Before Anonybabe was born, I fantasized about what our biggest challenges would be as parents.
As languid bookworms who wrinkle our noses at sporting events, I figured Anonyhub and I would have a jock who only felt alive when his body was in motion, and who felt a library was a self-insulating crypt. I imagined we'd have a vast expanse of "huh?" to cross to understand each other.
I'm not ruling all of that out quite yet, but it turns out the challenge of being a parent is having a kid who is just like you.
Anonybabe gets so completely absorbed by whatever she is doing that she does not want to change it. Period. She'll cry lustily when we tell her her stinky diaper has to go; she'd rather stay in it than have to pull herself away from whatever she's doing. She'll flail and fuss when we try to change her from her pj's to her clothes, only to have her flail and cry again when it's time to change her from clothes to pj's. She hates the idea of getting on the potty, but once she's there we have to pry her off so she doesn't get baby hemorrhoids. She doesn't want to go eat when she's playing, and she doesn't want to go play when she's at the table. But no matter how much she protested about a thing before doing it, once she's doing it she's happy as a clam. Super content, until you try to move her to the next thing.
I may or may not be guilty of such a thing myself. Bloody shit, am I really that unwieldy and annoying?
Well, that was over almost as soon as we started.
Physical therapy.
Next week, Anonybabe has her fourth and last session. Her physical therapist told Anonyhub today that she was happy to continue, but didn't think it was necessary. Anonyhub, who told me just last week that he planned to do only one month's worth of sessions, enough to determine that Anonybabe's "legs weren't put on backwards," agreed. The physical therapist will write up a report suggesting activities we can do to help build Anonybabe's strength, and we'll go our separate ways.
Anonybabe is what we thought she was from the beginning. Stunningly, deliberately, willingly slow to move. With the low muscle tone to prove it.
More power to her for it. She fits right in in this family. When the therapist asked her today what her favorite thing to do was, she answered "going to da libwawy!" It gives me flashbacks to the beautiful summer days I used to spend lounging in front of my parents' television watching PBS, or reading, reading, reading until my eyes hurt.
We'll all try to be more active together. Take long walks. Maybe we'll keep one eye towards moving to a warmer, more rural climate where we can roll out of bed and run outside to play without so much forethought.
But I'll also hold this experience in my heart when I'm told Anonybabe is different, is frustrating, doesn't fit. I'm gonna help the girl out when she needs a push. But ultimately I'm gonna let the girl be herself. Slowness and all.
I was singing to Anonybabe at bedtime last night, looking for new tunes to try on her, and pulled out "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music.
"Oh, I like this song," said Anonybabe. "This song makes me happy!"
She let me sing a couple more lines, until I got to the part about snowflakes staying on my nose and eyelashes.
"I have eyelashes!" exclaimed Anonybabe, fingering them. "And I have have eyes!"
And then, as chipper as a Barney character, "And I have a nose....with boogers in them!"
Anonybabe has learned to say "Yes, please," and "No, thanks," without being prompted.
I'm proud of her, of course I am, and I'm freaking proud of us parents. Do you know how dogged you have to be to insist a 2 year old say that? (We have not been so dogged about other things that would probably serve her better, like combing her hair, but I won't digress on that just now.)
I think she finally figured out that if she's polite, she'll have us wrapped around her little finger. So true. Not to put too dark a spin on it, polite speech is about the most powerful form of manipulation there is. Flattery will get you everywhere and manners are a form of flattery. In a way, you're saying "I value you enough to jump through this arbitrary speech hoop just to show you that I'll go to the trouble to please you." It's a weird, often heartless display of deference. In theory, I don't think the words "please" and "thank you" are as important as empathy, and honesty, and affection. But I needed to hear Anonybabe using those words to me. I couldn't wait for her to be indoctrinated into polite-speak, even though Anonyhub and I agreed that there was nothing so bullying and disheartening as hearing a kid give a rote "thank you" after being prompted by their parent.
Don't get me wrong, I think manners are important. It is important to value other people in everyday conversation, to make them feel appreciated and nice. But polite speech has a way of putting up walls sometimes, a way of keeping us from being forthright.
So now that our little Eliza Doolittle knows the verbal ropes, I should turn my attention to teaching the empathy/honesty/affection stuff I now wish I'd focused on making the behavioral baseline. I hope we haven't shot ourselves in the foot by making it abundantly clear that she should say what we want to hear, and not what she thinks/feels.
...listening to the Beatles' Revolver with your toddler while you eat your dinner together, watching her bop to it in her seat and hearing her interjections:
"They are singing about sweeping!"
"Hmm, hmm, hmmm, hmmm, goooood day suuuun shine!"
"Dos guys say dey are wivving in a yellow submarine!"
Just try not to let it get you down when she banishes you from the bedroom at lights out. "Mom, I want you to LEAVE now."
Anonybabe can swim, y'all! I mean, she doggy paddles with a YMCA floaty snapped around her tummy, but whatever. She wiggles free from me in the pool and can make her way from one side to the other, squealing with glee, and doing that odd jerky erect neck posture that people who are trying to keep their heads well above the water use. I can't believe it.
It's odd, Anonybabe is the most cautious toddler you'll ever meet. She waited until 18 months to start walking, and then would put her hands down to balance herself if she so much as crossed a doorjamb. She pauses for every crack in the sidewalk. She asked to be picked up and carried at every stairway. So it was shocking to take her into a swimming pool for the first time and have her struggle to swim alone. She would kick and squirm and flail every appendage in an attempt at freedom. She was going for it. She was annoyed by my hands under her pits, my knee placed under her feet so she'd have a place to stand. Last time we went to the pool I tried letting go. Lo and behold, she didn't much need me around. I still hovered, of freaking course, but didn't really touch.
I suppose this shores up the theory that Anonybabe has some undeveloped muscles somewhere that make it hard for her to run, jump, play, climb...on dry land. She has no such hang-ups in the water. Perhaps this lets her be her uninhibited self a little bit.
Funny, I do like being in water, but didn't get around to it much at all in my adult life. But when I was pregnant with Anonybabe, and especially towards the end of the pregnancy, I was in the pool as much as possible. I had a little parasite inside willing me to go, to get a sweet release from gravity, to employ a wet pillow to muffle the noises of the world, to snatch those breath-long segments of isolation.
It was beautiful, and a little sad, to see her gathering these things for herself.
Well, Anonybabe finally had her first session of physical therapy. A woman named Sam came to our house this morning (while I was away at work), with her therapeutic balls and her clipboard. Anonyhub confirmed my take on her from our phone conversations: late middle-aged, more business than pleasure, a little bland and just-the-facts, but she does have a lot of helpful facts that she readily dispenses. Anonyhub says Anonybabe quickly warmed to her, chattering and zipping around, but that Anonybabe wasn't terribly cooperative about doing things she wasn't interested in doing.
"I am done," Anonybabe would announce, after Sam would ask her to, say, sit on top of a large exercise ball. "I am going to my vewy own room to pway doll house." And she would. Sam would roll with it, coming up with games they could play in her room, suggesting little games to Anonyhub that he could play with her to build up certain muscles, checking out Anonybabe's shoes and feet.
Anonyhub got to talk to her about our concerns, and the fact that they were minimal. He got to talk to her about Anonybabe's daycare, and how they seemed more worried about Anonybabe's development than we were.
"I can talk to them for you," said Sam. "I can let them know let them know what she's capable of when she's in a comfortable setting, and what they can do to encourage her rather than discourage her." If I'd been there, I would have kissed her on the spot. I'm a little embarrassed that it takes a third party go-between to tell my child's teacher that I don't think she's seeing my child's abilities or needs clearly. But since I'm still learning to trust myself and be Anonybabe's advocate, I won't turn down any support along the way.
Things are changing so quickly. Anonybabe is rapidly losing her babyishness. It's falling away from her like dandelion fluff: one minute it's there in abundance, the next, gone forever. I'm on the cusp of losing my baby.
Perhaps not coincidentally, I'm starting to resent the aging process. Starting to get a little panicky about it. I'm 34, which is a pretty fabulous age to be. But for the past few weeks I feel that any year, any month, any minute now, I'm going to start losing it sexually, physically, mentally. Am I really never going to have sex with another person again? Are those wrinkles around my eyes really going to settle in? Am I really going to continue getting hairier, fatter? Did I just let my youth pass me by?
I just heard a John Updike story where the aging main character had lost his fight. He'd lost all sense of import, of drama. He was watching life, detached. (Of course he was remembering the days when he was about my age as the ones where he was full of spit and vinegar). The story depressed me.
I know I've many years before I really lose all my youth, but certain things have been retrieving that future day and laying it at my feet for me to take a nice long look at. And instead of seeing all of the great things that come with age - stability, wisdom, confidence - all I can see are the things I'll lose forever.
The nightmare fantasy feels real, and ugly.
No nap time has changed everything.
One of the major headaches at Anonybabe's daycare has been their insistence on nap time. Completely reasonable to expect all 2 year olds to take afternoon naps, right? But we'd phased naps out at home months before Anonybabe started daycare, in the hopes she'd go to bed at a decent hour. When we were told the children at the daycare took afternoon naps, we shrugged and said, "OK" to them, figuring Anonybabe wouldn't take a shine to it, but it couldn't hurt.
Well, it didn't hurt her, but it was certainly a pain in the butt for everyone else: Anonybabe would babble loudly while the other children were trying to fall asleep, then drop off just as they were waking up. Since the daycare provider would let the kids sleep until they woke up, Anonybabe would snooze for hours, until we came to pick her up, and then wouldn't go to sleep until past midnight. It was awful. I couldn't imagine that the daycare provider would let Anonybabe skip nap time altogether, but I asked them not to let her sleep too long, then told her insipidly that I didn't mind if Anonybabe didn't sleep. That didn't seem to translate.
Finally, recently, Anonyhub told the owner point blank that nap time was detonating our schedule, and that Anonybabe just couldn't take afternoon naps or we'd have to go somewhere else. I think/hope this was presented as the facts, not a threat. In any case, the owner told us that they'd be happy to bypass nap time, they wanted to be flexible.
Lo and behold, everything has seemed to magically change for the better now that nap time is done. When Anonyhub or I pick Anonybabe up in the afternoons her face isn't stained with dried tear tracks and snot. She gives us a big hug and then insists on staying longer to play. In the morning when we tell her it's a daycare day, she smiles rather than pouts. When we get home from daycare, she eats dinner, she plays with us, she goes dutifully to bed and falls asleep around 8:30-9pm. Then she wakes up on her own, ready to eat breakfast, get dressed, and start a new day. No more prying her, protesting, out of her bed in the morning and at the last minute because she went to bed so late the night before.
And here's the kicker: part of why my feelings were so hurt when the daycare suggested physical therapy for Anonybabe was that it seemed like a another in a long list of suggestions on how to help make our daughter better. I thought her teachers were getting all of Anonybabe's effervescent energy and then choosing to ignore it and focus on the things she wasn't doing. At the same time we were getting alarming reports that sometimes make me think the teachers at the school don't know Anonybabe at all. (Ex: "She finally learned the words to the blessing song yesterday!" ?? She's been singing it non-stop at home for a month. "We learned a letter yesterday!" Anonybabe knew her letters before she started school there, etc, etc).
Now that nap time is over, instead of getting alarming reports that make me think the teachers don't know my daughter at all, I've been getting reports that sound more like our little girl. Igor - Igor who has driven me crazy with her brusqueness - has been spending one-on-one time with Anonybabe while the other children nap and now tells me all the little stories I've been expecting to hear at pick up time all along. "She makes up a story with the crayons at the table" says Igor, and bounces her finger around as if it were the yellow baby crayon, the blue daddy crayon, the red mama crayon. She tells me how smart Anonybabe is. How funny. Igor's eyes have started to light up when Anonybabe comes in in the mornings. These are the good reports that have started to trickle in with the carefully worded bad ones.
They tell me that Anonybabe is engaging and animated while all the children are asleep, and then as soon as they wake up, she becomes silent again. That's a little heartbreaking, but not as heartbreaking as knowing that she was a silent little zombie all the time for six months, that the daycare providers weren't seeing her be herself at all. Ever. Turns out Anonybabe wasn't giving them anything positive to ignore. She'd just been sitting in a corner and watching everyone else dance and play around her. That's unsettling in and of itself, and a major breakdown in communication on our part and the teacher's. But who knew the way to untie the Gordian knot of miscommunication was to take away Anonybabe's nap time?
I'm humbled knowing that this thing I never would have asked for on my own - the abolition of nap time for just my little girl - has made things infinitely better.
Although I can never seem to remember them when I sit down to tell someone about it, Anonybabe has taken to saying pretty cute things on a regular basis. Mostly it's just funny to hear our adult phrases and intonations recycled by the munchkin.
Lately, and Anonyhub and I have no idea where this came from, she has taken to murmuring, "I'm the prettiest baby you have ever, ever seen."
Had a terrible/fascinating run in with Anonybabe the other night.
I was short on patience at bed time and took it badly when Anonybabe wouldn't let me brush her teeth. She insisted that she'd done it herself (she had) and that she was done. I let her know through gritted teeth why she needed to let me brush them as well, gave her a warning, then held her down on my lap and pinched her nose to force her mouth open so I could brush them.
She was incensed, wailing, humiliated, ego badly bruised. Next I tried to get her to pick up her toys, but she flopped down on her floor cushion, baldly refusing.
"No! You pick them up!" she countered. "I'm the Mama and you're the Anonybabe"
Since we were obviously not getting anywhere by my baldly telling her what to do, I played along.
"Wahahaha!" I cried and stomped my feet. "I don't want to pick up!" Anonybabe grinned slyly.
"Well, you just have to," she said. I cried some more and then succumbed. She told me I had to pick up and then go to sleep in our mud room. She was going to sleep in my writing chair and I was to sleep on the floor. I cried and protested some more, she giggled and insisted, and then informed me that she was going to go sleep in the big bed because she was a big mama. I finally followed her into my bedroom, turned out the light, and let her babble herself to sleep in my bed. I figured it was a small price to pay to let her recover her dignity.
I am newly aware of the number of times per day I say "Holy Crap!" thanks to Anonybabe.
She was standing on my lap the other day, and about to fall. "Ho-wee Cwap!" she crowed. I, of course, laughed and laughed.
It was through another friend's toddler that I learned how often I use the banal "interesting". A lot a lot.
I do wish I had some more poetic turns of phrase for these little copycats to parrot back.
Hello, my little Beatle Baileys. How's shakes?
I'm writing to you with the beginnings of a cold. I wish I were nursing some garlic lemonade right now. Home remedy that is freakishly good: steep a couple of cloves of minced garlic in a quart of hot water for 30 minutes to an hour, then add the juice of a couple of lemons and honey to taste. Added bonus: people will smell you coming. I hate taking cold medicine; I have a hard time trusting anything that came from the pharmaceutical industrial complex. There may be a large sticking-it-to-the-man placebo effect going on with this remedy, but I'll take whatever relief I can get. Lemon and honey and garlic are all good for the immune system, so why not?
And I'm writing at the tail end of a short visit from my dad and his wife. I do not have great love for my dad. Maybe I should rephrase, because I can't help loving him even though it drives me crazy to do so. I have zilch respect for him; he's let me down time and time again. I think he's cowardly and selfish and childish. And right when my anger towards him starts simmering over, I realize all the ways that we're alike. There are so many character traits that we share. Hating him is like hating myself, and that gets confusing. This visit is giving me a chance to pick through the twin landmines of a) keeping my boundaries firm around him, and b) being gentle with myself when he does things or I do things that drive me crazy.
Also, had a nice little moment with Anonybabe that I want to turn over in my brain a few times. Anonyhub and I took her to an art walk in our old neighborhood yesterday. Anonyhub had an old college buddy showing his work and I wanted to go too. It was no place for a toddler - people opened up their studios in a big warehouse and you could wander from space to space. There were jewelry artists who had their welding equipment within easy reach, tile makers whose fragile work was hanging within smashing distance. So I ended up holding Anonybabe for a long time while we walked through, probably close to an hour. She loved it. She happily warbled away, played with my necklace, asked me questions. And this feeling awakened in me that I haven't really felt since she was a little baby. I used to get it when we would take weekend trips together, and she would sit in my lap for hours while we flew to friends and family. It was the result of being physically close for a long time, and giving Anonybabe face-to-face attention. It works when we take long trips on public transportation too. What should be a nightmare ends up being kind of magical. I don't get it, but I'm going to respect it, try to work it in.
I read in some child development rag about setting up rules for your family. It is a tribute to the article that I got through it, because I don't place much stock in rules. Although it doesn't always show, at heart I am something of a libertarian. Rules don't allow for flexibility, they don't fit with the infinite complexity of life. Better to sit and observe your surroundings and come up with a solution that seems right for you, right for the moment, when problems arrive than to live blindly by rules. (Is it a wonder I'm always pinging all over the place?)
This article about rules hit me right where I live, though. It suggested taking a minute to sit down and think about your most cherished values: self-nourishment, thankfulness, empathy, whatever, and come up with 5 simple rules for your household that are centered around those values. That way, you can weave them into all your explanations to your child about why we do or do not do such-and-such in this house. And you get to teach them your value system. And your rules are grounded in things that actually matter to you. This is so much more appealing than reminding Anonybabe to arbitrarily say "please" and "thank you".
I had such a nice weekend with the Anonyfam. Pleasing in pretty much every way. And I'm making a mental note of the fact that it involved a hell of a lot of socializing.
I'm still used to thinking of myself as an introvert. And that's more or less true. I won't show you my hand until I'm good and ready. And it takes me a ridiculously long time to be ready. But once I am, I can really throw myself into my friendships.
Events of note this week:
last Monday: Going away party for some acquaintances. It involved hiring a babysitter and going to a hip little bar, drinking delicious alcoholic beverages and chatting it up amicably with people I'm comfortable with. It also involved a little low-key flirting with my husband and others. Mildly pleasant, and it ramped me up for the rest of my week.
Wednesday: Drug a protesting Anonybabe to the beach after work, where we ate a picnic and frolicked in the sand and waves until the sun set. Anonybabe fell asleep in her stroller in the walk home and I got to take a long hot bath and read a self-helpy creative recovery book that helped me see my way out of a funk I'd been in.
Friday: Storytelling round a campfire at a local nature center. Although Anonybabe chatted pretty much non-stop and we had to carry her away from the herd more than once, I loved it. The nature center is this laid back, hidden gem, and the whole park was designed by the guy we named Anonybabe after. Afterwards, Anonyhub had a concert to go to so he dropped Anonybabe and I off at the train station. At first I was resentful that we had to navigate home alone, but it ended up being fun bonding time. Any sort of travel with Anonybabe usually ends up being a hoot.
Saturday: Got up late, made french toast, cleaned the house. Then dressed up in our party dresses and went to a friends house for a barbecue. Small crowd, good drinks, tons of eating. Anonybabe surprised me by volunteering to sing happy birthday to the birthday girl, and then planting herself in the middle of the room to try to woo the crowd with "B-I-N-G-O". Chica liked being center stage. Who knew?
Sunday: Awakened early by a couple who have a child Anonybabe's age in daycare. They seem keen on getting together and hanging out, and so far Anonyhub and I both really really like them. They called to ask us over for coffee and pastries, and we went, we talked, we want to have each other over for dinner. Then Anonyhub and I scooted back to an interview with a new babysitter. A seemingly awesome babysitter.
So the moral? More social activities for yours truly. This introvert is ready to let it all hang out.
I had a nice little moment yesterday, where I felt embraced by the universe.
A couple of weeks ago I walked over to a condo courtyard near work to draw some pictures. They were pictures I'd had an idea for years ago, but I'd never acted on the idea. And it felt really good to sit in the grass, in the sun, and just do it.
When I walked back to work I realized I'd lost an earring. A big gaudy dangly monstrosity that I love to wear. It is always getting caught in shirts and sweaters and scarves and falling out. "Oh well," I'd thought. "I was due to lose that earring sooner or later anyway."
Yesterday, I was feeling bummed and on the spur of the moment decided to go for a quick walk. I was thinking about how I never go for walks, even though they help keep me sane. I was thinking about the overwhelming drive I have to hunker down and stay put: physically, emotionally, spiritually. It gives me a sense of stability I crave, but I make myself miserable sometimes because I don't get the fresh air/new experiences/mini-adventures I need to keep life going.
And then I happened to look up and see my missing earring, sitting on the ledge of a building. Someone had found it and put it there. And I just happened to walk by that day and see it. I put the earring in my pocket and fingered it like a talisman while I kept walking. This isn't the first time those earrings have come back to me. It felt like the universe was saying "See? Get out and take some chances. Live life a little. Lose things. We'll make sure you're taken care of and have what you need."
Flight of fancy maybe. And a good one.
Anonybabe pretends that everything she touches is someone or something else. Everything. While in the bathtub she pretends that baby pink washcloth is going with mama hairball to the toy store; while at the table she pretends that daddy fork and baby green bean are going to the book store; she walks household items around in that bouncy exaggerated pretend walk she learned from us. Bounce, bounce, bounce - characters in her mundane and thorough recreation of reality.
It's cute, I guess, but odd. I tend to get a little tetchy around it. I spent a lot of time in a fantasy world as a kid, and I get annoyed when Anonybabe does the same thing. I want her here, in this world, with me. Was/am I really that annoying to be around when I'm in my head? One of those unfortunate, I-don't-like-it-in-her-because-I-don't-like-it-in-myself kind of things. Add it to the list of things to work on.
But this I really liked:
Anonybabe as mama-spoon: (marching Mama spoon loudly on the glass table over to the cheese slices) bang, bang, bang. Oh! Are you my baby cheeses?
Anonybabe as baby cheeses: Oh! Yes! We are! We are going to go into Anonybabe's mouth!
(Anonybabe chews, swallows)
Anonybabe as mama spoon: (To us) Anonybabe ate my babies! (Anonybabe rests mama spoon on her tongue so she can look down her throat) Babieth! Ah you ehn there?
Jesus fuck am I in a horrible mood today. Anonyhub got the brunt of it. Two angry ranting voicemails worth. I feel bad and he suffers. Well, Anonybabe got her fair share this morning, too. She woke up on the wrong side of the bed, crying, whining with hair-trigger speed.
She is figuring out, in her weird, robot-like way, that crying = sadness. What I mean is, she'll stop to consider the connection. She fell off of a stool the other day and it scared the crap out of her and bruised her bum. She wailed for a couple of seconds and then, when Anonyhub picked her up to comfort her and asked if she was okay, she sobbed "Ye-he-he-hess. I just want to cry for a little bit." And she did. When she fake cries she'll stop to announce it brightly, looking pleased with herself, "I just did a little cry, because I am a little sad." She toys with these announcements, seeing if she can use them to get something: "I am crying because I am sad because I want some apple juice. Wah." When I am on my game I find it clever and interesting to see her work through the emotion/response/reaction cycles. But this morning I wasn't interested in seeing her work out how she could get the breakfast she wanted by crying about the breakfast she had. I wasn't interested in her sincerely tearful implosion after I cheered her up by showing her how her three banana segments could be put together like a puzzle to form a whole banana...and then they kept falling back apart when she'd try to pick them up as one. I tried to sit her on my lap to comfort her, which worked until I tried to get her to eat breakfast, and she would dissolve into tears again.
Then I was angry that I had to try to make her eat, angry that I had to try to rush an unwilling toddler to daycare (why exactly was she in daycare again?), angry that I had to then go to work instead of hanging out with her, angry when Anonybabe refused to get herself out of the car, angry when Anonybabe was suddenly in a great mood as I carried her in, angry when Igor made sure to complain to me that the previous day Anonybabe just chattered and chattered while they were trying to get her to take one of those fucking naps that I hate because they fuck with Anonybabe's bedtime, angry that yet again all I seem to hear about is how inconvenient Anonybabe is.
The result was two angry emails to Anonyhub. Why are we doing this? Why can't we change it? Why aren't you helping me? What the hell are you doing with your time anyway?
Not really fair considering I was just telling Anonyhub how happy I was with his jobless status a few days ago. And just last night I was thinking what an amazing housekeeper he is. Truly. And he's been making damn sure that he finds ways to contribute to the household income - arranging for unemployment, and selling off his record collection as needed.
There's a lot going on here, including a couple of nights without enough sleep and a shitty diet that probably has my blood sugar on the fritz, but I know I'm not happy working 5 days a week. Who is? But I want something different, and I'm tired of asking Anonyhub to make the necessary changes to make me like my life.
Anonyhub and Anonybabe are off to visit his parents until Friday. If Anonybabe hadn't been so freaking psyched about going, you may have found me a bit verclempt. But she was happy to leave, so I am happy to see them go. Father/daughter bonding is good stuff. As is grandparent/grandchild bonding, if the grandchild is willing (no matter how bloody annoying said grandparents may be to their daughter-in-law). And Mama alone time is a sweet, sweet nectar that I'll be drinking deeply from this week.
Tonight, I set up a little writing nook, I watch Mad Men, I sleep.
Tomorrow, and the next night, I socialize with my lady friends.
Perhaps, if you see me this weekend, I'll be all aglow.
I've been trying to record little snippets of Anonybabe talking so you all can hear. It's just so hard to capture her very distinct cadence by writing about it. Hopefully soon I can figure out how to edit down the digital clips that I've captured on my iphone.
In the meantime, here are some things she said recently that cracked my shit up. Anonybabe is not so scatological, but since I think it's funny when she is, my stories are. Perhaps I'll remember some sweeter ones to share later:
This one is a little old, but must be shared. I should preface that when Anonybabe wants to pretend like she's someone else, she'll say "grow, grow, Grow, Grow, GROW" in this little escalating sing-song, and then say hi to you as whatever she is pretending to be. I have no idea where she got it, but she does it a lot. This is my favorite example. Anonyhub was peeing with the bathroom door open, as he is wont to do, and Anonybabe walked in to watch him.
Her: Daddy, what is that? (pointing to his penis) Do you have a tail?
Him: No, honey, that's a penis. Remember, we've talked about them bef.....
Her: Daddy, do you have hair on your boodie?
Him: Well, yeah; I do.
Her: grow, grow, Grow, Grow, GROW! Hi, daddy! I'm some boodie hair!
Yesterday I was taking a bath while Anonybabe and Anonyhub played in her room. At one point I immersed my head and blew bubbles out of my mouth, and Anonybabe heard me and asked her dad what that noise was. He told Anonybabe I had probably farted in the bathtub, and she promptly made up a song about me farting in the bathtub, but not in the potty, but making bubbles in the bathtub. Hee.
Thanks to my friends who very nicely encouraged me over the past couple of weeks while I let myself play the drama queen over Anonybabe's physical screening.
And I apologize to anybody who was offended over my histrionics about a little physical screening.
I feel I should explain, a bit.
To kids who can't do what the other kids can do (i.e. everybody):
I don't feel it's the end of the world because Anonybabe can't run, jump, hurtle down the playground as fast as other kids her age. In fact, deep down I think it's no big deal at all. I hope I'm right about this, but I think it's just a part of her story. A part of her personality. Chica is freaking deliberate. Chica is hella slow to move. Whether she does it because she is compensating for this or that doesn't seem like it matters that much. It makes her unique, it makes her frustrating as hell, and it makes her delightful, all at once.
So my depressed freak out over Anonybabe's screening wasn't so much because *sob* "Anonybabe is slow! Horrors! However shall we survive?!"
My depressed freak out was more of a crisis of confidence as a parent. I had already decided that Anonybabe was what she was. And then her teacher (who I'd incidentally never heard one positive thing about Anonybabe from) tells me that she thinks Anonybabe needs to be screened for a physical problem the same way she might tell me Anonybabe needs to be screened for cancer. Like she needs to tread carefully. Like I might start banging my head on her toddler sized table and shaking my fists at the sky. Like I shouldn't have been trusting my gut instincts when they told me Anonybabe was just fine. Like all of the things I'd been using to gauge her development and well-being (her communicativeness, her inquisitiveness, her imagination) were dwarfed by her terrible slowness.
Which made me stop and think...should I be concerned? Should I be as hushed and shifty-eyed about the fact that my daughter can't get air when she tries to jump? Should I be as dismissive about her verbal precociousness? Was she precocious at all? Was I in an Anonyfamily bubble?
And here's where I started to go off the deep end. My childhood was steeped in religious fervor, isolation, and a sense of family angst. It was a world unto itself that was completely turned upside down more than once. So it didn't seem like such a crazy stretch to imagine my view of Anonybabe was way off while her seemingly nice, seasoned veteran of a daycare teacher's was spot on. And since her daycare teacher seemed only frustrated and sad about Anonybabe's place in the world alongside her peers, my first step was to see if I could drop my view of Anonybabe and see whether I could pick hers up. Fortunately, I could not. But I did some amazing emotional gymnastics to try to do so.
It is to my everlasting shame that I seem to always give someone else's opinion the benefit of the doubt before my own. And, if I can continue being a bit of a drama queen: it scares me about my soundness as a mama. If your mom can be so easily pushed out of your corner, that can't be great for your self-esteem.
And on and on on this downward spiral.
See what I'm doing here? Going down this path that is less and less connected with reality? It's like going on the Oompa Loompa boat ride. Thanks for taking the mini-tour with me.
Anyway, the downside is that I was dismayed and embarrassed to see how far afield I could go just by somebody telling me that Anonybabe might want to get a little help climbing the monkey bars.
The upside is that now I know what it takes to make some of my old-standing issues blossom. And I know that I want to work on getting said issues under control. Maybe if I feel up to it, later I'll talk in more detail about these mystery issues.
In the mean time - thanks for being nice.
So the screening for Anonybabe was ridiculously pleasant. Not to mention low key. Three therapists (one occupational, one developmental, one physical) met us at Anonybabe's daycare. Anonyhub, Anonybabe's teacher and I sat in a back room full of toys and foam steps and chatted while the therapists took turns asking Anonybabe to perform certain tasks: draw a line on a piece of paper, point to a picture, stand on one foot. She loved the attention; she loved doing the tasks.
After 30 minutes of this, the therapists each gave a quick evaluation and let us know whether they recommended any therapy: occupational - no, developmental - nyet, physical - yes, if we wanted to. More or less, Anonybabe has the physical prowess of a 17 month old, in a 29 month old body. The physical therapist seemed about as concerned about this as I would have liked to see her be, in other words: not very. We are going to give physical therapy a whirl since there's no real reason not to: it looks like it'll be cheap, pleasant, and fun for Anonybabe. We can back out at any time if we don't like it (which I don't foresee happening). It could make Anonybabe feel more comfortable in her body. Might help, couldn't hurt.
During the whole process, the daycare provider sat in the corner and cooed over Anonybabe, saying what a good girl, what a smart girl she was, how very articulate, on and on to the therapists. How she was just overwhelmed when there were other kids around and wouldn't try anything physically challenging. Why hasn't she been saying any of this stuff to me?! Further, why did I need so badly to hear her say it?
*Sigh*
1). I have a lot of old issues surrounding iq and performance that seem to be swarming to the surface with this whole fiasco.
2). I think I'm unnecessarily looking for a way to vilify our daycare provider so that I have an excuse to leave her. I did the same thing with my OB-GYN until I realized...she doesn't have to be evil for me to want to leave. She can be fran-freaking-tastic and yet wrong for our family.
I don’t know why the physical screening of Anonybabe is wreaking such havoc on my sense of self, my sense of place.
When her daycare teacher never comments on how verbose Anonybabe is, how imaginative she is, how she’s picked up quickly on songs, and letters, and numbers, but instead only talks about how achingly slow Anonybabe is on the playground and how she likes to play by herself, I think maybe I have a very warped view of my daughter.
I had decided to think of my daughter as super smart in some ways, super slow in others. And now that I’m told she may need physical therapy, my concept of who she is and where she is has been busted wide open and I find myself panicking about things that in turn seem ridiculous and menacing.
What about Anonybabe’s stilted way of talking? The way she hesitates between each word? I think she has a killer vocabulary for a two year old, but what do I know? I’m not around 2 year olds all day. Maybe I should have thought of her strange intonation and peculiar cadence as a sign of SOMETHING WRONG (insert doom music here).
And yes, chica doesn’t run, jump, play with ease. But she’s progressing. Always has been. At her own turtle pace. Was it wrong of me to think she was just being so very herself by taking her time?
If nobody else sees my daughter as special, why should I? Am I just a stage mom in Anonymom clothing? I feel like there are so many ugly things to unpack here, and I’m not even sure where to start.
I want to go back to seeing this as just physical therapy. A helping hand. I really hope that the therapist who screens Anonybabe says something nice, something comforting about her. My fragile sense of self could use the boost.
Whew. Nothing was as I expected today.
First off, Anonybabe and I had an impetuously planned playdate with a little girl and her father; we met them through Anonybabe's daycare.
I asked them over after a day where Anonybabe must have asked me to play dollhouse with her 60 times. I thought maybe inviting somebody over who also wants to play dollhouse all day long might be in order. "Do you want to ask Mira over to play dollhouse?" In response Anonybabe grabbed her red toy phone and pretended to dial the numbers. "Hewwo?" she said, pausing appropriately. "Miwa? Do you want to come over and pway doll house wit me? .... Ok. If you say so." I hunted down the family's number and made a playdate on the spot.
I was excited about it. The parents seem to be in the same boat as Anonyhub and I: not the oldest parents on the block, but no spring chickens, a little overwhelmed by their lone 2 year old daughter who is blond, bright, chubby, and bossy. I envisioned commiserating about the surprises and hardships of parenting over a beer while the girls played.
But the girls did not play, and parental bonding didn't really commence. Our interactions in general were pleasant enough, but the net result of their visit was that it depressed the hell out of me. Anonybabe was quiet. Withdrawn. Unhappy. Crotchety. Is this how she acts around her classmates all the time? I know she doesn't dislike this Mira. She clambers for playtime and attention when older kids come to visit. And Mira is a busy girl, she gets around. It was painfully obvious how slow to move Anonybabe is. Especially when we went to a playground and Mira was climbing and sliding and running and jumping. At one point I started to tear up when Mira clambered up a spiral pole that Anonybabe has been fascinated by for the last year but can't even begin to climb alone. I said something about how bright Mira seems to her dad and he said something along the lines of "I think so, but I don't have a point of comparison. But her daycare teacher says she thinks she's really advanced and should probably meet the teachers at the Montissori school down the street." Then I think he tried to console us "I think it all evens out, kids develop at different speeds." I had such a whirlwind of emotions after that. Does anybody in Anonybabe's daycare see her as a cool and smart kid? Am I a crazy mom for thinking my daughter is great? Am I a crazy mom for worrying when other people don't think so? I didn't like the picture of myself that was developing, of me as a jealous angry mom who thinks my daughter that no one else sees as special is all that. Like I said, depressing.
Then we went to dinner with a botany professor friend of Anonyhub's, as well as the friend's dad. This professor is a delightful and charming teacher. He's enthusiastic and funny. But he tends to dominate the hell out of personal conversations, he goes off on happy tangents and doesn't come up for air for half hours at a time. I wasn't looking forward to dinner. But it was fricking wonderful. And Anonybabe was in a great mood: she chattered to herself and played with her food while we listened to the professor's father dominate the conversation with funny stories about Timothy Leary and his own dabblings in transcendental meditation.
I just wanted to cuddle Anonybabe the whole time we were at dinner. And it was good to remember that even though Anonybabe seems to shrivel when she's around other 2 year olds, she's boisterous and fun around adults, preteens, even 4 year olds. And when I can step the hell away from comparisons, I can enjoy her for who she is. Whether she's smart or slow, short-fused or imaginative.
My girl.
I'm so angry that I'm working and Anonyhub is not.
That is all.
Actually, there's a lot more.
This morning, upon waking and surly without her pacifier, Anonybabe said to Anonyhub: "Daddy, I'm feeling pretty upset right now." I couldn't help guffawing from the next room. And then I clapped my hand over my mouth and hoped that she hadn't heard. I don't want to give her any reason to stop saying things like that.
Anonybabe's daycare provider has suggested that we get Anonybabe screened for some sort of physical disability. She was slow to crawl, and to walk. She still runs at quarter speed, can't get any air when she jumps, is loathe to climb on and off of our bed without some help. And she's a month shy of 2 1/2. I had kind of put worrying about her development aside because she's just barely hit all her milestones. She's always been so slow and deliberate; she'll hang back and study people and situations carefully before cautiously wading in. I had chalked this up to her personality. But our daycare provider thinks maybe she's cautious because moving doesn't come as easily for her. She had another kid who was screened and found to have underdeveloped stomach muscles (or some such) and has had a little physical therapy to help develop them for the past year, to great effect. We'll see. Anonybabe is supposed to get an evaluation this week. I oscillate between excitement (yea! physical therapy for 2 year olds is probably fun, and maybe Anonybabe can experience the joy of hell-for-leather movement sooner rather than later) and nervousness (what if this is an ugly, joyless process that only focuses on what's wrong with Anonybabe?).
Which leads me to a bitchpoint. If I may: my daughter is exceptional. She has crazy mad skills in certain areas. She is unique.
Quite honestly, so is every kid on the planet. It floors me that there really is something amazing about every person out there. I think I've always liked to believe this. It feels hopeful. It feels nice. But since being around children, I find that it's true. If you spend enough time with any kid, they are going to do something that knocks your socks off. Ride a bike. Tell a joke. Climb a slide. Solve a puzzle. Dance. Sing. Construct. Give you a well-timed hug. So much earlier, so much better, so much more naturally than you ever would have dreamed.
And of course, we think Anonybabe, with all of her quirks, has her own areas in which she shines. I guess I thought when we sent her to daycare, I would have another person to talk shop about Anonybabe with. I imagined someone else seeing all of the cool things she does, and gossiping about her with us at the end of the day. I imagined this daycare provider doing that with all of her kids and all of their parents.
But have I heard of any positive Anonybabe peccadilloes since she started daycare? I have not. But I have heard plenty of negatives: "Mama, Anonybabe is having trouble walking, and we think the diapers you use are hindering her." "Mama, why don't you be patient with your daughter, and let her climb the stairs by herself?" "I kept trying and trying to get Anonybabe to go down the slide by herself today, but she didn't want to go."
Now I expected to hear about how Anonybabe could be challenging. I expected her to be behind when it came to socializing, and I knew she was a slow mover. I looked forward to getting a fresh perspective on areas where Anonybabe could use some help. I expected to hear ways we could work with her at home so she could be more comfortable and more amenable to daycare.
But I expected to hear some nice things about Anonybabe's strengths as well as her weaknesses. Even something as mundane as "Wow! She knows her numbers really well for her age." or "My, Anonybabe is really verbal." Areas where I'm proud of her. Areas where she's comfortable. Areas where she shines.
Feels like I'm only hearing about what's wrong with Anonybabe from this daycare provider. It didn't help that she used buzzwords like "she's behind" and "it couldn't hurt to get her evaluated and get her some physical therapy, then she could even be ahead of her peers". ??? !! ??
I can't tell if I'm being overly sensitive, or if my mama radar is sending the alarm and telling me to go somewhere else and find someone who actually likes being around Anonybabe. Who actually sees what she's doing, not just what she isn't doing.
We have our second set of house guests within a couple of weeks, and Anonybabe has been forking out the canned ham for all of them. She loves the activity, loves the attention, and I suspect she is wearing out our more accommodating guests with her calls of "Guys! Hey guys! Do you want to play in my new room with me?" "Guys! Hey guys! Do you want to play dollhouse with me?" "Guys! Hey guys!" every few minutes. She is ebullient, and persistent.
I found myself worrying that our guests didn't like her. More accurately, I found myself worrying that all of our guests weren't enamored with her.
And then I realized what I was doing. I want everybody to love Anonybabe completely all the time. I get a little panicked if I think they are less than enthralled with her. I preemptively talk her down in front of other people. My sister does this with her son, too. We do this with ourselves.
The shifting of the baggage has begun! And it is bullshit! How do I stop myself from wanting her to be looooved by everybody? How do I stop myself from wanting me to be loved by everybody?
Sigh. Is there a way to love Anonybabe for Anonybabe and to love me for me? Warts and all? Over the top exuberance, and bitchy low moods? And let other people decide for themselves if they want to partake of us, and let them go on their merry ways if they don't?
I feel like I need some psychical therapy. Anybody know any good exercises?
Can I share something goofy and narcissistic with you?
I'm addicted to Scramble - it's a facebook game like online Boggle, where you try to find words on a grid of letters. You can see the scores of other players. Being a quick typist and a word geek (don't forget obsessive-compulsive lazy-ass office worker who spends much too much time playing) I get high scores, the highest of my friends.
But an ex-boyfriend got within three points of my score, and when I saw that he did, I felt this overwhelming surge of lust for him.
Which cracked me up.
And really, who do you share something like that with except your blog buds?
I am simultaneously embarrassed/charmed by me.
Hi, all. I've been in the process (boo!) of moving (yea!), ingesting Anonyhub's new unexpected (boo!) jobless status (yea...!...?), and tolerating a visit from the in-laws (boo!) who helped us move (yea!).
I've been coping with all the hoopla by spending any spare moment at work playing soothing, mind-numbing computer games. Ah, sweet mental nothingness. Actually, that stuff is more like jack-off material for the brain. Gives your mind a frenzy of alluring puzzles to play with, which it can completely immerse itself in for a couple of minutes. Then, when the game is over, blink, realize where you are and that your stress inducer hasn't gone away, and then immediately dive back in. We all have our ways of self-medicating. Mine happens to be Scramble.
Anonybabe is adjusting well to the new place, is alternately dismayed and delighted with it and her grandparents. I'm just tired and overwhelmed with all the unpacking we have to do and will be happy when Anonyhub's parents leave today. They have been incredibly helpful moving things from place to place and watching Anonybabe, but I feel like they are pissing on my territory. My mother-in-law has a way of throwing out a million tiny thoughtless insults that I waste a lot of energy trying to ignore: "Well, your place is a wreck!" "That just looks hopeless!" "Well, I told your husband that Anonybabe should take a nap" sandwiched between endless rambling about their timeshare and home renovations. She didn't pick up after herself or do dishes, and I found myself passive-aggressively leaving all of the dishes in the sink for her to do.
All of this is done until the next family get-together.
Anonyhub and I thought we would unpack as we went, and we did for a while, but now we've just run out of steam. Any tips from you who've moved on how to rejuvenate? Should we just walk away and spend an afternoon on the beach together to regroup? Yes? Good answer!
Where the Wild Things Are:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
Where the shits and giggles are:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
To the two people who read my post now and again: Hi. I found a couple of parenting magazines that accept submissions from people such as you and me, and I was thinking of recycling a blog entry to send in to them. Be it silly or sad, is there any blog entry you found memorable? Or, more likely, a subject I may have touched on that you think about on a regular basis? Let me know and I'll try to send something in. I do love the smell of rejection letters in the morning.
Thanks.
It feels like I say this every few days, but it seems true: something has shifted. I feel tolerant of Anonybabe's peccadillos all of the sudden. I don't know why. But there are a few happenings clustered around this feeling that may or may not be related.
Happening the first: Anonybabe's daycare had their annual picnic on Friday. All the kids and parents got together at 4 o'clock for pizza and chit chat. (It was fun; a crowd of middle-aged introverts with only one or two kids each. Anonyhub and I are hitting it off nicely with several families). At one point Anonybabe wandered off with a balloon she'd been given and managed to pop it on the lawn. I asked her to pick up the pieces of orange rubber and throw them in the trash can. While we were walking to the trash, she got distracted by some revelry by the swing set and threw her balloon bits down to run over and join in. I called her back, and as I stood over her, dictating that she pick up each piece she'd missed, I had a moment of clarity. I was being a fucking asshole. Yes, I did and do want to teach Anonybabe to be responsible for herself, to clean up her messes and be generally considerate. But I was using my responsibility to teach as an excuse for being lazy and rude. If I were with an adult who was picking up, I'd have given them a hand. Especially at a freaking picnic. Something in me relaxed - I decided it was okay to use some common sense and a sliding scale when it came to teaching my daughter responsibility. Hmm, it wasn't until I wrote this sentence just now that I realize this was exactly what Anonyhub was lecturing me about last week.
Happening the second: I finally tried spanking Anonybabe. A sharp slap on the hand that I warned her about ahead of time. It didn't work at all. She looked at me quizzically after the first slap and then laughed nervously after the second. It was bedtime and she wouldn't be quiet. The punishment didn't help the crime because she was venting nervous energy to begin with and the slaps just amped her up. But I felt strangely light and free after trying it. I'd come to the conclusion that spanking isn't a big deal and is worth a try, and I'd decided if it worked, I was gonna use it. It didn't (that time - not saying I won't bust it out again) and I lost the guilty feeling that I was avoiding a simple fix for no good reason.
The upshot is that I found myself being laid back with Anonybabe yesterday. Enjoying her and/or keeping my cool when she went off the handle. She's been a horror today and - knock on wood - it isn't getting to me like it usually does. I hope the self-control and tolerance lasts, because it's delightful. Something about it feels like it did when Anonybabe was a newborn, and being a parent was nothing but draining, but I had this deep, deep sense of peace. For the moment, I feel like my gut instincts are on track.
Incidentally, I have also been getting more Anonymom time. Time with friends, time to myself.
I have never wanted to spank Anonybabe as badly as I wanted to spank her last night. It would have been incredibly satisfying to smack her little behind hard. I only speak the ugly truth.
She spent the early evening throwing things at me after I asked, then told, then harshly told her not to. This is not something she's usually wont to do; she casually tossed my shoe to me when I walked in the door "Mama? You want your shoooe?" and after I asked her not to do that she spent the rest of the night observing the effects of launching this or that item in my direction (a ball, a food-covered fork).
And then we had an awful bedtime. Much of it our fault, she'd slept in with Anonyhub and didn't take a nap, and then we didn't get her to bed early so that she was incredibly slap happy by the time we turned out the lights and told her it was quiet time. She babbled and sang at the top of her lungs, stood up and crashed down in her bed, kicked and squirmed. None of this would be an issue if we didn't share a bedroom. But I was also going to bed early because I was nursing a cold. Plus Anonybabe has pulled this sort of stunt in daycare, when she's in a room of 2 year olds trying to take a nap. The girl does need to learn to be quiet when we ask her to be quiet. She feeds on the attention she gets from being loud when she's supposed to shush up and it's fucking obnoxious. She attention-mongered for something like half an hour, pushing my buttons, pushing Anonyhubs, giggling nervously and giddily when we would snap harshly at her to be quiet. I longed to slap her behind repeatedly, vengefully. Thankfully, Anonyhub saw how unhinged I was getting and he kept me at bay.
The only time she would be remotely quiet was when we were in her face. Anonyhub finally picked her up and pinned her arms and legs and rocked and shushed her to sleep.
Sigh. Did she run the show last night? Yeah, she did. Would a spanking have been in order? Possibly. I'm saving that for my nuclear option. It may be that they would work beautifully with Anonybabe and I'm doing us both a disservice by not spanking her. It's a little arbitrary to withhold it when I've pinched and yanked her in the past. But I don't know that spanking is such a good idea for me either. I had weird spanking experiences as a child and so the act is a little bit tainted for me. Plus they didn't work on me, so I'm a little bit biased. But I don't think physical pain is such a horrible thing to inflict on a kid, it's the psychological jabs you throw that are the problem. And those can happen with or without the application of palm to behind. I don't think they are such a big deal.
We'll see. I get the impression discipline is a custom-made ride for each parent and child, so I don't feel so bad that I'm flying blind, here.
That was invigorating.
I'm still tipsy from a get-together I just got back from; a friend of ours is moving to L.A., to try to make it as a stand-up comedienne. She had a goodbye party tonight and Anonyhub and I stopped by with a sleeping Anonybabe.
I wasn't expecting to enjoy it. At all. I worried that a judgmental ex-boyfriend was going to be there; I worried that I'd see people I'd always had trouble making chit-chat with (people I hadn't seen in 8 years).
But it was fun! Anonyhub had to drag me away. I was ready to booze and chat it up far into the night. On the walk home, I told Anonyhub I think I was expecting a party with 20-30 somethings, like the one's I experienced 10 years ago. I didn't count on everyone maturing as much as we had.
Seriously? In almost every way, I love not being in my 20s any more.
So for three days now, Anonybabe has been a freaking blast. I'm glad; I was really starting to worry after 3 odd weeks of just feeling distant and alienated from the chick. I felt guilty. I felt panicky that the alienation was going to last. I obsessively fantasized that we were already that mother/daughter combo - the one that just doesn't get each other. Ever.
Apparently fate is offering us at least a little respite. All of her oddities are now charming to me instead of grating; I'm not sure why. Today we went on a walk and Anonybabe brought Francis her stuffed cat. She kept chanting "Super Fwancis, meow, meow, meow, MEOW!" and on the last meow she would toss him down the sidewalk. If he got particularly good air she would giggle and say "Oh! Fwancis! Dat was good fwy!" and pick him up to do it again. She also freaking delights in walking under or over chains used to separate sidewalks from strips of grass. I know that doesn't sound charming, per se, but somehow Anonybabe makes it work. We both know she couldn't have done that particular trick 2 months ago without doing a faceplant on the sidewalk. She'll straighten up, eyes shining and trumpet "Mama! Mama! I go ober de chain! Can I do it again?"
Anonyhub gave me some food for thought that I haven't quite figured out how to digest yet. I mentioned last night how much more I'm enjoying our daughter and how it helps that she hasn't tried to bite, pinch, hit, or flaunt her disobedience in a fuck-you manner for three whole days.
"Yeah..." he started a line he's tried to start before with me. "Sometimes I think with the biting and hitting, you should just let it go." This is the point where I usually launch into a diatribe about those kinds of things always being unacceptable and how I want firm boundaries around them, and on and on. This time I waited to hear Anonyhub out.
"You get yourself so worked up about disciplining her...I think you work yourself into a corner where you make it impossible to like her very much. You might do more damage to your relationship to her than the good you do trying to teach her to act nice."
Humph. And Hmmmm. How right is he?
As if my daughter heard some of my recent inner angst, she served up a heaping plate of awesome tonight that I enjoyed royally.
We had a nice evening from the get-go: sitting at the table and eating beans and rice (which she managed to eat without upending solids or liquids onto herself or the floor. She smeared just enough on her chin and cheeks to make herself adorable). Reading Sesame Street books in the Laz-E-Boy. Pretending like her puzzle pieces were Thomas the Tank Engine characters. "Mama? Can Naughty Diesel say 'Yes, Thomas, what you say, Thomas"? She was being so charming that it was easy to indulge her entertainment whims. "What do you want to do next?" I would ask. "Read a book? Ok. Read it again? Sure. Eat cinnamon bread with a double pat of butter? Why not?"
So when she asked to put on her chicken costume around bedtime, I rolled with it.
She has the most awesome hand-me-down chicken costume in the history of chicken costumes for two year olds. It's a white, full body affair with Foghorn Leghorn feet that fit over her shoes and a little hood for her head complete with a red crest. The body is a fuzzy white, and in it she looks like a little chicken cherub.
She was so excited to put it on; she started flapping her hands manically when she spied it in the coat closet. "My chicken out-fit! Heee! My chicken out-fit!" Once I snapped it on, she let out a stream of "boks" in time to her footfalls. Then she started speaking her version of chickanese, adding a perfunctory "bok bok" to the end of every sentence. "I am going to the kitchen bok bok." "Mama, can I wide in my gween stwoller bok bok?" I of course answered in kind. "Ok, bok bok". "I'd be happy to push you bok bok".
And then to top things off, she fussed only a very little when it was time to take it off and go to bed, and then sang herself to sleep while Anonyhub and I putzed around in the living room.
Oh, Anonybabe. More, please. I could eat this up with a spoon until the day I die.
(Yawn). Oh, this is much better than reading facebook in the pre-dawn living room. At least while I type I can close my eyes.
Good morning. I'm looking forward to a long, no-obligation-to-anyone-but-ourselves day with Anonybabe. Yesterday was awesome; we looked at a couple of apartments in the morning and finally signed up for the one we really like. It's near Lake Michigan, in Evanston. The bedrooms are small, but it does have 2, plus a sunroom, living room, dining room, and mudroom (ah, sweet separate living space!). Plus it has a lovely little deck and yard that stoked my fantasies of entertaining on a regular basis. Come on over from mid-July onward, ya'll. We aren't but a hop skip and a jump from the Metra Evanston Main Street stop.
After putting down a security deposit, Anonybabe and I spent the day playing through all of the parks around the place, and they are legion. A tiny toddler parked tucked between two buildings a half-block away. A larger park complete with basketball courts and large separate play areas for toddlers and big kids 2 blocks away. And then, if you're feeling brave enough to cross treacherous Sheridan road, there's a janky but charming park by Lake Michigan, where Anonybabe swung on the weathered blue baby swing looking out over a seemingly endless expanse of water. We met a mom and 2 year old at the first park that looked freakishly similar to us, and who I easily chatted up. We heard two women talking in what I believe was Italian in the second park, breaking into stilted English only long enough for one to say to the other, "Who suffered more, Prometheus or Job?" (??). We had a nice time at the lake park, where tons of dog-walkers were letting their charges sniff around. A lady who wanted to let her dog off the leash came over to ask our permission first. She let us interact with her dog to assure us he was safe with kids. Max slobbered on us a bit and then took off like a shot. When we were leaving the lake park, Anonybabe said "dat waydee tay 'Goo Bah'; can you tay 'Goo Bah', mama?" I thought she wanted me to say "Good bye", so I kept saying it over and over at her request, until I realized from her intonations she was saying "Good Dog!" Once I said it, Anonybabe grinned to herself and we were able to move on.
Man, Anonybabe is such a little weirdo. I can't seem to help but see her this way. I don't think I'm going to try to change that. I sort of feel like the way we fundamentally perceive each other was written long, long ago. I can and will try to treat her with as much love and respect as possible, and stay conscious of enjoying her in the moment, but my basic perception has a life of its own. As it should. I had a good talk with my (admittedly senile) grandmother while visiting Texas last weekend. The gist of a particularly nice stretch of conversation was that people really are born who they are and there isn't much you can do to change it. Parenthood is the serenity prayer writ large.
So my daughter perplexes me, is what I'm trying to say. She's smart, but does things that I just don't get. Right now she vacillates between being sweet and violent. One minute she's hitting my face and the next she's showering me with kisses. I really do feel like her test subject for the way she can treat the world. She seems to be trying out different behaviors, seeing how I'll react, tinkering with the behavior and then trying it in a slightly different way to see how I'll react. I'm sure she's doing this with everybody to a certain degree - she's new to all human relationships - but sometimes it's weird to see the wheels turning in her head. I don't think of her as a sweet or loving person. She doesn't seem warm to me. It seems she approaches life with her head, although her heart is there, beating strong, behind it.
Enough with the vagaries & inner landscape descriptions. Here are some sweet things she did lately:
In our bedroom now, her bed is close enough to mine that I can reach it when I'm lying down. She likes for me to reach through the bars when we're going to sleep and hold her hand. She held tight to it for several minutes as we tried to quiet her down the other night, then said. "Mama? Mama, I wike it when you hold my hand. I wike it when you hold my hand when I am going to sweep in my wittle bed."
She approached little kids on the playgrounds we went to yesterday and asked them if they wanted to join her! "You want to go down de swide wiff me?" This is a far cry from her usual stony-faced silence or "don't wook at me!" I was stunned and thrilled. She won't be an asocial shrinking violet! Yea, daycare!
She also stopped on the sidewalk yesterday to lay down on her stomach, hands on her chin, looking down. "What do you see?" I asked, looking around to see if our future neighbors were giving us the side-eye. "Mama! Mama, I am watching some ants!" I couldn't help eating that one up with a spoon, even if she was sprawled on the sidewalk like a dirty little street urchin.
(Yawn). Oh, this is much better than reading facebook in the pre-dawn living room. At least while I type I can close my eyes.
Good morning. I'm looking forward to a long, no-obligation-to-anyone-but-ourselves day with Anonybabe. Yesterday was awesome; we looked at a couple of apartments in the morning and finally signed up for the one we really like. It's near Lake Michigan, in Evanston. The bedrooms are small, but it does have 2, plus a sunroom, living room, dining room, and mudroom (ah, sweet separate living space!). Plus it has a lovely little deck and yard that stoked my fantasies of entertaining on a regular basis. Come on over from mid-July onward, ya'll. We aren't but a hop skip and a jump from the Metra Evanston Main Street stop.
After putting down a security deposit, Anonybabe and I spent the day playing through all of the parks around the place, and they are legion. A tiny toddler parked tucked between two buildings a half-block away. A larger park complete with basketball courts and large separate play areas for toddlers and big kids 2 blocks away. And then, if you're feeling brave enough to cross treacherous Sheridan road, there's a janky but charming park by Lake Michigan, where Anonybabe swung on the weathered blue baby swing looking out over a seemingly endless expanse of water. We met a mom and 2 year old at the first park that looked freakishly similar to us, and who I easily chatted up. We heard two women talking in what I believe was Italian in the second park, breaking into stilted English only long enough for one to say to the other, "Who suffered more, Prometheus or Job?" (??). We had a nice time at the lake park, where tons of dog-walkers were letting their charges sniff around. A lady who wanted to let her dog off the leash came over to ask our permission first. She let us interact with her dog to assure us he was safe with kids. Max slobbered on us a bit and then took off like a shot.
When we were leaving the lake park, Anonybabe said "dat waydee tay 'Goo Bah'; can you tay 'Goo Bah', mama?" I thought she wanted me to say "Good bye", so I kept saying it over and over at her request, until I realized from her intonations she was saying "Good Dog!" Once I said it, Anonybabe grinned to herself and we were able to move on.
Man, Anonybabe is such a little weirdo. I can't seem to help but see her this way. I don't think I'm going to try to change that. I sort of feel like the way we fundamentally perceive each other was written long, long ago. I can and will try to treat her with as much love and respect as possible, and stay conscious of enjoying her in the moment, but my basic perception has a life of its own. As it should. I had a good talk with my (admittedly senile) grandmother while visiting Texas last weekend. The gist of a particularly nice stretch of conversation was that people really are born who they are and there isn't much you can do to change it. Parenthood is the serenity prayer writ large.
So my daughter perplexes me, is what I'm trying to say. She's smart, but does things that I just don't get. Right now she vacillates between being sweet and violent. One minute she's hitting my face and the next she's showering me with kisses. I really do feel like her test subject for the way she can treat the world. She seems to be trying out different behaviors, seeing how I'll react, tinkering with the behavior and then trying it in a slightly different way to see how I'll react. I'm sure she's doing this with everybody to a certain degree - she's new to all human relationships - but sometimes it's weird to see the wheels turning in her head. I don't think of her as a sweet or loving person. She doesn't seem warm to me. It seems she approaches life with her head, although her heart is there, beating strong, behind it.
Enough with the vagaries & inner landscape descriptions. Here are some sweet things she did lately:
In our bedroom now, her bed is close enough to mine that I can reach it when I'm lying down. She likes for me to reach through the bars when we're going to sleep and hold her hand. She held tight to it for several minutes as we tried to quiet her down the other night, then said. "Mama? Mama, I wike it when you hold my hand. I wike it when you hold my hand when I am going to sweep in my wittle bed."
She approached little kids on the playgrounds we went to yesterday and asked them if they wanted to join her! "You want to go down de swide wiff me?" This is a far cry from her usual stony-faced silence or "don't wook at me!" I was stunned and thrilled. She won't be an asocial shrinking violet! Yea, daycare!
She also stopped on the sidewalk yesterday to lay down on her stomach, hands on her chin, looking down. "What do you see?" I asked, looking around to see if our future neighbors were giving us the side-eye. "Mama! Mama, I am watching some ants!" I couldn't help eating that one up with a spoon, even if she was sprawled on the sidewalk like a dirty little street urchin.
"Shut your eyes and your mouth" were the last things Anonybabe heard through my gritted teeth last night.
This at midnight after I'd moved her from my bed to her little bed and she kept babbling and singing.
This after she'd just spent over an an hour babbling and singing and flopping around in my bed while I tried to go to sleep.
This after I'd tried to make nice for a day of neglect by reading to her in the "big bed" and letting her go to sleep there with me - something she'd asked for.
This after she'd bitten me (again) to get my attention. While I was on the computer "uh-huh"ing to her, she slowly leaned over and sunk her teeth into my arm. I whisked her to her little bed (she really seems to hate this punishment), wouldn't let her out no matter how much she cried and begged until she could tell me why I'd put her there and listed nicer ways she could get me to focus on her.
You know, I'm trying. I know why I'm being so shitty to Anonybabe. Why is she being so shitty to me?
Perhaps that's the wrong question. Perhaps the answer to that just leads to a morass of self-pity and woe. Perhaps the only question worth paying attention to is "what can I do to help Anonybabe be herself and a decent human being?"
But my question now is "Why the fuck do you keep biting and pinching me, Anonybabe, when you know it's just going to land you in the pokey?"
P.S. Yes, I'm considering spanking for this, but am trying to take the mildest method that works first. Besides, it seems illogical to tell Anonybabe I'm going to hurt her so she'll stop hurting me. Not that logic seems to have any bearing on this parenting gig sometimes. I'm not above doing whatever works.
Oh yeah. Have I mentioned that daycare has been going well? Really well. So well that my main problem with it now is jealousy over Franky the daycare provider. Anonybabe thinks she hangs the moon. And she does. She pushes Anonybabe in all the ways I'd love her to be pushed. Towards independence, towards kindness, towards empathy, towards responsibility, towards assertiveness. It isn't all butter cookies and rainbow marker sets, but I'm very glad Anonybabe is getting a little something outside of the Anonyfamily household.
Bear with me, because this is going to sound more than a little pervy at first.
I am going to miss my daughter's vagina when she is potty trained. Don't get me wrong. I can't wait to put my poop wrangling days far behind me. When Anonybabe can take responsibility for her own bowel movements, I will be dancing in the streets. But it dawned on me yesterday when I was wiping her down and giving her a good spot check to make sure everything looked to be in good working order, the deep level of intimacy we are still swimming in. We left breastfeeding behind almost four months ago, and I'm still amazed at how quickly "our" community property boobs became mine again. In less than a month I became uncomfortable letting her nurse the few sporadic times she would ask for it. It ain't no thang but a chicken wang for me to clear her own feces out of all her crevices, but pretty soon that will be as odd as it is when she asks me if she can help me wipe.
Time is joyfully marching on. Anonybabe learns new and exciting skills every day. Her circle of experience and independence is ever widening. And I'm happy for her. But I'm a little sad to leave some of her baby closeness behind.
I feel like I need a little grieving ceremony each time this happens. Something to help me let go so I can look forward to the next big phase we pass through.
I...don't know what to say. Tonight I want to grieve over a lost vision of my relationship with Anonybabe.
Between work and some househunting and writing assignments and a period that seems to have come back with a hormonal vengeance, I've been tetchy and short-tempered and distant with her. It's been hard to connect with her and I hoped that was a passing phase. She's also been driving me crazy; I don't always enjoy being around her. That has me worried and sad. It's ridiculous to expect to be on the same page as your kid forever, but more and more often I feel like I don't get her. And Instead of the warm, fuzzy idealistic future I've been envisioning, I see a darker, more isolated scenario. One in which I rarely understand where my daughter is coming from. One in which I don't even really want to be around her, and vice versa.
Here's what it boils down to: I think she's weird. The way she's always blabbering on drives me crazy. She catalogues everything that's happening, over and over. All 2 year olds are a little OCD but this...and her intonation is so peculiar. A friend said Anonybabe is like a living, breathing Dick and Jane book, but with a crazy lilt at the end of each word.
I worry there's something wrong, the kind of something wrong that'll keep us from being close. Even if it is only because Anonybabe is a garden variety eccentric.
How many mothers go through this? I suspect a lot, but it is unimaginable that the world can contain that much heartache.
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Later: Okay, I realize the asshattery involved in worrying so over a functioning, eating, sleeping, talking, and laughing 2 year old. What can I say? Old asshattery dies hard. No matter what her personality, her needs, her challenges, I have to learn the same lesson: enjoy her as she is, Anonyhub for Anonyhub, me for me no matter what. And guess what? It don't come natural. Sorry.
