitions of nature and children. When you raise seeds in early spring, you need to harden them off before you transfer them to the soil. Inside, they stay one temperature with consistent watering and light. If you take them from that controlled environment and plant them outside without first exposing them to the elements – sun, wind, temperature changes – they go into shock. They then die or are weaker than they would be otherwise. Like the baby plants, kids also need to be at first very protected then slowly exposed to the real world before adulthood. That small amount of exposure and gradual transition makes them far more resilient in the face of difficult situations.

Approaching change as a series of slow transitions works for less dramatic changes too. While it took about six (hard) months, our sleep training approach of moving from nursing to rocking to holding to being present and then to laying him down by himself has paid off. We made it through with a minimum of crying (albeit a lot of whining). Now, he’s asleep within 10 minutes and usually only wakes up once a night. Similarly, we think he’ll do pretty well when we go to Disney World this summer because he’s used to the busyness of the city and crowds of people. While some people refer to these in-between steps as a crutch, I would rather supply him with a crutch and transition away from it than have him fall hard on his face at first and be discouraged from trying again.

While most of the plants in my garden only last a season, how I treat Sprout will last a lifetime. Thankfully, he’s pretty forgiving and there are always more opportunities to get down and dirty.

The Many Moods of Sprout

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

Part of growing up is maturing emotionally. Even though he’s still so little, it’s amazing to watch how Sprout has already gone through so many changes.

Since the day he was born, Sprout’s been observant. He was born watching the world around him. For the first few weeks, he didn’t smile because he simply didn’t know how. Once he started smiling – around 2 months- it was cautiously, as if he was trying on this new expression for size. He would only smile if specifically provoked to, for example, if someone was tickling him. Around the same time, he was also learning to frown. He had a hilarious cartoony frown, that was a mirror image of his smile. It made him look Very Dissatisfied with The World, even though he wasn’t crying.

Once he got used to the new sensation, Sprout started smiling all of the time. Probably not coincidently, it was around the same time he started moving around on his own. That two month period is the most consistently happy I’ve ever seen him. He seemed to enjoy his newfound mobility and didn’t really have any expectations about it. Because he only went backwards, he never went towards anything – he was just scooting for the joy of it. He never looked behind him, so everything was a surprise. He’d look up at us with a huge smile when he’d rediscovered something for the 20th time as if saying, “Did you know this rug was here? Wow!!” Once he started moving forward, he was a bit less surprised, but still generally pleased.

However, that only lasted a week before he reached the next stage of mobility – pulling up on pieces of furniture. Then, his mood became decidedly more mixed. Although he could pull himself up to standing, he had no way of getting down. His original tactic of just letting go didn’t work out well for obvious reasons, resulting in him frequently bumping his head and crying. Once he realized that was a bad idea, he’d pull up and yell for us to help him down, “ahhhh” being a favorite syllable. Of course, as soon as we’d help him down, he’d stand right up again.

Fortunately, in the last two weeks, he’s gotten much better at getting himself down without incident and has calmed down. However, he’s already starting to catch on to the movements associated with climbing, so I’m sure we’ll have more challenges to deal with soon enough.

Along with his mobility, his mood has also changed in terms of his relationship to Chris and I. When he was first born, Sprout wanted to be carried everywhere. Then, he became much more independent and would scoot around on his own for ages. But a few weeks ago, he started becoming much more attached to me and reaching out while Chris is holding him. This shift is very common around 10 months old, so I’m certainly not worried.

But there is a minor problem with Sprout wanting me to carry him, besides my sore arms. At the same time he wants me to hold him, he simultaneously wants to be crawling around. So he’ll yam until I pick him up, squirm to be out of my arms, and then yam again when I put him down. I can’t win!

Whereas before he was content with whatever life gave him as long as his bodily needs were met, he’s now starting to want things. Unfortunately, he doesn’t quite know how to deal with wanting multiple and conflicting things at the same time. Of course, this is just a small preview of the future. I told my friend about Sprout’s frustration and he said, “I’m 35 years old and I still haven’t figured that out!”

Fortunately, not everything Sprout wants involves taking from us – he’s started learning to give back as well. He’s started hugging and wrapping his arms around our neck when we pick him up. He also gives us open-mouth kisses, which are both kind of gross and really adorable. But we’re not the only target of his affections; he’s become a bit of a Narcissus. He has a mirror at the back of his That’s Not My Baby book and has started slobbering all over it. It’s hilarious.

From cranky to joyous, Sprout’s many moods never cease to engage us.

The Acceptance of Rejection

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

Fear of rejection is pretty universal. But as bad as having someone spurn your romantic advances or a friend ending the relationship, the most heartbreaking experience I’ve had was when Sprout has rejected me. It wasn’t because of any emotional trauma; he simply didn’t want to nurse. But as a mother, it was very hard to not take it personally, even if I knew intellectually that he didn’t mean to hurt me.

The absolute worst experience occurred the week I returned to work, about three months after Sprout was born. I was working from home, so that Chris had ability to call on me for backup. We had introduced the bottle a few weeks before, but Sprout hadn’t really taken to it. Among my many worries, I was concerned that he would refuse to eat when I returned to the office.

After a week of Chris struggling to feed him, Sprout finally got the hang of the bottle on Friday. I was very reassured – until I went to nurse him. Something about switching back again bothered him at an innate level. He absolutely refused to nurse. He’d look away, squirm, frown and start crying.

After several attempts, he didn’t even want me to hold him. He’d start screaming in my arms. I was at a complete loss; the only thing I could do was cry as well. Seeing my helplessness, Chris took Sprout from me and cuddled him. Once he was calm, Chris took me in his arms, to create a hug sandwich. He then started leading a slow, awkward dance around the living room, holding the three of us together. Oh so slowly, he handed Sprout back over to me, stopping every time he started to cry. Eventually, I was holding Sprout again, with neither of us crying.

Once we recovered from the trauma, Sprout did eventually resume nursing. He started that night when he was half-asleep and then picked up again when he was hungry the next morning. Needless to say, that experience taught me not to take my son’s interest in me for granted.

I recently dealt with this issue again because Sprout decided the position in which I’ve nursed him for the past 9 months was completely unacceptable. Every time I tried to lean him back, he’d twist and try to flip over. We had some limited success with some awkward positions, but he’d only take little sips during the day. (Of course, he was fine in the middle of the night.) Then, after several days of this routine, he decided that the way he used to do it was just fine. I guess he got as frustrated as I was and realized it wasn’t worth the hassle.

But it was another reminder about how this relationship is a give-and-take, requiring both of us to participate. Since then, I’ve been much more engaged with him while he’s nursing, rather than reading blogs on my phone. I even made it one of my resolutions for Lent.

While our most recent experience ended well enough, I’m worried that an upcoming situation will be more problematic. A few weeks ago, I found out that my bosses want me to go to a four-day conference in May. It will be just before Sprout’s 11-month birthday, more than a month before our one-year breastfeeding goal. I can pump enough milk to feed him while I’m gone, but I worry that he’ll no longer want to nurse when I return. It won’t send me into despair like it did the first time, as I’ll expect it and we’ll be close to weaning anyway. But it’ll still break my heart a little.

Of course, nursing my baby has to eventually come to an end. But at this point, I know that at least we’ve had more than nine months of this special form of bonding.

Risks and Rewards

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 4 Comments

I want Sprout to be a free range kid. I want him to be able to go to the park by himself, explore the neighborhood, and when he’s old enough, take the Metro into the city. I want him to climb trees and rocks. But right now, I kind of want to outfit him with a helmet.

In the last few weeks, Sprout has racked up the milestones: crawling forward, getting two teeth in, and pulling up to his knees (and today to his feet!). While the others pose their own challenges, it’s the last one that makes me gasp. Except for the continuing allure of the sproingy doorstop, pulling up on everything is his new favorite activity. In his opinion, the couch, our wooden and metal coffee table, bookshelves, his crib bars, the mesh sides of the pack-and-play, my pant legs and the wall are all excellent surfaces to conquer. At first, he didn’t know how to get down, so he’d just tumble over.

He’s fortunately gotten better at balancing, but that’s just made him bolder. He regularly pushes against the wall, leaning backwards to bat at the curtain, not understanding that leaning on and holding on are not the same thing. Perhaps some yearning for adventure was embedded in his genes when I rock-climbed early in my pregnancy.

We’ve tried to vigilantly prevent accidents, but have been far from successful. We try to prevent him from hitting his head on our hardwood floor by spotting him, but he always manages to fall in the one direction we don’t predict. He cries, then shakes it off quickly after a good hug from mommy or daddy. Even though he’s recovered after each incident and the pediatrician says not to worry about it unless he passes out, I still feel terrible every time it happens. I’m always convinced that brain damage is imminent.

I’m torn between wanting to encourage his adventurousness and protecting him, a conflict I know will only grow more challenging as he gets older. If I’m worried about him bumping his head now, how much harder will it be when he’s on the playground equipment or high up in a tree? Some of my most cherished childhood memories were doing things that are banned or at least discouraged during recess today. Even now, my outdoor hobbies involve some level of physical danger, from rock climbing to urban biking. My life is better for having these activities in it and I think his will be as well.

As Sprout gets older, I think the best compromise between these positions is to teach him how to take calculated risks. Rather than doing everything or nothing, it’s best to take a measured approach to risk. Thinking about your own capabilities, evaluating the difficulty of the action you want to take, and working to reduce the risk as much as possible can provide a framework for making good decisions in general. To go back to rock-climbing, I personally do not boulder (climb short routes without ropes) more than a few feet off the ground unless I’m confident in my ability to climb back down. If I’m going to do a route at the edge of my current ability, I use ropes, harnesses and other safety equipment to reduce the risk of falling. While it’s obvious how these principles apply to physical risks (no one wants to be stuck in a tree like a cat), they also apply to big life decisions. From taking a difficult college class to moving to another country, every major decision has risks associated with it. There’s always a possibility of failure, but calculated risks help you figure out how to minimize it and recover if you fail. Some people in my generation are having difficulty dealing with adulthood because their parents never let them make these big decisions at all, much less taught them the critical thinking skills to deal with the risks.

Unfortunately, Sprout doesn’t understand the word “no” yet, much less have the capacity for any critical thought. But now and in the future, we’ll be there to spot him when we can and hug him when he falls.

Fresh Air and Quality Dirt

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

Sprout finally experienced the feeling of the earth beneath him on Tuesday. He’s been outside before – we’ve put miles and miles on our stroller – but it had always been too cold, wet or dark to bring him out since he started crawling in earnest. With the snow gone and the temperature rising, I thought it was time to introduce him to the Great Outdoors. In this case, the Great Outdoors was our weedy front yard. Despite the ordinary nature of it, he still found plenty to fascinate him.

Bringing him outside, I put him on a blanket, so he could make the choice about venturing onto the grass himself. At first, he rushed to the edge of the blanket. As he put his hands out and realized that the grass was separate from the blanket, he distinctly slowed down. He proceeded cautiously, pausing every few seconds. But soon he was on the lawn proper, feeling the crunchy leaves and plants under his hands and knees.

Of course, he explored this new environment the only way he knows how – with his hands and mouth. He grasped and pulled out individual strands and tufts of grass, looking at them carefully. He then promptly attempted to shove them in his mouth. Before he got most of them in, I caught him and gave him a slightly stern, “No, we do not put grass in our mouths” warning before taking away the piece. Not understanding or caring, he would then immediately try to do it again. Once, I did catch him too late and he snuck a lick into his examination of a leaf.

When I wasn’t taking plants out of Sprout’s hands, I was relaxing and pointing out relevant points of interest. Most houses in my neighborhood have large front porches, where you can just watch the world go by. Although our house doesn’t have one, I got a similar feeling from hanging out on the lawn with Sprout. I said hello to my neighbors that I hardly ever see as they went in their front door. I crumpled up leaves in front of Sprout to show him the noise they make and how they change. I pointed out the rising moon, which he completely ignored. Although I thought he wasn’t interested in the birds either, a flock of honking geese caught his attention and he followed them as they flew over his head.

I’ve always hoped that my kid would be interested in nature, as both a lover of the outdoors and an environmental advocate. In fact, the first “toy” he objected to being taken away was a prickly seed pod I gave him while we were out on a walk. Hopefully, this is just the first of many hours exploring the natural world with him.

Wonderful, Awesome, Amazing – But Not Perfect

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 11 Comments

“He’s perfect” has been my mom’s refrain about my son since the day he was born. While I adore my child, I wince every time she says it. It makes me want to yell out, “He isn’t!” Because to me, perfect is confining and static, the opposite of my vibrant, growing baby.

Imperfect isn’t bad, just flawed. It’s challenging, offering us space to evolve. Imperfections connect us so that we can fill in the gaps of each other’s weaknesses.

I haven’t always held this attitude; it took decades for me to adopt. I’m a recovering perfectionist. My mom tells a story about me as a baby playing with a shape-sorter. After several minutes of fitfully cramming a shape in the wrong hole, I violently threw down the toy. While I became less physical about it, I maintained a philosophy that said, “If you’re going to do something, you should Do It Right.” Unfortunately, my version of “Doing It Right” meant I held impossibly high standards that even I couldn’t meet. A fear of not living up to my potential lurked in the background, a monster that could erase my hard work and expose me as a fraud.

Entering parenthood, I realized that this mindset just wasn’t going to work. Contrary to the parenting guides, there is no One Right Way. There’s Right for Now or Not Too Bad or The Best that I Can Do. Parenting is a slick, ever-changing thing, like one of those water worms that slips out of your hands. Every time you think you finally have a grasp, something changes, whether it’s your child, the situation, or the expectations.

Pursuing perfection locks you in, denies you the fluidity you need. One of my favorite parenting books, Babies in the Rain, compares raising children to a dance. In this duet, the child leads and you follow, always working together. But if you focus exclusively on following the rhythm, you turn it into a series of stilted steps. I know how unhelpful this perspective is in music; my jazz teacher was always telling me to experience the emotion rather than only paying attention to the beats. His response frustrated me at the time – how can I “let go” if I can’t even get the fundamentals right? But now, I can only think of how paralyzing this attitude would be in parenting.

Personally, the biggest challenge to my perfectionism has been sleep, that intimidating foe. At first, I approached the “sleep through the night” goal the same way I approach every major goal – by creating a individualized, step-by-step plan. I formulated a approach that started with not nursing my baby to sleep and over time, shortening the period of time I would rock him. Then I would move to holding him in my lap and eventually not needing to pick him up at all as he fell asleep peacefully in his crib. Hilarious.

His first cold presented the initial obstacle, and then the second and third ones came along. As I would do anything to help him (and me) get some rest, not nursing to sleep went out the window. Some nights he mistakenly falls asleep nursing and I don’t have it in me to wake him up. We’ve finally gotten to the point where he can fall asleep in my lap, but not until after several minutes of violently fighting it. Tactics that work one week stop working the next. And teething keeps finding a way to interrupt our progress.

In response, I’ve started shrugging my shoulders and carrying on. What else can I do? He doesn’t know or care that I have a plan. I want to follow the lead of my partner instead of dragging him around the dance floor.

Besides restricting your flexibility, pursuing perfect also blinds you to beauty. It catches you up in a whirlwind, never allowing you to see how much good you already have in your life. A recent article talks brilliantly about how “leaning in” ala Sheryl Sandberg, otherwise known as believing you can do everything if only you try hard enough, has made the author miserable. In the past, when I’ve tried to be perfect, I’ve just stressed myself out.

Fortunately, I’ve been more content post-baby than I’ve ever been. I love spending time with him, watching him just being himself. If I was preoccupied with being perfect, I’d be vacuuming the carpet instead of watching him peer under it with glee. (What can possibly be so interesting under there?) I’d be horrified with him biting the restaurant’s granite tabletop rather then giggling at his questionable taste. I would have been worried about his lack of progress when he was only crawling backwards instead of taking photos of him happily stuck under his crib. I wouldn’t let him grab or gnaw on his books’ pages and so not experience the joy of him learning to turn the pages on his own.

These days, besides the doctor’s appointments and other logistical requirements, I have just a single parenting goal. My husband, paragon of laid-back approaches, permanently added to our weekly To-Do list “Raise [Sprout] to be a good person.” Not perfect, just good.

I love my son too much to see him as perfect. And I love him too much to try to be perfect myself.

Babbling Like a Brook

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / Leave a comment

Sprout has been “talking” a ridiculous amount and I (mostly) love listening to him. Generally, he gets stuck on a noise for a week and then moves on to another one the next week. While he doesn’t yet have words – even as the proudest parent, I’d be fooling myself if I thought so – he definitely communicates. Sometimes he’s communicating through his words and sometimes through his expressions. And sometimes he’s just making noises for fun.

“Creative” babbling runs in my family. When I was a baby, I sounded so confident that some people thought I was actually talking in another language. When one person asked, “Is she speaking another language?” my mom dead-panned, “Yes, Japanese.” Then that person asked, “Really?” resulting in a good chuckle from my mom. It’s worth noting that I’m so white that we joked Sprout would be translucent.

Now, I wish I maintained my knowledge of the secret baby language. Although I can figure out what Sprout wants most of the time, sometimes I’m just baffled. At those times, I turn to him and say, “Little dude, I wish I knew what you were saying, but I don’t speak Baby.” This skill would be particularly useful when he wakes up and whines in the middle of the night. It would be great to know if he’s hungry or his teeth hurt or he just wants to be cuddled.

We’re trying to teach him baby sign language, but he won’t start using it for several more months. Plus, “teaching” him would probably stick a lot better if we did it consistently. The only one I regularly remember is “milk” and he probably won’t be signing until after he stops nursing anyway. At least Chris and I are learning some American Sign Language.

While Sprout has a number of different “expressions,” my favorite is his tendency to say, “blah blah blah.” It’s like he’s making fun of us self-important adults, talking about silly things that aren’t important to babies. It’s very reminiscent of the teacher in Peanuts – wah wah wah. I smile and repeat, “blah blah blah” back to him, knowing that his commentary is probably right.

Although that’s my favorite noise, the funniest is his tendency to make shockingly realistic farting noises. A couple of months ago, he became an expert at blowing raspberries, far better than I’m able to. But in the last few weeks, he’s taken that skill up a notch. Because his uncanny ability to sound like a whoopee cushion is hilarious, our laughter encourages him. Unfortunately, this is coming back to bite us, as he decided to make these rather graphic noises in the middle of church this week. Thankfully, our church is very kid-friendly and no one minded.

Unfortunately, Sprout’s latest noise appears to be shrieking. He isn’t in pain or anything – he’ll shriek and then have a huge grin the next second. Yesterday, he was testing his ability to make noises as loudly and at as high of a pitch as possible. I know he’s trying out his limits, but it’s hideously annoying. I do hope he’ll move on to something else soon.

As generally charming as his noises are now, I can’t wait until he starts talking. If he’s funny now, I’m sure he’ll be hilarious once I can actually understand him.

He Holds the Whole World on His Back

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 6 Comments

The Sleep Turtle is our bedtime friend.

I started the world’s slowest sleep training routine several months ago. We’ve worked up to Sprout falling asleep in my arms without nursing or rocking. However, he would only do so after squirming and crying for a good 15 minutes. Listening to him cry and getting whacked in the arm and chest were both pretty painful.

About a week and a half ago, the idea came to me to let him play in his crib with the Sleep Turtle before sitting down with him. We had introduced the Sleep Turtle (a stuffed nightlight that projects stars on the ceiling) at the beginning of the sleep training as a transitory toy. However, I only let it play for a couple of minutes before putting it away and picking him up. With this new approach, I left him in his crib with the Turtle and sat down on the nearby chair. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t fall asleep on his own. Instead, he played with it for 10 minutes before he started to cry. But the real benefit came once I picked him up. While there was a bit of squirming and whining, he passed out in only a few minutes. It was clear that the turtle helped him calm his busy, ever-engaged mind and body. It’s been working well – with a few exceptions – ever since.

While there are versions of the same nightlight that use other animals, I find the Turtle a particularly appropriate choice. Several cosmologies, including Native American, Hindu, and Chinese traditions portray the universe as balanced on the back of a World Turtle. The idea of stars streaming out of the back of a turtle – even if they’re shifting between green, orange, and purple – is magical. Those stars transport the whole universe into your room, bringing something so distant close and intimate. 

In fact, sitting in that dark bedroom with him, it feels as if the whole universe is right there in that little space. As if only the whole world would be okay if only he’d fall sleep. These moments block everything else in my life out, that little bundle of needs demanding my full attention.

The World Turtle reminds me of the story of an old woman at an astronomy lecture. Afterwards, she told the lecturer that she believed the world rested on the back of a turtle, to which the scientist said, “What is the tortoise standing on?” In response, she states, “It’s turtles all the way down!” While most people use the phrase to refer to the infinite regress problem (“the chicken or the egg”), Real Live Preacher, one of my favorite bloggers ever, uses it to talk about faith. Faith is knowing that everything you do balances precariously on the back of a turtle and another turtle and another turtle – and that’s okay. He says, “Faith is measured breathing in the face of uncertainty. Faith is turning your heart to faithful living when your mind has reached the end of its rope. Faith is the choice you make when you face the darkness.” Parenting is the most uncertain, challenging, and sometimes dark thing I’ve ever done. I’ve needed more faith in myself and God as a mother than I’ve ever had in my life. I rely on faith in my skills even when I don’t feel like there’s proof. I rely on faith that I am doing the best I can. I rely on faith that love is really enough. The world may rest on the back of a turtle, but in parenthood, it’s love all the way down.

Goodnight, my Sleep Turtle. At bedtime, my son’s little world – and therefore mine – rests on your back.