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As joyous as it is, parenthood can be a little like a handicap in many ways. Never mind that getting around isn’t as easy as it was when we were more able-bodied (30 minutes in baggage claim looking for a working elevator?!) but new challenges seem to present themselves on a daily basis. Take this last weekend. I spotted a flyer for a Thai festival in London at the tube station. What fun, I thought. The girls will love the music and dancing and I can’t think of anything better than a mussel pancake prepared fresh on a hot July day without the aid of any refrigeration whatsoever. I’m in!
Small glitch in my plans; hubby has to work. On a Sunday. All day. Not one to let little obstacles get in my way, I decide to go anyway. Except that there are no stair-free tube stations near our house. Gotta get the stroller onto the train somehow and you can’t rely on the generosity of strangers on a Sunday. But that’s okay. It’s only a little over 4 miles from our house. I can’t get to the gym today anyway, I’m thinking, so we’ll hoof it. No problem. Has anyone spotted the hole in this plan yet?
Just under 2 hours later we’ve arrived. The girls coo and squeal. They are delighted by the noise, the colors, the little children whipping around on scooters. We find a shady spot on the ground and spread our blanket. Zoe eats her lunch without complaint; Eva refuses hers but fills up on some combination of Cheerios and dirt. It’s probably time to go home but I need to hit the loo quickly. Uh oh.
How does one get a double stroller into a Porta-Potty? Do I ask the table of strangers nibbling on Pad Thai and nursing cold beers to babysit? Hardly. So we leave. At a quicker-than-comfortable pace, visions of Homer Simpson’s “total kidney blowout” running through my mind. Jogging across the bridge to Victoria Station, I dash inside, scanning the room for a toilet sign. There it is! Downstairs. Hmm. Disabled toilet to the left! But the guard stops me at the door. I’m not disabled. Just a parent. There are toilets and baby-changing facilities at the other end of the station, some 150 yards away. Fumbling in my pocket for the 20 pence required to get in the door, I finally make it to the “baby room” only to find it’s just that. A table and a diaper genie. No toilet. Back into the ladies room, I find rows of stalls, but no handicapped stall big enough for me and my stroller. (No, that would have been the disabled toilet, thank you) So we left. With some very adult words being muttered under my breath. And we ran down the street until we found that little slice of America, complete with it’s Americans with Disabilities Act potty: Starbucks.
4 bucks for a latte, you scream? Giant potty, I retort. For an American living or traveling abroad, Starbucks is like a little slice of home in so many ways: skim milk, gigantic portions, and huge toilets. God Bless America.
Dr. Lara Zibners, Jul 25, 2010
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I’ll interrupt my diatribe (parents who make other families feel guilty for feeding their children varied and normal (including occasional sugar!) diets), to report breaking news. Eva has a tooth!!! Oh thank goodness. I really thought we were going to have the youngest girl in the world wearing full dentures. It’s small and barely visible, but it’s there, by golly! As happy as we all are, this new development brings with it some risks to others. If you are a candy wrapper, forget it. Any child who can gum her way through paper and foil will certainly have no trouble ripping her way into a Cadbury bar with an incisor at her disposal. And then there is Zoe. Poor Zoe.
A quarter of toddlers are biters at some point in their lives. Just observing their relationship now, I’m pretty sure that both of them are going to sink their teeth into each other as soon as they can. I handed a rubber duck to Zoe yesterday and Eva literally threw herself on the floor, sobbing hysterically. Drama. Anyway, what are we going to do when they start drawing blood?
Step one: figure out why she bites. Attention? Frustration? Self-defense? Step two: try to spot the biter just before she loses it and get her out of there. (Lots of little ones will clench just before the chomp) Step three: firmly say, “NO!” and stick myself between the biter and the bitee. Step four (and probably the most important): don’t give lots of attention to the one with blood dripping from her fangs. What won’t I do? Bite back. That just reinforces the behavior. Plus most little ones who are going through a biting phase don’t really understand that they are causing pain to others. By the time they can cognitively make that leap, most have already outgrown their offensive behavior.
So poor Zoe. As the younger, currently edentulous member of our household, she’s probably going to be a bit of a chew toy for a while. We’ll just make sure Eva’s tooth is properly brushed (a washcloth is fine for that if I can’t find one of her 4 toothbrushes) and if she breaks the skin, I suppose we’ll be getting some antibiotics. Now as I am writing this, Zoe is engaging in her favorite attention-seeking behavior: shrieking and screaming, which I am trying to ignore. Heck. I’m half tempted to bite her myself.
Dr. Lara Zibners, Jul 20, 2010
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I got an email this week that I clearly shouldn’t answer. I’m a guilty party. Allison, mother of twins who are nearly 1, wants desperately to have the birthday cake photo op but is paralyzed at the thought of letting them have sugar. After all, she just went to a birthday party where “banana cake with applesauce frosting was served. The children hated it.” I have been working on an astute and intellectual response, designed to relieve Allison’s guilt while not denigrating her friendly host. To quiet my shrieking almost 9 month-old while I thought, I handed her a paper and foil covered chocolate, thinking that would keep her quiet and occupied. And never thinking for a second that she’d actually break through to the candy. Not 30 seconds later did my husband yell, “Look! Look at Eva!”
Chocolate from brow to toe. Hmm. Perhaps it isn’t ideal for a 9 month old to eat a bar of chocolate. But she also eats hummus, egg yolks, lamb, spaghetti and croissants. Can’t we live in a world of moderation? What is wrong with letting a kid have a little sugar? Is sucrose (table sugar) so different from fructose (fruit sugar)? No. I would rather my kid eat a cupcake and a piece of watermelon (fructose, glucose, and unsaturated fat plus a little fiber) than a cup of juice and a French fry (fructose and saturated fat). Pick your poison. Because we have to strike a balance between my waistline and her developing brain, I will butter half of that low-fat Starbucks muffin and let my child have her fill. After all, if she doesn’t’ get it sometimes, the first time she sees it, she’ll probably eat until she pukes. Makes sense to me.
More on this topic to follow…
Dr. Lara Zibners, Jul 18, 2010
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My father has accused me of turning these posts into a bit of a confessional booth. But isn’t that the point? Yes, I’m a pediatrician. But I’m also human and I don’t know everything. Everyday is a learning experience. For all of us. Eva develops separation anxiety, I learn how to go to a public restroom while holding an infant. But every now and then, I make a misstep. Mostly because I either over or under-estimating their abilities. Like when I assume that they won’t put their foot in their poopy diaper. Or this morning, when I set my coffee cup on one side of the room and set my seemingly immobile child on the other.
I have not figured out how Eva gets around since she refuses to roll or crawl. She does seem to travel the room, although I had never seen her move with much speed. In a matter of seconds she somehow beamed herself to the coffee cup and had her hand on it before I could even find enough breath to scream. Fortunately, I drink my coffee “luke-hot,” and, although she was startled by the slightly uncomfortable warmth, she was completely uninjured. I, however, was rather shaken. That is the end of coffee on the floor. I’ve learned my lesson. Eva seemed to have learned hers too, because when I picked up the cup to take a sip of what was left, she looked up at me. I offered her the bottom of the mug to feel how warm it was and she pulled both hands back and wouldn’t come near it.
So let this be a public declaration that I will now be doing exactly as I say and not as I did. Be very careful with hot drinks and bowls of soup around little ones. Turn all pot handles inward on the stove. And if a mistake happens, do what I was prepared to do, which is grab her up and run to the sink to douse the injury in cold water until the skin has completely cooled (usually several minutes). Burns on the hands, feet, face and genitals need to see a doctor. Babies with burns that cover any significant amount of skin, are blistering or have turned white or black should likely also be seen. I don’t have time here to do a full first aid course on burns (I think there is a book out there that has it though!) so if in doubt, call your doctor. Or start drinking Iced Lattes like me.
Dr. Lara Zibners, Jul 15, 2010
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I love getting letters and try to tailor as many topics as I can to the questions I receive. Here’s a letter I got recently that I wanted to share with you: Dear Dr. Zibners. My 8 ½ month old screams until she turns purple whenever I leave the room, especially if we’ve been together nonstop for several days. It not only hurts her father’s feelings but it makes me feel terrible. I’m a working mother and I’ve got to be able to leave her sometimes. I know that she likes her babysitter because as soon as she hears the door, she gets very happy and can’t wait for a kiss and a cuddle from her buddy. But this screaming for Mommy thing is a problem. Is this normal? By the way, I think you are incredibly funny and very, very pretty. Love you! Signed: Mommy.
OK, fine. So I wrote the letter. But seriously, this sobbing hysterically thing that Eva does is really hard and seems to be getting worse. I actually had to take her with me to the restroom in a restaurant and do my business with the kid strapped to the changing table while stretched forward with one arm wrapped around her leg. Otherwise she was screaming and annoying the other patrons. Separation anxiety is the word for it and it’s a normal, developmental phase that babies between 6 and 12 months usually experience. (It comes back in the toddler days, FYI) It’s a healthy sign that a baby is attached to someone, like a Mommy. While that makes me feel really good, it also is very distressing. I want my kids to know that Mommy leaves but she always comes back. It’s just the leaving that is getting me down.
Everyone reassures me that Eva calms down and is fine within a few moments of my disappearance. And when I return, I can clearly see that she is both unscathed and happy to see me again. But gosh, it’s hard. Some of the advice out there, like practice playing “hide and seek” sounds utterly idiotic to me. Eva clearly knows the difference between Mommy and her stuffed horse and really could give a hoot if Horsie goes under the blanket, so long as Mommy is right there in the room. So I guess we’ll just keep giving kisses and reassurance and hope that the message sinks in soon. Just in time for Zoe to get her turn, I suppose.
Dr. Lara Zibners, Jul 13, 2010
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