Let the Healing Begin, PLEASE

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.

House of Glass

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.

Right Round, Baby

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.

What not

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.

I just want to be adored, is that so wrong?

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?

A surge of blood

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.