THAT look

Mercury had nothing on Imp yesterday. The boy woke up in a funky mood, vacillating between giggles and fusses -- and remained that way for most of the day. One of those "do what I want when I want or I'm going to make your life very very difficult" kind of moods. One of those "Momma can't want for you to take a nap so she can have a beer" kind of moods. Moods like that aren't so bad when we can just let Imp roam free, but we had to go to Home Depot and Costco yesterday. And while he wasn't so bad in the first store, by the time we got to the second (Costco) he was done.

The winged feet are coming soon...

Biggest issue with Imp in a mercurial mood during shopping -- shopping carts only come equipped with a simple belt to strap your child down. Imp is pretty good at wriggling out of three-point restraints, so two-points do nothing. At one point in the aisle at Costco, we suddenly found him hanging off the back of the cart seat, reaching for the contents of the cart, struggling to dive head first into the cart basket, while still being supposedly held in the seat by the worthless two-point strap. Determining that it might be less safe for him to be in the strap, we undid it and continued through the store, always with one of us holding him in the seat. He seemed happier that way -- not having a restraint seemed to make him want less to get out of it. And we were still holding him down -- he wasn't going anywhere.

Even as an infant, he resisted restraint...

But of course, going through a store with a wriggling child seems to bring out the advice giver in everyone. At one point as we stopped for a sample, the sample-lady commented "Oh, he really should be strapped in". I briefly tried to explain to her that it was actually safer for him this way (we were keeping a constant hand on him, after all), and she gave me THAT look -- you know the one that makes you feel like both a blithering idiot and a horrible mother? Yes, I realize that strapping a child in is safer -- but as my husband was apparently tempted to tell her -- the ******* straps on the Costco cart were doing nothing to actually restrain my child. Later on, as Imp rolled around in the seat in spite of my efforts to hold him still, and tried to chew on the back of it, we got another comment "Oh, he really shouldn't be chewing on that." "I know," I replied, "I'm trying to stop him". And then came THAT look again. What I really wanted to say to the man involved much more cursing. I had wiped off the cart in anticipation of the wayward chomp, and I was obviously trying to deal with a very active little boy. Did he really think I was so stupid that I thought my son chewing on a Costco cart was a GOOD thing?

Eventually I gave up on the cart and then just had to figure out how best to carry my son so he didn't continuously attempt to dive out of my arms. I tried putting him on my shoulders while holding his ankles, which he sometimes likes, but he kept alternating between attempting to remove my ears or chew on my face, so I resorted to holding him in a cross-body front facing hold something akin to some strange wrestling move. He seemed content for the most part -- and while I got some strange looks still, at least I knew I had my son somewhat under control. We were able to complete our shopping, and as soon as we got home, he had a bottle, went down for a nap, and I promptly cracked a beer and tried not to feel so frazzled.

Not quite like this -- but close...

While I try to be understanding with other parents, I'm sure there have been times when I've given THAT look too, but I really do usually try to accept that I don't know what that child or parent has been through, and unless they are outright ignoring their child, they are probably trying their best. Sometimes even the best children can have bad days -- we certainly do as adults. But when you're already dealing with an active, frustrated child, it's amazing how much more frustrating the situation gets when you keep getting unwarranted advice and obvious derision from outsiders. I give my parents a whole lot more credit now than I ever could have before -- there were SEVEN OF US for goodness sake.

Imp is only 11 months old. I'm sure I will get plenty more of THAT look as my inquisitive, active little boy grows. I don't think I'll ever not want to punch the person giving it, though.

Incrementally Awesome

I often marvel at just how many little "baby" steps are required for Imp to master skills. From the moment he first lifted his head, I imagined him romping through fields, chasing after squirrels and picking dandelions, not really thinking about how many steps there are between a head lift and romping. But as he grew, I began to recognize that, and I found myself getting excited at the smallest improvement. Every degree he lifted his head higher became a major achievement, and when he actually got his chest clearly off the floor -- whoa was that a big day. While, like any mother, I want my son to excel, slowly, I am learning not to anticipate or expect things to happen too quickly, but instead revel in and marvel at the little improvements and things he learns each day. Imp started crawling fairly early, and cruising soon after, but going from cruising to walking without support has been a difficult step. I try to wait patiently for the day when he gains enough confidence and balance to freely walk to me of his own accord, and to do so I find myself watching for all the tiny little things that make that eventual goal achievable. First it was standing on his own -- and each second he added before he collapsed to the floor. Then it was moving his feet. Then being able to move his feet and plant solidly to stand again after one step. Then two. Every increment is an achievement. By looking at each tiny step like this, I find it makes the days when he clearly has learned something big even more exciting.

As usual, what applies to babies and toddlers easily applies to adults. We often wait and wish for the big achievements without appreciating the small ones we make each day. In waiting we can get depressed at the length of time it takes to achieve our goals. Sometimes it is hard to see the small steps we take, but each one can be important, and often times essential, to achieving that end goal.

For example, in the Weight Watchers program (which I've done multiple times and am planning on doing again) there is a big emphasis on small goals. Looking down the road at the final weight loss goal can seem so far away, but if you aim for 5% or 10% of your weight -- or aim for goals that don't even measure on the scale (just keeping track of your food, or walking up an extra flight of stairs each day) -- you find that you are constantly able to achieve, and that end goal seems not as important, and at the same time, much more achievable. When I lose track on Weight Watchers, I find it is often because I am no longer paying attention to those smaller goals, or having trouble seeing the smaller achievements.

Part of the problem is that seeing those small steps requires a level of optimism and good spirits that can be really difficult to achieve on a day to day basis -- at least when it comes to looking at yourself. With my son, I have no problem keeping up that optimism and good spirits -- he gets so excited himself about the small achievements himself that it's impossible not to be infected by his smiles.

Why is it so much easier to revel in the tiny achievements Imp makes, but not at my own? Part of it is frankly, he's 11 months old, and I'm 32 with a PhD and a career in mind. We're at slightly different stages developmentally. I suppose too, as we get older, bigger steps are often required to get to a goal. But part of it is self imposed -- you can see it even with how we track ages. With a baby, we count weeks, then months, then as a toddler, half years, then years, and at this age, we even start referring simply to decades (I'm a thirty-something). A decade is a damn long time. There is a clear problem with this long-time-span way of thinking: if we constantly aim for only the big goals, it is so easy to get lost along the way.

It may seem silly to revel in the small things (today I wrote my blog -- good job, Maggie! What a big girl you are!) but how silly is it instead to only ever focus on humongous, hard to achieve goals? If the only time I ever rewarded my son with praise was at the big things -- crawling, sitting up, walking -- he might never discover that those incremental steps he makes are important. So I cheer each step, even if it comes immediately afterwards with a fall. Now just to do the same for myself.

Imp, the Destructor

I have determined that there is no such thing as "babyproof". "Baby-less-accessible" or "baby-supposedly-out-of-reach" or "baby-less-than-easily-destructible" maybe, but definitely not "babyproof". Just when you think something is safe, they will find out how to defeat your best efforts.

This morning, I came into the livingroom to find Imp stuck in a corner between our couch-side table and coffee table, trying, it seemed, to climb on top of the coffee table from that angle. Apparently, Aunt Nanny had just left the room for a minute to go to the bathroom, (I was getting ready for work) and in that time, Imp had figured out how to squeeze through what I thought would have been an impassible network of fan, futon and table legs. I could maybe understand how he could have gotten there in a decent amount of time, but how the heck had he gotten through so fast? The world may never know.

Imp's current favorite activity is taking all the books off of his shelf and stacking them to try to reach the plants on top. Husband and I are trying to think of a way we can engineer something so that we can keep the plants in that window (the best one in the house for them) and still keep them out of reach. I, however, am becoming convinced that Imp has super-gadget-arms, and that "out-of-reach" would involve some sort of warping of the space-time continuum. 

Thing is, Imp isn't even walking yet. Crawling quickly, yes, pulling to standing, yes, cruising adeptly, yes, but not even walking. As excited as I am about the prospect of first steps, soon after he'll be running all over, and then what shall we do?

I used to think bolting furniture to the wall was overkill. I used to think that parents who put foam cushions on everything were being overprotective. I used to think that I understood how to make a room safe for a baby.

Enter Imp, the Destructor.

Everybody Pukes

"Everything that happens to me is the best possible thing that can happen to me" -- Zen and the Art of Happiness

This morning, Imp woke at 6 a.m. ready to play. I had allowed Husband to sleep as much as possible through the night by feeding Imp every 3 hours even though we had been working on stretching it to 6 - Husband had gotten a call from his boss at 10 p.m. last night to have a rather heated discussion about some major miscommunications they'd been having, and he was anticipating another unpleasant meeting today with some other parties involved... so I let him sleep. He was stressed and anxious, I was exhausted, and Imp was his typical teething self. Good morning all!

Husband wanted to take the car to the dealer to be fixed this morning before his meeting because the driver's window was not closing properly, so he tried to move as quickly as possible to get out of the house. Of course, this was one of those mornings when Imp wanted to be held or played with at all times, so I was in some ways grateful for the 6 am wakeup because of the extra time it allowed. Husband left with the car by 7:30, and right before Imp's aunt/nanny came out to take care of him, he spat up rather spectacularly all over my shirt. I went to change, leaving him fussing in the livingroom. I heard Nanny Aunt come out of her room and go to the bathroom, and while I stepped over to the mirror to tie a headband in my hair, I stepped in a giant pile of cat puke. Nanny Aunt came out to deal with fussing Imp, I changed socks and cleaned up the puke, and then stepped out of the house to go to the car -- only to remember Husband had taken it to the dealer. My bike still had a flat tire from 2 weeks ago, so I figured since I had to walk the 1.5 miles to work, I'd drop it off at the bike repair shop just 3 blocks in the opposite direction. Of course, I walked it over there only to see they don't open until 10 am (it was 8:30), so I walked it back to the house, and then noticed Husband had called -- it turned out the dealer only took cars by appointment, so he'd driven to the subway station instead and would have to take it in next week. So I could have taken the car, which might have been nice in this heat...

On days like this, two thoughts quickly pop into my head -- 1st: why is it that all the small creatures in my house puke everywhere? 2nd: How the hell are these things the "best possible" things that can happen to me? I read "Zen and the Art of Happiness" a few years ago, and I found it the be rather soothing and helpful, though at times it is stretch to make the philosophy apply. Maybe I'm being puked on to remind me to be more humble? Maybe Husband is going through all of his work-based-hell to help him deal with these situations in the future? Or to help him learn to remain calm and cool-headed under stress? Maybe walking to the bike shop to find it closed, or driving to the dealer to find one needs an appointment is a reminder to plan ahead?

As I write this, I am trying to ignore the ache in my cheek from going to the dentist yesterday (lost a filling which my insurance may not cover the repair of since it was so recent), and I keep having to backspace using a broken backspace key (it broke a week ago), and stretching out my arches, which are slightly achy from walking 1.5 miles in new sneakers which do not have anywhere near the arch support all the reviews said they had... the best possible thing...

At least for the moment I'm not covered in puke. Simple blessings.