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Compare. Contrast.
I know I always say you shouldn’t compare your child to others, except in the most general way possible. All kids develop at their own pace. Some faster, some slower. So long as they are not too far from the average window for a milestone, it usually all works out in the end. That said, it’s really hard. I’m a competitive person. It’s in my nature. My husband and I take devilish delight at seeing Zoe and Eva outdo other children. Okay, they don’t really talk, but physically they are doing pretty well I think.
My sister, on the other hand, has big worries. Olivia is almost 2 and talks up a storm. She is social and delightful and can crawl out of her crib and use a spoon and all that good stuff. But when it comes to her riding toy, well, there are some concerns.
Christmas ’09 I sent my niece a little riding toy shaped like the cutest little ladybug. Only 9 months old, she instantly took to it, pulling it around the room by its antennae, patting its padded back and enjoying its silent but constant companionship. Riding it, however, seemed a little beyond her reach. Time, we thought. She just needs time.
Okay. Fast forward. The kid’s almost 2. She has progressed to actually sitting on the bug, but that’s it. Amanda watches the other children at the park, zooming around on their little buses and bikes and worries. Is Olivia normal? Is it okay for her to just sit there, batting the little antennae and seemingly otherwise unmotivated?
Well, the pediatrician answer from Dr. Zibners is, “Sure. Absolutely. The ability to push a ladybug forward with your lets does not, in and of itself, define genius. And since she’s advanced in most of the areas I have absolutely no concerns.”
Mommy, on the other hand, saw an opportunity. I ran downstairs and pulled out our two riding toys. I set them in the middle of the room. I called the girls over. And ZOOM! Off they went. Okay so Zoe went backwards. She’s only 14 months for Pete’s sake. Anyway.
It’s obviously not genetic. I mean, my girls are about as closely related by DNA to each other as they are to, say, a South American parrot. So this is clearly a case of “nurture” and not “nature.” I’m just a better mother. It feels good to win. I’m just not letting my sister near them until they have a solid vocabulary. Like maybe next year. She might think she has the advantage.
Do As I Say. And Do.
So is it brave or stupid to take 2 toddlers on a twelve-hour flight to visit their grandparents? Yes, that is where I’ve been. Fighting jet lag and my children in their attempts to dismantle my parents’ house. I was dreading the flight there and rightfully so. There is nothing about chasing two children around a steel tube for half a day that says “relaxing.” Sigh. Gone are the days of movies and champagne.
Anyway, we survived the trip there and after only 3 or 4 days the kids were pretty adjusted to the time change. They had such a ball and it was so great to see them enjoying my old toys and playing in my old room. But in the back of my mind remained one little niggling fact: we had to get back home.
So now you are wondering: did Dr. Zibners stray from her mantra about drugging children on airplanes? Did she give into her fear and dread and slip the little darlings a bit of Benadryl before we boarded?
No. No. No. Although one parent at the airport looked at me and suggested just that. “Our pediatrician told us to give our kids an antihistamine before we flew! He said it was smart parenting!” I just smiled. I kept my mouth shut. But what was screaming to come out?
“Ooh, smart parenting! Well, gosh, there can’t be anything smarter than risking my kids having a paradoxical reaction to the antihistamine, completely freaking out and going ape shit for hours in a confined space surrounded by people who are sincerely unimpressed with my children.”
I’m not going to point fingers and call it bad parenting to slip a kid a little dose of a sedating medication before a long flight. However, I would personally reserve that for extreme situations, such as a child with severe anxiety or well-known motion sickness. In those cases, a little antihistamine could turn a 12-hour puke fest into a relatively enjoyable vacation.
But for the rest of them, what if the medication doesn’t work as anticipated? What if it wears off before you can have another dose? And what happens on the other end, since we know that “assisted” sleep isn’t nearly as restful as natural sleep, meaning a little one is more likely to be a miserable, exhausted wretch at the end? Yes, I realize that there was still a miserable, exhausted wretch sitting in the taxi on the way home, but her name was Mommy. Eva and Zoe were fine.
So yes. I do as I say and I expect you to as well. There is no juice in my fridge. And my children make Transatlantic flights without pharmaceuticals. In fact, we timed our return to be an overnight flight, meaning they slept for all but 3 hours of it. Another hour was taken up by breakfast. Then there was the overhead request for “a doctor,” which got me out of there for another hour (what my husband and the kids did then, not my problem! Ha!) and pretty soon we were ready for landing.
Anyway, we’re back. I know I’ve been quiet but can you blame me? And now I’ve got plenty of stories and news to send your way. Stay tuned!
Ask me! Ask me!
A couple of great friends are expecting their first baby this summer and I was thrilled beyond belief to get an email asking me what they should buy, which products to stock up on and what “absolute essentials” I recommend. I never really feel listened to, so I was beyond ecstatic. Especially since I think this is one area I have some expertise on; after all, not only did I have two babies join my home in a period of 3 months, but I did it while living out of a suitcase, flying around the country and having all my mail redirected. If there is anyone who understands “babies” and “essentials,” well, it’s me.
Anna forwarded me a list that had circulated through a couple of friends. And let me tell you, this list was long. Loooonnnnggggg. Not only did everyone have an opinion on the best wipes, the best diapers and the best onesies, but there was all kinds of stuff I’d never heard of, like books and bouncies and “must have” toys. I admit, I was a little overwhelmed. I even caught myself wondering if I was knowledgeable enough to chime in. Then I got a hold of myself. And I started chiming.
First I attacked the list I was sent. It went something like this:
-Sterilizer: well yes, you’ll need that—at your farmhouse in South America with sheep relieving themselves directly into your water supply. But up here in New York? Try the dishwasher. Plenty good enough.
-Gas drops (simethecone): yes, you’ll need this to placate Grandma but it won’t actually do anything for your child’s crying. Growing a bigger brain will. Okay, I admit it. I bought them. To shut my mother’s yapper. And because I was desperate. But they made no difference. Just like science told me they wouldn’t.
-Vibrating bouncy chair: Absolutely! Eva hated hers so much that we used to turn it on just to really rile her up, in anticipation of the relief and silence once we stopped torturing her.
-Random “completely necessary” toy: ooh, I missed that one. But how? We received thousands of toys when the girls were born and their favorite: a spoon. Any spoon. Wooden, plastic, metal. Doesn’t matter. Oh, but there is a Lamaze toy named Jacques the Peacock. The kid won’t really care much but the adults will have hours of fun deciding if he’s actually a very gay owl or terribly confused butterfly.
Then I sent my list:
-Car seat (one that you can keep rear facing as long as possible)
-Some kind of safe bed for the monkey. (Flat firm surface, no bumpers, toys, pillows of fluffy toys)
-The rest: well, I wouldn’t worry about it. The hospital will send you home with a few diapers, your local grocery or drug store will have some government approved formula if your breasts don’t cooperate, and you can always stick his dirty butt in a small roasting pan to give it a swish (yes, Eva’s first bath was a disposable roasting tin. And I’m proud of that.). Everything else? You’ll figure that out with time. No worries.
Oh, and have you thought about names? I like, “Lara.”
Hey, What’s That?!
There are parts of parenting that are wonderful: little hugs, nighttime cuddles, sloppy kisses. Then there are the other parts: vomit in your hair, snot smeared across your shirt, food shoved into your mouth that is already partially chewed. But we take the good with the bad, don’t we? And that is why I am now going to tell you what to do when your child poops in the bathtub. Yes, it happens to professionals too.
The good news is that Zoe was already out and getting dried and dressed. Eva was happily chatting to us and then suddenly got quiet and looked off into the distance. Being a moron, I didn’t use any of my 7 available brain cells and ignored her. Once Zoe was all set, I went to pick up my other little darling only to find that she, her toys, and her toothbrush were sitting quietly, along with several floating pieces of stool. It was phenomenal.
My babysitter happened to be standing nearby, helping me get the kids ready for bed before a dinner date with friends. I threw Eva into the sink and asked my sitter to hold her there. Then I put 2 plastic bags on my hands and went to work. I’ll spare you the details. My sitter, God love her, actually told me that she would do it and I could take Eva but there are just somethings that only a parent should share in, don’t you think?
2 minutes later, the bathmat was in the shower getting a scalding soap scrub, the toys in a bleach bath, and the poo was in the toilet. Eva got a shower in the 2nd bathroom, which she seemed to find hilarious, even though she was by now shivering and blue. At this point her father came down to see what the hold up was—I’d offered him “bathing the girls” or “cooking their dinner” as the two available options that evening and he had chosen very, very wisely. When he finished laughing, we got the girl upstairs and fed, while I spent another 5 minutes at the sink, scrubbing my hands until they nearly bled.
So basically, what are you going to do? Yes, poo is dirty, and there are lots of illnesses that are passed from person to person via the “fecal-oral route” of transmission. But it’s her own poo. A good scrub of the tub with hot water and soap is probably good enough, as it is for her toys. If you are really crazy, throw them in a bleach bath and then into the dishwasher for extra measure. And then wash your own hands.
Oh, and buy your child a new toothbrush. I figured that was one thing not worth saving.
Real Kids, Real Sugar
I have been hibernating for a couple of weeks and am out of touch with everything from CNN to Facebook. I guess I’m not as good at juggling work, family, house, children and social networking as I’d thought. Anyway, when I did finally log on this week I was greeted by a friendly message from an old friend (she’s not old, the friendship is) asking what I think of artificial sweeteners and kids. I should now mention that I was reading this as my toddlers were dipping little fingers into my coffee with Splenda and skimmed milk and sucking them dry. Hmm.
The answer is that I don’t know. I think it’s probably not a great idea to give anything that doesn’t grow in a field (or eat said field) to a child. Who knows what all the chemicals and processed foods in our diets can really do to a developing body and mind. Then again, is Diet Coke any worse than Chicken McNuggets? Or Krispy Kreme? Or Cool Whip? There’s probably a lot of junk out there that gets poured into little people that wouldn’t be defined as perfect nutrition.
So around here at the Zibners’ home, we’re all about moderation. You want a chocolate cupcake on a Sunday afternoon? Have a cupcake. However, there are three things I have absolutely forbidden the girls to have: diet soda (or any soda for that matter), fruit juice and alcohol. The first two are a taste I don’t want them to know, the last could kill. Seems reasonable to me.
Yes, I try to avoid giving my girls artificial sweeteners. I think the science is still out on that one. However, I really don’t mind passing them a sugary donut once in a while. Because I have a horrible diet soda habit and the stuff is in our home. I don’t want them getting the idea that it’s suitable for children. But Krispy Kreme involves a 30 minute taxi ride. It’s clearly a “sometimes treat.” (Thanks Cookie Monster, for cowtowing to the hysteria and choosing fruit. You used to be funny.)
As for everything else, I go for varied and interesting. And so long as they insist on playing this new game called “Feed Mommy,” I’m going to buy regular old salty rice cakes for them instead of those tasteless baby ones. Foul. And if Zoe somehow picks up my cup and drains the last of my chemically sweetened and caffeinated morning beverage, well I don’t think she’s in danger of imminent death. But we‘ll try not to make a habit of it.
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"WHAT I LIKED: This book is written in a funny, down to earth way that doesn't make you feel like an idiot. I really would have appreciated something like this when my kids were really little and I freaked out over everything they put in their mouths. It has a scenario/question and answer format, with clear answers on when not to panic and when to call 911."
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