The 2 Year Check Up

Until now, 2.0 has had a doctor's appointment every 3-6 months.  He was stripped down to his diaper (which I would have to change) and placed on a little scale to be weighed, followed by being stretched out on the exam table and measured while laying flat.  At his 18 month appointment, the nurse told me that his 2 year appointment would be different.

Today we took off his shoes and he stepped on the big boy scale and stood with his heels against the wall and was measured while standing straight up.  My little baby really is a big boy now.

2.0 is 34 inches tall and weighs 30 pounds even.  He's tall and he's gaining weight like he's supposed to.  Hearing that his weight is in the 75th percentile seemed to scare his father a little bit and there was talk about restricting some of the food in his diet, but I'm not concerned about his weight.  Once summer comes 2.0 will be so active that his diet won't be an issue.  He loves fruits and veggies and eats well.  

My little boy is very healthy.  He was playing with toys and pulling books out from under the exam table.  His pediatrician was also amazed that 2.0 speaks as well as he does and that he's reading words back to me, words I haven't said to him.  

Another wonderful part of this visit was the complete absence of shots.  No shots until his flu shot later this year.  I left with a very happy little boy.

Next goal: potty training!

2.0 is 2

At this very moment two years ago my son burst forth into the world.  He was greyish purple, slimy, and wide awake when our eyes met for the first time.  I didn't believe this was my son; this tiny helpless thing couldn't be mine.  I remember thinking for a split second that this was the little person who'd been kicking my bladder for so many months.  This was the little person who's impending arrival had been heralded by the tiny word 'pregnant' on a digital pregnancy test I hadn't wanted to take and didn't believe at first.  This was the little person who would change everything forever.

Now he looks like this.  He's full of energy and wonder and runs all over the place with reckless abandon.  The world is so full of new things that he's almost overwhelmed by it all.  He's fearless and stubborn.  But those beautiful green and gold eyes shine with love.  It's quite a change from the storm cloud grey eyes I saw for the first time a couple years ago.

We've experienced so much in this past year.  He started to walk, which was followed quickly by running so fast that his poor little legs just couldn't keep up with him.  He finally started to talk at 16 months, which was followed by babbling mimicry that had Nate and I watching the words that we said.  Now he's stringing words together in small sentences that have syntax.  I'm not the only one who can understand what he's saying either.

He's book crazy and asks me to read to him every day for about half an hour at a time.  It probably helps that we go to the library two or three times a week.  He's reading words back to me now.  I'm in awe of the amount of intelligence he has in that big brain of his.

This past year we also discovered that 2.0 is ambidextrous.  He prefers his left hand when doing most things but can use his right hand to do those same things with just a slight difference in muscle tone and spatial relation.

He is also very sweet and kind.  He's gentle when playing with someone smaller than himself and he pays special attention to little girls, not because we've told him to but because he figured out on his own that little girls are more delicate than he is.  He's a cuddly little precious boy who hugs me every single morning and night and says 'amen' when we're done praying at night.  He sings "Jesus Loves Me" when he thinks I'm not listening (but I'm always listening).

The last year has been wonderful and I'm so thankful that this special little guy is in my life for the rest of my life.  There will never be another time with him like this.  Happy birthday Nathan!

Mama Bear

For some women the birthing experience is a galvanizing moment.  No longer is she just as she is.  Suddenly life bursts forth from her own body.  There's pain and swelling and all sorts of disgusting things that happen in that moment, but not a single one of them matters when you see that purple slippery person who doesn't quite look like a person laid on your heaving chest.  That moment creates a brand new entity.

My son only left me twice in the hospital.  The first time the nurse didn't bring him back in the five minutes she had promised, so I got up and put on my robe and slippers and hobbled down to the nursery.  It wasn't that I didn't trust the nurse to take care of my child, it was that she hadn't delivered my treasured and beloved son back to me when she'd said she would.  Something must be wrong.  It turns out that when she laid him on the scale, the swaddling blanket she'd put on the scale did not stop the cold metal from reaching his back and 2.0 proceeded to pee all over himself, the scale, the window, the counter, the bassinet, and the nurse herself.  This required a lot of clean up that took longer than five minutes.

After that moment, I went where he went.  I was present for his first check up in the nursery with Dr. Omar. I was holding his hand and sticking a finger dipped in sugar water in his mouth to comfort him while he was circumcised.  I've held him for every shot, every illness, every injury that he's had.  He doesn't leave my sight very often.  When he does leave with his grandparents, they are given very specific instructions and I make sure my phone is turned up so I can hear it if there's a problem.  The toddler classroom at church knows exactly what part of the church I will be in before 2.0 stays with them.

I don't helicopter parent as much anymore.  When 2.0 falls down, I ask him if he's okay and when he says "yeah" I just leave it alone.  But the moment he falls and I hear the cry that starts and then stops because he's breathing in enough air to scream, I have him scooped in my arms and he's cradled against my heart so fast that my husband can't understand how I move that fast.

You see, when my son was born I metamorphosed into Mama Bear.  I can lift a car off of him if I need to.  I move with seemingly super human speed when he starts to slip on the ice outside so he doesn't actually fall.  My extremely sensitive hearing can detect when he makes a noise that indicates distress in the middle of the night.  I will go out in the cold without a coat on to retrieve a beloved sippy cup left in the car without feeling the burn of the freezing wind.

I think Mama Bear should get an insignia and a cape.  For just as Daddy is Superman, Mommy is a superhero too.

Taming The Temper Tantrum

In the past four months I've noticed some changes in my sweet-tempered little boy.  He's not so sweet all the time anymore.  At seemingly random times he starts screaming and throwing himself down on the floor or just has crying fits that last about fifteen minutes or so.  He doesn't ask for things so much as he demands them and when I don't move fast enough, or deny him altogether, he starts screeching and screaming again.  The thing that bothers me the most is the willful refusal to obey when I tell him to do something or, as his father and I are noticing more often, his refusal to NOT do something.  

Welcome to the Terrible Twos.

I'm embarrassed at his public displays of displeasure and I'm afraid of becoming one of those parents who just can't seem to get a handle on her child's awful behavior.  I also don't want to be the mom who is pushing her cart through the aisles, ignoring the screaming red-faced toddler flailing in the front of the cart next to her purse.  I've gone in search of answers.

Most of the books I've seen are just horrible and I won't even bother to name them.  I found myself back with Dr. Dobson and Bringing Up Boys.  It was nice to have a simple reminder of what gentle loving discipline is like as my son's temperament changes.  Underneath this frustrated toddler exterior lies a sweet, soft, gentle heart.  

Nate and I are spanking parents.  A firm hand applied to the rear end can redirect a tantrum and serves as a reminder that certain behavior is never tolerated.  Spanking keeps us consistent in the rules we've established and translate universally from Mommy to Daddy.  We do not spank with anything other than an open hand and we never spank in anger or frustration.  We also explain to 2.0 why he got the spanking.

Spanking doesn't always help a temper tantrum however.  Sometimes it just makes it worse.  So it was time to move on to another solution.

While holding my son during one of his tantrums, I came to a rather obvious conclusion.  He's not mad at me and he's not mad at his father.  He's not really mad at all.  He's very frustrated.

What if I could see what I wanted on a surface higher than I could reach and wanted to ask for help but couldn't speak so that I was easily understood?  What if the repeated fumbling attempts of my caretakers made that frustration worse?  How would I express that frustration?  I might start screaming for what I wanted and I just might throw myself on the floor and if I couldn't find a way to express my desires in the first place, well I just might start crying for no apparent reason and sob for a little while until I felt better.

So I started redirecting his tantrum.  Instead of having him focus on what he can't do or can't have, I show him something he can do.  I get quiet instead of screaming back at him and Nate and I have taught him a song about patience.  When we tell him in the store or in the car that he needs to have patience, we've noticed that he starts singing that song and suddenly it's better for a little while.  I put my arms around him when the fit gets bad and I hold him tight until he's able to control himself.  Through it all, I remind him that I love him, but that his behavior is inappropriate and he needs to calm down.

Surprisingly this works.  Not just sometimes.  It works all the time for him.  I've never had to leave a store because of my screaming kiddo.  I've never had to spank him in public.  I only have to redirect or get very quiet.  Then as quickly as it came, the tantrum passes.  

I've also noticed that I have to be highly observant of naptime.  But that's for another post.  

Presence

2.0 has a love affair with a wonderful play place called Monkey Joes.  He absolutely loves playing on the inflatable bouncy slides and climbing up the bouncy walls and just running all over the place without having a parent tell him he can't.  It's also nice to have a place to take my energetic little boy when the weather isn't conducive to letting him play outside.  He asks to go there by name and became more excited over the prospect of going yesterday when I told him we were going today.  He doesn't get that excited about anything, not even seeing Meemaw or Peepaw.

Today's visit was disappointing.  I was struck by many different things that I realize now I've seen before and either didn't notice or filed away to be analyzed later.  I'm not one to judge another parent's style or call their methods into question unless that parent is damaging their child with either the style or the method.  What I saw today made me think of that and more, what that parent's style or method could mean for my own child.

2.0 is small.  He's almost 2 and he's tall for his age, but when he's playing with children who are much older than him, I notice just how small he really is still.  We were playing on the equipment at Monkey Joes and several older children were moving from apparatus to apparatus around us.  My child was almost trampled by these kids.  They paid no attention to what was going on around them.

I climbed up on a slide behind 2.0 and put him in my lap so we could slide down together.  Right behind me, without even waiting until I got up off the bottom of the slide, two kids planted their sneakers right in the small of my back.  Later on we saw a 7 year old boy climb through the floor and through the inflated part of the equipment and then pop up and accuse my husband of stepping on him when he wasn't supposed to play there anyway.

The question I'm still asking myself is where were their parents?

But I already know the answer because I looked around before I left.  The adults were sitting at various tables, fingers flying over their smartphones and not an eye on their children.  Were there any parents actually playing with their kids?  Sure.  There were a few.  But the little girl who was barely the same size as my son didn't have a parent anywhere near her.  What happens to that little one when these big kids push and shove her around?

I might not like it all the time, but when I'm with my son, I'm WITH my son.  I'm right there.  Do I wish I could have more time for myself?  Sure I do.  I'm human just like anyone else and I'd love to have more time to be extremely selfish and do my own thing.  When I became a parent, I decided that I wanted to put the welfare of another person before my own desires.  It is my responsibility to make sure that my child is safe above anything else.  So why weren't these other parents making sure their children were safe at the very least?

My son deserves to have a parent who is there with him.  He deserves to believe that he's the most important thing in the universe to me.  Don't we all want to believe that someone finds us that important?  That special? Even as an adult, I like knowing that if I call my mom and she's able to answer the phone (Read: not working or doing something else because I'm an adult and know the world does not revolve around me) that she's going to talk to me.  I think it's comforting for a child to believe that when he's playing, his mom or dad is right there to make sure that he's not hurt.  It's even better when the parent is playing with the child so that they can have fun together.

Maybe I'm not being fair.  Maybe these parents have more than one child.  How can I, a parent with only one child, make a judgment about parents with more than one kiddo?  What I want to know is how can a parent with more than one kid find time to sit and play with a phone while the children are running all over the place and not even bother to look up?

I hope that when Nate and I are blessed with another child that we never lose sight of how important our presence is to our son.  I hope that I'm never so tired and frustrated and irritated that I just sit and let 2.0 run around by himself, at least not until he's older.  I don't want my child to ever miss out on my presence.