Sunday, May 29, 2011

Obsessions

I have lots of friends with toddlers. And I have lots of friends with obsessions. And many of these friends have deeply obsessed toddlers. I own one of these as well.


If you have a toddler, you understand what I am talking about. There is something about that 18 months to 3 years age spread that lends itself to obsession. Perhaps it is the burgeoning large motor ability (walking is usually now well managed, running starts a day later, and climbing is frankly a nightmare soon after that). Perhaps it is their exploding verbal ability – every day a new word, suddenly combined words, then sentences out of no where, and then you are looking around for a cheap pair of noise canceling headphones*.


It is probably both of these and something more too. In my experience, the most obsessed toddlers are the children of the most obsessed parents. While I don't have any empirical evidence to back this up, as an anecdote, I would say it is more often the case that it is not. I would definitely put myself in this category (my husband is nodding emphatically as I write this). I obsess about my work – getting it done, not getting it done, getting more, doing more, making more, work, work, work. But the thing I am most obsessed about is my children: I obsesses about car seats (particularly 5 point harnesses) and plastic and sugary additives and organic food products. Pretty much all the obsessions of privilege. I don’t obsess over where our next meal is going to come from, or where we are going to live. Oh no, I have transferred rational obsessive behavior right on over into the realm of the mostly irrational. Then I obsess about being privileged, over-privileged, and that my children are going to grow up being over-privileged. Obsess, obsess, obsess.


Little wonder I have had 2 obsessive toddlers. One has mostly outgrown this. H, as a toddler was obsessed with running (and not walking), with hitting other children in the face as a greeting, with knights and castles, with racing sausage mascots for a local sports team, and his father. OBSESSED. How obsessed? I have this easel paper role from when H was between the ages of 18 months and 2. If you roll it out, it is COVERED with racing sausage men, all drawn by his father. H has also had a blanket obsession since about age 14 months. The BeePee goes where H goes, and H is 5. (In the fall I will have an agonizing post about how H cannot take his beloved BeePee out of his backpack when he goes to kindergarten at our neighborhood school – look I am winding myself up here in a side note! Obsessed!).


My younger son is still in prime obsession age. N is almost 3. His obsessions have somehow been more pronounced than our older son’s. We partly attribute this to the fact that N arrived when H was in the throws of his obsessions and so our sleep deprivation vacated some of these memories from the long-term bank. Since about 11 months, N has been obsessed with: sleep sacks (these are his lovies, which he calls “bubbies”), shapes (mainly circles), doors (opening and closing), and lately, cacti. Yes, cacti.


My friend Laura, who has been a teacher of toddlers for nearly 30 years reasons out toddler obsessions this way: toddlers do not get to choose the where, when and why of 90% of their lives. As such, they pick fun, central events – including eating, sleeping and pottying – over which to exert control, i.e. – tantrums. They also start doing things that start making their parents concerned. Lining toys up in straight lines, sticking odd things in their mouths, imitating animal sounds, wanting the same books read, and the same songs sung, over and over and over again.


As an obsessed mother, with my first son, I start doing things like searching terms such as “obsessed toddler” and “perseverating toddler” and “OCD toddler”. Don’t do this – there is a lot of scary stuff out there and most of it has nothing to do with even the most obsessive toddler.


My favorite part about toddler obsession is listening to parents tell stories of their toddler’s obsessive behaviors. Never before have I laughed so hard. Each toddler has their own unique set of obsessive behaviors, and hearing about these from other adults makes you realize that obsession is a part of growing up – a hilarious part that you someday look forward to embarrassing your children with.


Learned from children: We need to accept and validate the obsessions of toddlers – they are fixated on these things for a reason. Given how little young children can control in their lives, allowing them to control freely that with which they are obsessed is a gift indeed.


*I know that this is “typical” development. As the parent of two children, past teacher of hundreds, and current researcher of many more, one thing I know pretty much for sure is that there is not much typical about “typical” development. Things happen out of the “order” of pediatrician charts or baby book tables, and some children skip certain milestones altogether, inspiring fear or awe in our hearts. For example, my son (N) who is visually impaired starting talking well before he turned one (saying things like “Mamagna” (Lasagna) and “Circle” in addition to the Mommy, Daddy, bye-bye, hi-hi), but he didn’t walk until days before his 18th month. He didn’t crawl until he was 12 months old and even then preferred to be carried. My older son crawled at around 6 months, walked at 14 months and talked at 16 months. I also understand, as a parent of a child with some special needs that “typical” development starts to feel like competitive development in a race that your child simply cannot win. This sucks and deserves a blog post all it’s own. And it’s gonna get one – it’s on my list.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

How many children do you have?

[Note: if you are pregnant and prone to worrying, maybe don't read this one...]


Well, it seems that I am back from my blogging hiatus. I took this time for a number of reasons: my work has been swallowing me whole since about the first week of May, it is the end of my school semester, family was in town. There is another reason, though, for this hibernation of sorts: Mother’s Day. And if truth be told, I have been working on this blog for over two weeks, writing and rewriting, holding off on posting.


Every year I start thinking about (over-thinking, really) Mother’s Day. Prior to 2005, I had somehow always managed to tune out the advertising in regards to holidays like this one (I would also include Valentine’s, St. Patrick’s Day, Father’s Day and Grandparent’s Day on this list). This has not always worked out in my favor – I almost never remember to send the right cards at the right time. I am a total let down to Hallmark.


Mother’s Day, however, since I had my first child six years ago, is impossible to forget. As it nears, I start getting a little panicky. Here is why: on Mother’s Day, in my experience, people see a woman with a child (or even without a child) and ask, “Are you celebrating today?” or some variation on that question. If you have a child with you, they ask, “Is this your only one?” or “How many children do you have?” Mostly these are older people – they are grandparents and great-grandparents. They mean these questions kindly, if somewhat patriarchally (i.e. main underlying assumption: women your age, scratch that, ALL WOMEN should have children).


I try to answer these questions kindly, but to be truthful, I have issues with them – first of all, what exactly are we celebrating on Mother’s Day that we shouldn’t be celebrating every other day of the year? Mom’s are great – and whether you are one or not, you know one. Non-moms are also great – and they have probably had a hand in the raising of many children, whether or not they get officially recognized for it. They are important parts of the lives of children. And hey, if a woman chooses not to be, that’s great too. And frankly, if we are going to celebrate mothers, wouldn’t it make sense to also celebrate non-mothers? They pick up a lot of the slack that mother’s have to put down when we pick up our children…I digress.


Here is my other issue with the “How many children do you have?” question. I don’t know how to answer it. Usually I just smile politely and say “two”. But in my head I hear, “three”. And this is the reason that I hibernate during the Mother’s Day season – when I was 28 weeks pregnant with my first child, I found out that she had died. Chloe was born still February 12, 2005. She was due May 5. That first Mother’s Day rolled around, and it was like a kick in the teeth.


Six years and a little bit later, I still have this kicked-in-the-teeth reaction on Mother’s Day - I am just better at hiding it. To be frank, I still have this reaction to a lot of things having to do with pregnancy. Friends of mine will tell you that, when they are pregnant, I call them at some point in their pregnancy with a slightly panicky “talk” about warning signs for stillbirth. I only do this with my really, really good friends. Most women would probably take offense at something like this. Pregnancy is meant to be a time of joy, of looking forward – there is little room for fear. And unless you’ve had a pregnancy loss, it is hard to understand why someone would be telling you the things I tell my dearest friends.


I, on the other hand, have a mantra – and I said it to myself (many times a day) in my two subsequent pregnancies. “There is no baby here, until there is a baby here”. Until H was born, I didn’t wash baby clothes, I didn’t unpack baby toys. We didn’t name him, we hardly talked about him at all. Given my experience, until that baby was screaming in my arms, I was not going to act with hubris. I don’t even believe in god(s), but I certainly wasn’t going to tempt any either. I digress again.


Each Mother’s Day since I lost Chloe has gotten a little easier. The ache in my heart is a little less – my perfect, known-yet-unknown daughter feels more magical, less real. Also, I now have these two exuberant little boys in my life, and I know that had I had Chloe, H and N would probably not be here today. Some other lovely children would be, but not H and N, and that is too unbearable even to consider.


This year, though, was a particularly rotten year. Three women – two I knew and one I came to know later – lost babies very late in their pregnancies or just after birth. Each one was like a knife in my heart. And even though the circumstances were different for each woman, losing a baby so late in a pregnancy, when you have passed over the imaginary danger zone of three months, then four months, then five, then six, then seven…closer and closer to your prize…leaves you with the feeling that that child is standing just beyond reach, like if you turned, very quickly, you might see her playing, laughing.


So when you ask me, “How many children do you have?” I will say, two, but in my head I will say three.

We miss you Chloe, Ruby, Vivianne, and Jacob.


So, you see, this is what I have learned from my Chloe - no matter where I go, I am always accompanied by children. My own and the children of others - those we see right in front of us, and those dancing on the periphery who, no matter how slowly you turn to try and catch them, will never fully be seen or known. So, love them. That's pretty much the heart and soul of what losing Chloe taught me.