When I Have Fears

"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face."

Eleanor Roosevelt.

I underestimated the power of a single bee-sting.  Pip will never be the same.  Once upon a time she scampered happily along forest trails, ran barefoot on the grass, calmly observed busy bees collecting nectar, and she slept without a night-light.   Now she screams when she even hears a bee, she finds forest walks terrifying, and she want the door to her bedroom left wide open at night to let in as much light as possible.  That one little bee has changed her life.

I understand why her world has been turned upside-down.  Up until the bee-sting, pretty much everything in her world was well-ordered.  She had experienced physical pain before, but it was always logical, and often predictable: she tripped and fell on the cement, so her knee got scraped.  It was time for her vaccination, and her arm stung from the needle.  She had a bad cold, and her throat was sore.  Pip could make sense of her pain.  

The bee-sting, however, made no sense whatsoever.  There she was, merrily frolicking on a lovely forest trail, completely minding her own business when a strange insect injected himself into her forehead to produce the most intense sting of Pip's young life!  It was a completely unanticipated, random event.  So now, Pip doesn't know what to expect next!  She's a nervous wreck!

Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a little.  She's still enjoying life, but now she has moments of extreme anxiety, whereas her 'pre-sting'  world was a much safer place.  Last night she woke up saying that beetles were crawling on her arms.  We had to change her bed-sheet because it was patterned with leaves and vines and she thought there were bugs crawling on them.   When we go for walks now, I have to make a public announcement to all of the bees: "Attention all Bees, please leave Pip alone today.  If you're in the mood for stinging, please come and sting me, I can take it.  And while you're listening, please leave Crazybaby alone too.  Thank you, Bees and have a nice day," and Pip repeats,

"Thank you Bees."   

If I'm tempted to trivialize this experience of Pip's, this shift in the way her world works, I need only look at my own life.  When have I questioned the way the Universe was unfolding?  When have I felt that life wasn't fair?   I have no shortage of examples.  I suspect none of us do.

So I'll treat Pip's fears with the respect they deserve, and I'll do whatever I can to help her face them.   I have to admit, though, that when we head out for our walk and I find myself saying, 'Thank you, Bees,' what I'm really thinking is, 'Damn you Bees!' 

The Family Bed

"Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,

Beloved from pole to pole,"

Samuel Taylor Colerige

Pip had her first nightmare last night.  It was shocking.  I had no idea she could scream that loud.  My husband reached her first and she was looking, in horror, at the decorative butterflies on her wall.  He picked her up and tried to comfort her, "They're not real honey, they won't hurt you.  You've just had a bad dream.  Mama and I are right here."   

Pip eventually calmed down and my husband passed her over to me.  After a cuddle, I tried to put her down on her bed and she started to panic: crying, legs kicking, arms locked around my neck, that sort of thing.  I climbed into her bed, with her lying on top of me, and tried to convince her that there was nothing to be afraid of.  She was holding on to me for dear life, and I could feel her heart pounding against my chest.

After a few minutes I tried to shift my body out from under her in an attempt to leave her bed, but she wouldn't let me go.  "Mama, I don't want to stay in this bed."  Pip's eyes were wide open and she was absolutely terrified.  I had never seen her in this state, and I couldn't leave her side.  I snuggled in for the long haul.

"I won't leave you, Pip."

As soon as she realized that I wasn't going anywhere she relaxed.  Within minutes her eyes were closed and her breathing grew heavy.  It was quite lovely.  Pip slept with my right arm around her and my left arm clasped between her two hands. 

I have strong opinions about kids and sleep.  I don't believe in 'the family bed.'  I think that we do kids a disservice if we don't encourage them to fall asleep on their own, in their own beds (or cribs.)  It's an incredibly important skill to learn, and if they don't learn it as babies, when are they going to start sleeping independently?  The Baby Whisperer wisely says, "Start as you mean to go on," and for the most part, that's what we've tried to do.  

I'm the first to admit that there is nothing as precious as feeling your baby asleep on your chest.  It's absolutely divine!  I slept with my babies in the hospital, I napped with Pip for many months, and I do love sleeping with my girls, I  just don't think it's the healthiest choice for children in the long-run.

Still, I cherished last night.  My philosophy hasn't changed; I will continue to encourage Pip to sleep on her own, but sleeping in each other's arms last night was a little piece of heaven.

The most important relationship

"The most important thing a father can do for his children 

is to love their mother."  

Rev. Theodore Hesburgh.

In one of the books I read when I was pregnant with Pip, there was an entire chapter about the most important relationship in the family being the relationship between husband and wife.  It's vital for children to see their parents being affectionate toward each other because it creates stability.  It makes children feel safe to know that their parents have a strong, loving bond.  The book suggested that parents should not wait for kids to be in bed to spend 'adult time' together, because kids need to witness the importance parents place on their partnership.  The relationship you have with your spouse provides a model for all future relationships your children will form; romantic and otherwise.  (No pressure there.)

I remember reading the chapter aloud to my husband before Pip was born, and we talked about making time for each other.  Our goal was that, when he came home from work, we would spend the first half-hour just sitting on the couch talking to each other.  We imagined that our child (or children) would still be near us, but we'd sit side-by-side and make a conscious effort to really check-in with each other, perhaps even hold hands and have adult conversation.  

It was a lofty goal.  Actually, we were doing pretty well for the first three weeks of Pip's life when she did nothing but sleep, but since then our blissful 'together-time' has occurred mostly when the girls are in bed.

Recently Crazybaby has become extremely attached to her father.  When he walks in the door after work she cries, "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" and the only thing on her mind is climbing into her father's arms.  He has a hard time even washing his hands before she starts crying because she can't bear to be apart from him for another minute.

Pip yells, "Daddy, Daddy" and runs over to Big Daddy-O as well, so my husband is bombarded with his little fan club the moment he walks in the door.  How can I possibly play first-fiddle in this scenario?  My husband and I religiously greet each other with a meaningful hug and a peck-of-a kiss, but we certainly don't enjoy thirty minutes of adult conversation while holding hands on the couch!  It's family time;  the couch is host to a wrestling match of sorts with Pip and Crazybaby crawling all over Big Daddy-O as we attempt to de-brief about our days.

It's a beautiful time.  I'm not going to try to change it.  As long as my husband and I are aware of the importance of our relationship, as long as we're generous with our love and affection toward each other, we'll all be just fine.  (Happy Birthday Big Daddy-O!)

Hear this!

"Most of the successful people I've known 

are the ones who do more listening than talking."

Bernard M. Baruch

Pip has started saying, "Hear this," before she says something of import.  I love it.  It's a perfect companion phrase to, "Watch this," which is an extremely common request these days, and it's less cumbersome than, "Listen to this."  Whenever she says it, I picture some old English gentleman preparing to read a proclamation to the township.   It promises such importance.  I may start using it myself.

Name that Goose

"The purpose of learning is growth, and our minds, unlike our bodies, can continue growing as we continue to live."

Mortimer Adler

I'm amazed at Pip's mind.  Not just how quickly her vocabulary is expanding or how marvelously she picks up new concepts, but also her memory.  More specifically, her memory compared to my memory.

Case in point: Mother Goose songs.  Every week when we attend our Mother Goose session, we learn a few new songs.  The facilitators are very wise in their instruction because they break the song down line by line, then they repeat the whole song several times 'for the children.'  

Now, I consider myself to be quite musical.  I've taken oodles of formal music lessons, played instruments since I was ten, written my own songs, performed in loads of musicals, yet thirty minutes after learning the new Goose songs, they have vacated my brain.  Pip, on the other hand, remembers both the lyrics and melodies!  "What was the one about the mouse?" I'll ask, and Pip will launch into the song without hesitation, complete with hand gestures.

It's astonishing to me!  Was my mind ever that good?  Is my advanced-maternal-age to blame?  How many brain cells did I actually lose during my pregnancies?   Pip is a bit of a studier, and I have noticed that she'll often just watch and listen to the new songs being performed instead of actually joining in.  Perhaps I should try that next time.  All I know is that I am humbled by my three-year-old's brain, and I sincerely hope that her mind outperforms mine at every turn.

It hurts

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."

Elizabeth Stone

Pip and I were walking together in the forest when I noticed that her hand was covering her forehead.  "Are you hot Sweetie?"

"No, Mama.  I'm okay."

"Why do you have your hand on your forehead?"

"It's so that I won't get another bee-sting."

We were walking in the same area Pip had been stung last week.  Apparently, she thought that her forehead was the only sting-worthy site on her body.  I didn't want to alarm her, but I also didn't want her to have to cover her forehead every time she walked outside.  "Sweetie, bees can actually sting any part of your body."  Pip was silent for a moment.  The hand remained on her forehead.

"Mama, if you hold my hand, you can protect me from the bees."

I took her hand in mine.  I didn't have the heart to tell her that I couldn't protect her from future bee-stings.  Perhaps it was because I just wanted her to enjoy the walk, or perhaps it was because I truly do want to protect her.  From everything.  I know it's irrational, but I don't want her to hurt.  I don't want her to worry.  I want her little world to be beautiful.  And it is.  

It's a strange new feeling though, this profound love mixed with helplessness.  I brought my babies into the world because I believe in it; I believe the world is a beautiful place and that the human experience is worth having.  At the same time, all of the evils of humankind seem to be highlighted to me now that I have children.  I imagine future talks about 'stranger-danger,' and 'appropriate and inappropriate touching.'  I imagine my girls learning of all of the inhumanity in the world  and it saddens me. 

So this is one of my many personal challenges:  to focus on the beauty, focus on the love, focus on the here and now.  All we have for sure is this moment, and right now, in this moment I'll gladly be the fearless bee-protector.  

I'll have what she's having

"Loving a sister is an unconditional narcissistic and complicated devotion

that approximates a Mother's love. Sisters are inescapably connected, shaped by the same two parents,

the same trove of memory and experience."

~Roxanne Brown~

For many months, Pip was only mildly interested in Crazybaby.  That has started to change and she is often entertained by her sister these days, but if there's someone else around to play with, Pip gravitates toward other kids; she doesn't pay much attention to Crazybaby.   

Recently, our friend Ella, who is just five months older than Pip, and her baby brother came over for a visit.   I assumed that the two 'big girls' would play together and the babies would crawl around and babble at each other, but Ella wanted to play with Crazybaby!  She touched her hands, kissed her face, rubbed her fuzzy head and tried to make her laugh.  

Pip examined the situation with great interest.  She seemed astonished that Ella was finding Crazybaby so enjoyable.  What did Pip do?  She started to play with her little sister too!  With Ella on one side of her and Pip on the other, Crazybaby was elated!  She basked in the attention, and the three-year-olds had a lovely time as well.

I suppose it's human nature to want what others want, but isn't it intriguing when you want something that you didn't have the slightest bit of interest in initially,  but it becomes appealing just because someone else wants it?  It'll be interesting when the objects of Pip's desire become mobile phones and too-short skirts, but for now, I'll simply enjoy the fact that Pip witnessed a friend of hers take pleasure in being with Crazybaby.