Just Saying “No!”

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.

Baby’s First Movie?

While I was proud of Chris’ handling of Sprout’s and his own illness last week for a number of reasons, I was particularly impressed that he didn’t pull out the big gun of baby entertainment: video. As much as Chris loves TV himself, he didn’t even think about it. Because video is so rarely part of Sprout’s life (except for regular FaceTime), the few times we’ve shared it with him were supposed to be particularly special. Unfortunately, they haven’t always gone as planned.

The first time Sprout really watched TV was during the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special. Both Chris and I are giant Who nerds and had specifically put down Sprout for his nap (in his TARDIS onsie!) just before the worldwide live simulcast began. Of course, he woke up from his nap early. Most of the episode was already over, so we stuck him on the couch next to us. I don’t think his eyes once left the TV. I hope to reintroduce him to the show in a few years, once he understands it better and isn’t so mindlessly mesmerized.

About a month ago, we decided to bring him to his first movie. We missed Frozen in the theater, but a local neighborhood was showing it as part of an outdoor film series. Chris and I both wanted to see it, with our shared love of animation and the glowing reviews from traditional and activist pop culture critics. We’re also visiting Disney World this summer, so I wanted to see it before being bombarded by Frozen merchandise. (Plus, Chris was only slightly obsessed with watching adaptations and mashups of “Let It Go.”) The outdoor venue was a perfect opportunity because if Sprout got upset, we could head out without disturbing anyone or losing any money. We found out about it weeks ahead of time, so we were really looking forward to it.

Because the movie started near Sprout’s bedtime, we went through his whole bedtime routine so we ready to put him to bed as soon as we got home. We even dressed him in his pajamas in case he fell asleep during the movie. (So cute!)

Once we got there, the lawn was filled with families, looking at a giant inflatable screen. They had some technical glitches, at first, with the operator switching the closed captioning back and forth. Just before 8 pm, they finally started the movie and the antsy children started paying attention.

Unfortunately, the sky had been growing darker and darker and not just because of the dusk. Clouds blanketed the sky and the wind started whipping the screen in and out. The characters and scenery were warped and obscured, despite the organizers trying to hold the screen still. Whether because it was hard to see or there were more interesting things to look at, Sprout didn’t seem that interested in the movie.

Then the inevitable happened – the sky opened, sending down rain. A minute or two later, the screen completely collapsed, falling on one of the handlers. We think they were trying to take it down on purpose – just not in the manner it happened. Fortunately, the guy seemed fine.

To the tune of complaints from preteen girls, we packed up our stuff and hustled back to the car. By the time we got home, the rain was torrential. After sprinting inside, we put Sprout right to bed. It was already a half-hour past his bedtime and watching it on our TV wouldn’t have the same excitement as the outdoor venue. Part of the whole experience was supposed to be his First Movie and our couch just wasn’t going to cut it.

Instead, we rented the movie through On Demand and watched it from the comfort of our living room with a snoozing baby in his crib. It was very good and I really enjoyed both the themes and plot. But as lovely as it was, I was a little disappointed that we couldn’t share a special experience with our little boy. It just means we have the opportunity to make it even grander next time. Perhaps we’ll catch something at the grand Uptown in D.C. or even the Frozen sing-a-long version they’re showing near us this summer!

Travels Without my Baby

I left my baby last week. I left him in his daddy’s very capable hands, but nonetheless left him overnight for the very first time. And of course, everything went to hell.

Normally, I travel about twice a year for work. I work with people all over the country, so it’s nice to connect in person once in a while. However, between my pregnancy and maternity leave, I hadn’t traveled since January 2013. So when my bosses suggested that I travel to a conference in California, I thought it was a good opportunity. I would have preferred being away for one night instead of five days, but that’s not how conferences work.

I did everything I could to prepare. I stocked up milk in the freezer, so Sprout would have plenty while I was gone. I looked up the nearest Starbucks with wifi so I could FaceTime in case I couldn’t get it at the conference center or hotel. I booked a 7 AM flight on Friday with a 4:45 AM hotel pickup to be home before his bedtime. I steeled myself for being away, kissed my baby goodbye, and got on the Metro to the airport.

The first day went very well for me. The hotel had free bike rentals, so I took one out and toodled around bike-friendly Long Beach, free of a trailer. (I also had the exciting experience of using a single speed bike with no hand brakes for the first time!) Later in the week, I took a bike down to the beach, where they have a multi-use trail split into separate lanes for bikes and pedestrians!

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Long Beach's bike and pedestrian path

Afterwards, I went to dinner with my co-worker at an adorable coffeeshop without needing to worry about how many literal spoons I needed to entertain Sprout. I strolled along the street without a concern, looking at all of the neat art along the way.

Wyland mural in Long Beach

I took note of the many vintage shops, local art stores, and boutiques I looked forward to visiting. I laid down in my hotel bed at 9 pm and slept until 6 am, for a glorious 9 hours of sleep. I felt a little guilty at how little I missed Sprout and Chris, but welcomed the rare freedom.

The only bad part was all of the pumping. Oh, pumping, the mother’s reward for trying to keep up breastfeeding. To keep up my milk supply, I needed to pump 5 to 6 times a day, including on the plane and at the conference center. As I thought it was more likely I would spill the milk, break my expensive pump, or expose way too much of myself standing in a bathroom than sitting in a non-conspicuous public spot, I went for the latter. I threw my nursing cover over me and intensely stared at my phone, hoping no one would bother me. It was particularly fun on my two flights to California, both of which I had the middle seat. Nothing to see here; just ignore this absurdly awkward lady attached to a small motor.

The second day started as well as the first, going on a pre-conference “field trip” to an alternative fuel station and going to a conference session. I even got to see my baby live over FaceTime, feeling like I was living in The Future. Chris had a challenging night, with Sprout wanting me instead of him, but we hoped things would calm down.

Instead, everything fell apart, at least for Chris. I was out to a late dinner when I noticed I had five missed phone calls and several texts from him, far past midnight Eastern time. The first message wasn’t exactly comforting: “He threw up. A lot. I don’t know what to do.” Of course, I called him even though there was little I could do to help. As I talked to Chris, I found out the story was even worse – Sprout had actually vomited multiple times. Fortunately, by that time, the pediatrician’s office had responded to Chris and said because Sprout didn’t have a fever, it was probably just a stomach bug. They advised Chris to feed him clear liquids and only to check back if the puking started back up. The next day was somewhat better, but Chris still had to deal with a cranky, sleep-deprived baby and the last of the bug clearing his system via diarrhea. Needless to say, I felt terrible that Chris had to handle this situation on his own. Besides the stress, it’s physically difficult to handle a squirmy sick baby by yourself. On the other hand, I was relieved that I didn’t have to handle it.

My conference continued on the rest of the week, as I fit FaceTiming with my family in-between attending sessions and staffing our booth. By Thursday, I really started to miss Chris and Sprout and was glad I was leaving the next day.

Everything seemed to settle down at home as well – until Friday morning. At 4 AM my time, I checked my phone and saw another dread-inducing text from Chris: “I’m sick.” He had caught Sprout’s stomach bug. Now I felt really guilty and wished without reservation that I was already home. When I was staying at home with Sprout, I had a nasty fever with serious dizziness and it terrified me. I told Chris to call on help if he needed it, but he said he was fine. Thankfully, he managed to survive until I arrived at the Metro station at 6 pm that evening.

When I finally did arrive home, Sprout had a surprisingly muted reaction. Picking him up for the first time, he kept looking at other things. Fortunately, that apathy changed the next morning, when he greeted me with a huge smile. Seeing me then was the real confirmation that I was home and wouldn’t be leaving again. He was quite attached to me the rest of the weekend. When he wanted to be picked up, I obliged of course. We had some nice bonding time on Saturday afternoon playing and listening to music when Chris took a mental break and got out of the house.

While the circumstances of me being gone were terrible, it really highlighted Chris’ abilities as a dad. I’m proud of how well he handled the situation and am so grateful to have him as my husband and father of my baby. He worried about getting me a Mother’s Day gift, but I told him that his caretaking last week was better than anything he could buy me.

Songs To Grow On: Tear-Inducing Edition

I was never a big crier – until I got pregnant. While I hardly ever cried at movies or books before, these days it seems like everything inspires tears. My first inkling of this affliction came during last year’s Super Bowl, when I cried over the Budwiser commercial with the horse and his friend. I blamed it on pregnancy hormones then, but I cried at their follow-up commercial this year as well. It must have been emotional imbalance brought on by sleep deprivation, right? Because I don’t want to be the type of person who cries during commercials.

Since then, music has had quite an impact on me, with a number of songs evoking very strong emotions. Not surprisingly, all of these songs are about children or family.

Songs that now make me cry:

Barenaked Ladies, When You Dream: This was the song that kicked it off. I love this album and probably had listened to this song 50 times before. But hearing it towards the end of my pregnancy, I realized for the first time how it encompassed all of the wonder and mystery of this little person who was going to be with us soon. From the ethereal music to the slightly surreal lyrics, it’s the perfect description of watching your newborn sleep peacefully. Eddie From Ohio’s on the same subject is very good too, but not as tear-inducing.

Raffi, I Wonder If I’m Growing: This was the first post-baby song that made me cry. While When You Dream illustrated the emotional difference between having a child or not, this song demonstrated the vast gap between children and their parents. The song is in first person, from the perspective of a little boy. He complains that he can’t tell if he’s getting bigger, but his mom reassures him that he is. He says he doesn’t know if he’s growing until he can reach the sink by himself one day and declares, “I must be growing!” At the time, thinking about my little baby being able to reach the sink by himself seemed in the same realm of imagination as sending him off to college – so far away, with so much fear and hope before then. With Sprout almost walking but frustrated by his limitations, I understand the mother’s perspective better now, watching your baby grow up quickly while they claim everything is going so slowly. Yes, honey, you are in fact growing.

Ben Folds, Still Fighting It: I don’t know if this song has triggered a full-on crying jag, but it definitely makes me sniffle. While the Barenaked Ladies’ song is all about the awe of being a parent, this perfectly summarizes the fear and neurosis. While I was pregnant, I was terrified that I wasn’t going to be a good enough mother. Even now, despite Chris’s encouragement, I still feel like I’m not meeting my own expectations, not happy enough or patient enough or anything enough. This song reminds me that I’m far from the only parent who feels this way. It also captures the inevitable level of at least occasional ennui of adulthood. “You’re so much like me, I’m sorry … I can tell you about today / how I picked you up and everything changed / It was pain, sunny days and rain / And me still feeling the same things.”

Frances England, You and Me: This simple little ditty took me by surprise when I heard it on Pandora’s kids station. It’s another one about watching a kid grow up fast, but from the parent’s perspective. The clear affection for the child and joy of spending time with her shines through. It also encompasses my complete bafflement as I watch Sprout grow. “How did you get so big overnight? / How did you get so smart and bright? / Yesterday you were asleep in my arms / Today, you’re growing off the charts.”

Sesame Street, I Don’t Want to Live on the Moon: Ernie sings this song, which works well because I think he’s the most emotionally earnest of all of the Sesame Street characters. It’s about how he would love to visit many wonderful places – the moon, under the ocean – but he wouldn’t want to live in any of them because he would miss his family. As someone who has traveled and lived abroad, I definitely relate. In addition, since having Sprout, I’ve come to appreciate my family – especially my parents and in-laws – and feel the geographic distance more than ever. I’ve also grown to value our local support system even more. As Ernie’s family is his friends on Sesame Street, it’s particularly poignant.

While crying at the drop of a hat is vaguely embarrassing, it also shows how parenting has made me more open-hearted. I’m willing to put up with a few tears for a greater ability to love.

Cookie, Cookie, Cookie Starts With C!

I kicked off Bike Month 2014 on Saturday with a lovely day, cookies, volunteering and a baby who was less than enthusiastic about biking.

I volunteered for the now-annual Tour de Cookie, a fundraiser for the children’s charity the Treehouse and my town’s biggest bike ride. It’s purposely oriented towards being family-friendly, which is pretty unique for large organized rides. It has both a short route and long route that feature 10 different cookie stands, making it a bit of a “rolling bake sale.” There was a number of families with kids on trailers, kids’ seats and tag alongs. They even had a kids’ ride around the parking lot for little ones on tricycles and training wheels. Considering the number of people with small children, I was excited to promote the Kidical Mass rides I’m leading this summer.
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While I rode it last year, I chose to volunteer instead for a couple of reasons. I rode it last year to prove to myself that I could and show the world that a 7+ months pregnant woman could. While I wasn’t able to finish the route due to a broken spoke, I still considered it a success. This year, I lacked the pregnancy restrictions, but would still be carrying the baby weight in the form of my actual baby in the trailer behind me. Between the start interfering with his nap schedule and the fact that I didn’t think he was ready for a 12 mile ride, I decided not to participate in the ride itself. Instead, I signed up to staff the Rockville Bicycle Advisory Committee’s outreach booth at the ride’s family fair at the start / finish line.

Even though I wasn’t officially partipating, I still planned to bike over to the ride. As it was a beautiful day and the start wasn’t that far away, I even convinced Chris to come with us against his general preference of “not biking.” After Sprout finished his morning nap, we stuck him in the trailer and headed out.

The ride there was very pleasant and Chris did quite well for himself on the hills. We pedaled past a couple of cookie stands and even though we weren’t riding, mooched cookies off of them as volunteers. They were equal-opportunity cookie distributors. The cookie stands weren’t the only ones mistaking us for riders. As I rolled into the after-ride “fair” area, I happened to cross the finish line and the DJ called me out as a finisher! He said, “That has to count for two people!” in reference to the trailer. Obviously, I wasn’t going to correct him, but I felt a little weird about it.

The ride had a rather substantial set-up for the fair compared to the year before. Besides our booth, they had a huge variety of sponsors, including a local nursery school, Starbucks, a doggy-day care, the Bike to the Beach ride, a children’s book company, and the ever-ubiquitous Gutter Helmet. (Seriously, those folks were at the wedding show I was at years ago.) They had the Cookie Monster costume that RBAC used last year at our stand, along with a woman also dressed as a giant cookie. They also had a magician, a balloon artist and a really amazing lady on stilts.

Unfortunately, Sprout didn’t appreciate the festivities that much. He got upset when the magician made a loud noise during the reveal of his trick and then again when I yelled in his ear by mistake at the start of the kids’ ride. He was fascinated by the lady on stilts though.

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Compared to them, our bike maps and community ride flyers weren’t that exciting. Unfortunately, this meant that we didn’t have as much traffic to the booth as I had hoped. We gave out some information, but I’m not sure how much of our target audience we reached.

Fortunately, RBAC’s other efforts seemed more effective. The SAG van got plenty of usage between broken-down bikes and people realizing that they weren’t ready for the 40 mile ride that early in the season. Our group also helped with the ride marshalling and signage, which was substantially better than the year before.

After a couple hours there, we packed everything up and headed home as the clouds started to loom. After only a mile in, as I was heading up a steep hill, Sprout started to cry. I stopped to see what was wrong and the only things that seemed to be issues were that his helmet was over his eyes and he was overtired. I tried to comfort him, but as soon as I began pedaling again, he started wailing. As I couldn’t do much about the tiredness, I made the difficult executive decision to take off his helmet. I was more concerned about him choking himself with the strap from thrashing around than it not protecting him in some very unlikely theoretical accident. I felt horribly guilty – I could hear my mom’s voice ringing in my ears – but I didn’t know what else to do. Even though he was still displeased – he was giving me a grumpy baby glare – he stopped crying. About halfway home, he fell asleep in the trailer, able to lean his head back in a way that he couldn’t with the helmet on. When we got home, I lifted him out of the trailer and put him in his crib, managing not to wake him.

In some ways, this year’s Tour de Cookie was a logical follow-up to last year’s. Whereas I was pregnant last year, I had a baby with me this year. I shifted from being a rider to being a volunteer. I hope that as years go on, my role can continue to evolve and that one day Sprout will enjoy it as much as I do.

Raising Sprout

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

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.

A Tale of Two Day Trips

We’ve had a lot of visitors the last few weeks with my parents visiting two weeks ago and my in-laws visiting last weekend. While they both came to see Sprout, no one really wants to sit around the house the whole weekend. So we took some day trips: one to the National Zoo and one to the Maryland side of Great Falls. While both were good ideas in theory, they did teach us about the right – and wrong – ways to bring a baby on adventures.

My mom was very keen on bringing Sprout to the zoo for the first time. After the success of the aquarium trip, she justifiably thought he would enjoy seeing the animals.

Unfortunately, we totally botched the timing – we went on peak Cherry Blossom weekend, the height of tourist activity in D.C. On top of this annual surge was the massive interest in the baby panda born earlier this year. On top of all of this, it was also the first nice spring weekend, as we’ve had weather alternating between unseasonable cold and unpleasant rain most weekends. It added up to a big honking mess, with both us and the zoo being unprepared for the people swarming the place. Between the crowds and the poorly-designed map, it took more than an hour to get a very overpriced and under-flavored counter-service lunch. While my mom, Dylan and I sat on a bench and waited (and waited and waited), Chris and my dad walked almost half-mile looking for a food stand before ending up exactly where they started. Then, they waited 45 minutes in a line with absolutely no shade. To add insult to injury, every single vending machine was out of ice cream, soda and water and all of the water fountains were broken. As my mom doesn’t like crowds, Chris wilts in the sun, and I get cranky when I’m hungry, we were destined for disaster.

Even our baby’s beautiful smile couldn’t cheer us up much, because he wasn’t all that happy himself. When we were in the vaunted panda exhibit, he didn’t even seem to notice them, decided that he was really hungry and started crying. The elephants were too far away to make much of an impact of him – they could have been cars, for all that he could tell. Even in the gorilla house, he was far more interested in the little girl’s braids in front of him than the animal. Of all of the exotic species, his favorite part was the farm animals and even there he seemed more interested in the split wood fence than the cows or llamas.

In contrast, our trip to Great Falls went beautifully, although not without its hiccups. It certainly helped that the temperatures were cooler and the crowds less dense. We took the stroller along the C&O Canal, then a series of waterfall overlooks. Sprout seemed fascinated by the waterfalls, leaning forward in his stroller and watching them with real focus. The loud noise, expansive view and constant motion held his attention, even though he didn’t know what he was looking at. The only quirk in the trip was that I hadn’t learned from the weekend before and once again failed to bring any food or drink for the adults. And of course, the water fountains were also broken there. (What the heck, federal government?) We ended up eating at a nearby restaurant, but if we had planned and brought a picnic, we would have saved some money and possibly been able to go on the boat ride.

Thinking about these experiences, I think I’ve learned some lessons about going on trips with the baby:

1) Know your own limits and be flexible to accommodate them. If there are a bunch of different factors that don’t mesh well with your group – crowds, heat – just say no to that trip. I really should have known better than to go to the zoo on Cherry Blossom weekend.

2) Pick destinations based on what everyone wants to do, not just on what the baby might enjoy. What infants like or comprehend is really unpredictable. We thought Sprout would like the zoo because he liked the aquarium. But that’s thinking like an adult. While we thought he liked the animals, it’s more likely that liked the fish’s close-up quick movements and bright colors, which the zoo lacked. Even if it’s guaranteed to be baby-friendly, the kid might just be in a mood that day. At least if you pick something everyone has some interest in seeing, you’ll enjoy it even if the baby is apathetic.

3) Remember to pack for yourself, not just the baby. We packed a bunch of stuff for Sprout that we didn’t use, but we didn’t pack any food for the adults either trip.

4) Be aware of strollers’ limitations. The limits on where strollers can go wasn’t a big deal on either of these trips because the zoo houses that banned strollers were too crowded anyway. However, this has been really important in the past when we visited the aquarium and art museum, both of which didn’t allow them. In addition, strollers really limit kids’ ability to see. Sprout would have been able to see everything much better in both locations if we had the baby backpack. Instead, we had to keep taking him in and out of the stroller.

5) Be thoughtful about timing. We left for the zoo after Sprout’s morning nap and hoped we could get him to sleep in the stroller in the afternoon. As a result, we hit everything during the busiest, hottest part of the day. For the Great Falls trip, he refused to take a morning nap, so we left a lot earlier. In the future, I think we’ll be better off if we try to do the morning nap en route and get home for the afternoon one.

Of course, all of this could change tomorrow! But that’s the nature of parenthood, whether you set venturing out or staying at home – you learn what you can from the past and adjust on the fly as necessary.

The Day I Thought My Baby Had a Brain Tumor

The Day I Thought My Baby Had a Brain Tumor. When my son had uneven pupils, we went through a whole battery of tests to find out what might be the cause, including a MRI. (Photo: MRI scan of a brain)

My son has the most beautiful blue eyes in the world. But they aren’t quite flawless. In fact, they’re uneven; his pupils dilate to different sizes. I never noticed it until my husband pointed it out, but from then on it was obvious. While I still think they’re gorgeous, they caused one of the most stressful periods of my life as a mom.

Chris noticed the difference in Sprout’s eyes when he was about three months old. We were eating at a diner booth lit by an old-fashioned lamp. At first, we thought it was a trick of the light. Nonetheless, we agreed we should bring him to the doctor – just in case. Uneven pupils can indicate a concussion, right?

The First Round of Tests

The call to the nurse the next morning didn’t assuage our fears. They encouraged us to come in for an appointment right away. Clearly, this wasn’t a common issue. When we got to the pediatrician, he said that yes, Sprout’s eyes were uneven. With a  look of concern on his normally optimistic face, the doctor recommended making an appointment immediately with a pediatric ophthalmologist.

Chris and Sprout went to the specialist without me. I desperately wanted to go, but I couldn’t take time off right after returning from maternity leave. To dilate Sprout’s pupils, the doctor administered eye drops. If both pupils were the same size after the eye drops, there was no underlying problem. But if they were still different, he would need “more tests.” A dreaded phrase. His pupils still were off by several millimeters.  We were off to another specialist.

Part of the 15%?

The next stop was the Children’s National Medical Center in downtown Washington, D.C. After giving Sprout even stronger eye drops derived from the main component of cocaine, the specialist found his pupils were still different sizes.

On one hand, he said that 85 percent of kids with this result are fine. They just have an inborn quirk. But the other 15 percent? They have a brain tumor or something else dreadful pressing on the nerve leading to the eye.  85% usually isn’t bad odds. But any number feels like bad odds when you’re talking about your infant possibly having a brain tumor.

To find out for certain, Sprout would have to have an MRI. Because most MRIs require patients be perfectly still, they’re difficult for adults to do. They’re impossible for infants – unless you put them under anesthesia.

Even with national experts caring for him, the thought of anyone putting my baby under made me catch my breath. Not to mention the horrible possibilities of the potential MRI results.

All of it seemed horribly predestined. My pregnancy and his early babyhood had gone easily compared to the horror stories of people I knew. I felt like this was the other shoe dropping.

The earliest appointment was available in a month. For the first few weeks, I was fine; I simply refused to think about it. Every time the thought of the appointment wandered into my mind, I shoved it out.

But then, the Children’s National Medical Center started an ad campaign at the subway stop I walked through every day. My baby’s upcoming test struck me square in the face every morning. I flinched each time, averting my eyes. The ads were supposed to be comforting, but all I could think was, “He could be one of those kids. My baby could have cancer.”

Facing the MRI

This thought pounded through my mind the day of the appointment.

As we paced through the winding hallway from the security desk to the check-in to the MRI waiting area, I saw so many sick children. Children with scars on their heads, children in wheelchairs, children with bandages. And those were only the outward signs. The horror that raged through their little bodies was left up to the imagination.

I couldn’t help but think of Sprout here for his second, third, fourth, seemingly infinite treatment. As I looked at the parents, I saw a future version of myself. I’ve been in situations that others would find terrifying, but that hospital is the scariest place I’ve ever been.

In the waiting room, I bounced Sprout. I couldn’t stay still. Time slowed in a way that it hadn’t since I had been in labor. When they finally called us, the staff were calm and smiling without being excessively so. The nurse complemented us on using cloth diapers, saying how rarely she saw them. The anesthesiologist explained that they usually don’t allow parents to stay when they put the babies under.

We must have hid our anxiety well; they called us in a few minutes later. Sprout was restrained with the smallest Velcro straps. I held his tiny hand as they put the mask on. He squirmed and then fell still.

Chris and I waited in the cafeteria. We held food and hot tea in our shaking hands. We shifted back and forth in the sculpted plastic and metal seats. We talked about the hospital, about politics, about everything but the answer to “What if?”

When they called us back, Sprout was lying on a hospital bed. He was so still that I could hardly tell if he was breathing or not. I ached to hug him, but we had to wait for him to come out from under the anesthesia. I hadn’t fed him for hours, so my breasts were sore. As he started to stir, I started to breathe again. I picked him up and cradled him.

Hearing the News

The days waiting for the results dragged on and on. After a few days, the doctor called Chris directly, informing him that the MRI was clear. I was frustrated to hear the news second-hand – it would have felt more concrete to hear it straight from the doctor. Relief washed over me anyway.

We had our follow-up appointment and final report a few weeks ago. This time, the hospital wasn’t so threatening – it offered a potential confirmation of health, not illness. Everything checked out normally. The doctor said he was relieved that nothing had changed. In the report, he said Sprout is a “a delightful young man,” which I thought was an amusing way to describe a nine-month0old.

Now, I look into Sprout’s blue eyes and see an inquisitive baby looking back at me. But behind that beauty, there’s a lurking fear, a reminder of what might have been. Fortunately, I also know that the fear is no match for our love for him. I know even if he was sick, he and his eyes would still be beautiful. Because beauty and love always win out over fear.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the only struggle our family’s had. I talk about the complications with my second pregnancy over at the Good Mother Project. For hearing more about the joys and the struggles of our experiences as parents, be sure to follow us on Facebook.