Day 86: Was that It?

It's been about a week since the last pacifier bit the dust, and all the mayhem I predicted has yet to hit. A couple days with no nap, a few with significantly (and cheerfully) delayed naps, and not a single hiccup at bedtime. That was it.

What an amazing validation of the choice we made to let him outgrow his need rather than forcing him to separate from something we chose to give him for comfort in the first place.

It's almost surreal to think back to the tearful phone call I made to my mom when Jackson was just two weeks old. I was devastated because I had to give him the dreaded pacifier. I was supposed to be his comfort, not some cold piece of silicone. But with my outrageous oversupply problem giving him a painfully gassy tummy, I had no choice but to offer him comfort somewhere else - in my arms, but not at my breast. It was heartbreaking.

Six months later I had gotten over the feeling of failure that came every time I popped the paci in his mouth and my milk supply had finally evened out. But by that time he was so used to it - and so was I - that taking it away didn't seem right. I knew he was attached enough that it would be a struggle, and one not worth fighting (although talk to me again in 10 years when I'm paying his orthodontist). So we ended up letting him lead the way.

If I'm honest, I'm just glad it didn't take another two years! For a while I thought maybe he'd be taking it to college with him. But I'm so glad we respected his need while it lasted and have been able to give him what little support he needed through the incredibly smooth transition that came when he outgrew it.

And despite what I'm sure my family must think, weaning from the breast will happen before college too. Seeing how easily and painlessly we were able to walk through it with the pacifier only makes me more confident that child-led weaning is the right choice.

He will outgrow the need to nurse someday, and when he does I'll be sad and proud all at the same time. Sad that such a special part of our relationship will have come to an end, but proud that I respected and met his needs so completely for so long and proud that he will have grown confident enough in our relationship and himself to venture out into the world without needing the security of nursing. But hopefully we won't cross that bridge for quite a while.

Day 80: The Day I've Been Dreading

It's here. The day I've been dreading for a long time now has finally come. Jackson chewed a hole in his last pacifier. On the one hand I'm ecstatic, I've wanted to get rid of those things for ages. But at what cost?! He may never nap again!

Right now you're calculating his age in your head, thinking: A pacifier? At his age? That's certainly what I'd be doing if I were you, anyway. But just like I plan on letting him naturally outgrow his need to nurse, I wanted to let him decide when he was ready to leave the paci behind. And since he's only been using it in his crib for the last year and a half, it hasn't been disruptive to the rest of life - except maybe for those poor front teeth.

Yes, you read that right. He's also still in his crib (he's how old?!), but we're letting him decide when he's ready for that transition as well, especially because it requires a move upstairs to a bigger bedroom farther away from us. Plus, when I talked to him about his friends and their beds, then asked him about his crib, his only response was: "It's the best!" So if he's happy, I'm happy, and when he's ready, I'm ready.

We've talked a lot about the paci recently, and I told him whenever he feels like he's grown up enough to sleep without one, he can tell me. On a few occasions he did, but then quickly changed his mind when the reality of not having it set in.

We also talked a lot about his chewing habit. As he chewed through the stash one by one, I explained that if he didn't stop there wouldn't be a paci left for him to use. But I don't think he really grasped the reality of it.

So when I woke up this morning to find the final paci mutilated in his crib, I died a little inside. Am I doomed to battle through every nap and bedtime for the rest of his life? I've never seen a teenager screaming for a paci, but Jackson's pretty attached to it. All I could think to do was cut off the gnawed-through tip and leave him an unusable piece of silicone to hold in the hope that it would get him through the transition gently.

But alas, an hour into nap time and I have yet to hear silence in his room. What I do hear is lots of jumping, chatting (I really must have a talk with that snuggle puppy who doesn't know when to stop talking), and all manner of silliness. So we haven't hit our worst case scenario yet, but I'm still holding my breath.

This is one of many transitions in our near future, so I'm really trying to embrace change. Sure some difficulty will come along, but so will some excitement! Naps may be pretty rough for a while, and this may be the worst possible timing for that, but we'll get through it. And we can get through it unscathed if I can keep a positive attitude about it. It will pass. No stage, good or bad, lasts forever. And this I will repeat to myself over and over when it takes hours for him to fall asleep!

Day 21: Attached or Trapped

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

I was away from Max last night for about two hours and he was not all too happy with me when I got back. He wouldn't allow me to be more than two feet from him the rest of the night. He refused to go down by himself, so he had to stay up until I went to bed, and he woke more frequently, even complained a little in the night, which he never does. His world had clearly been shaken by my absence. 

The thought of how seriously he responded to such a minor separation started to become a little overwhelming. My negative side started to feel trapped by this. Will I ever get to go on a date with my husband again? Will I ever meet up with friends without a baby on board? How can I ever leave if I know it upsets him so much?

I was very conscious about creating a secure attachment with Maxwell. He was in my arms almost his entire first three days. In five months, he's never had a bottle, and I don't intend for that to change. Every feeding of his life has been with me. Every nap and every bed time has been with me. As he grows, those things will change, but for now this is the life I've chosen and I wouldn't go back and do it any differently. 

I'm so glad he and I are this in sync. Mothers and babies were designed to be as one until baby grows ready to venture out, and I'm proud of myself for respecting that biologically predetermined need in my children. I know that investing in this attachment now means I'll have a very self-assured and independent boy in the future. And I know that it's temporary. The sacrifices I make to foster this attachment are minuscule in comparison to the joy I get from seeing him health, happy and secure. 

Slowly non-baby outings will increase and he'll have the opportunity to learn that when I go, his needs are still met (albeit in a different way by a different person) and that I always come back. I will work on finding a balance between protecting our attachment and allowing him certain growing experiences, and we will get there. But for the time being, instead of trapped, I choose to feel honored to be loved and needed so intensely.

Day 20: Testing, Testing

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Tests have always been my thing. Multiple choice, fill in the blank, short answer, essay...you name it, I'll ace it because I love answers. A test has a perfectly defined beginning and end, and with the end comes a sense of accomplishment and completion. Just talking about it makes me nostalgic for my college days.

Well, school's over and testing has taken on a whole new meaning. In fact, I don't think it's even fair to call any part of life or parenting a "test" because there is no end and there are certainly no answers. My favorite thing about school has become my least favorite thing about parenting. I'd like to say I've been acing the tests coming my way recently, but I'm not sure what a passing grade looks like.

In the past few days, Jackson has been experiencing tantrums. This is new and so out of character for him that it's really quite traumatic for all of us. It's very clear that they're coming as a result of his body's detox process, but that doesn't make them any easier to deal with in the moment. It's obvious he's feeling out of control, confused and conflicted when it happens, and don't I know none of those feel good. He'll ask me to leave, then scream louder when I move toward the door and beg me to stay. He'll say he wants to be held, then when he gets into my arms, he'll fight his way out, screaming. His body and brain are just saying "no" to everything and all he wants to do is say "yes" and feel calm. If the test is helping him find a way to calm down, I'm failing

This has led us to his first public outbursts. For the first time, I'm the mom with the kid lying on the floor of the store. It feels worse than I imagined. When it happens, the whirlwind of thought going on in my head is dizzying. It's hard to focus and get a grip on myself or him. If the test is avoiding a public scene, I'm failing.

 I'm acutely aware of each person walking by and watching, and I even find myself saying things to him that I'm hoping they hear: "Jackson this isn't appropriate behavior in the store. I want you to be respectful of the other shoppers. Do you see all these people? Your yelling hurts their ears and your body is in the way." If the test is tuning out the world to focus on him and the need he's expressing, I'm failing.

As the stress builds and the desire to avoid external judgment squeezes down on me, I find it harder to be patient. I start to physically remove him, which only makes matters worse because a lack of control over his world is what caused the ruckus to begin with. If the test is helping him feel powerful and in control of himself, I'm failing.

Eventually I'm able to talk him down. Maybe we identify something he wants or wants to do, then draw the connection between leaving the store and getting there. Maybe I identify what he wanted in the first place and can accommodate that need or find a suitable substitute. If the test is stopping the tantrum, I fail because time was up before I could finish filling in the little circles.

But If the test is surviving and even loving him through the storm, I think I'll give myself a passing grade. If it's acknowledging and allowing him to express the extreme unrest and discomfort that are accompanying his body's healing process, I'm pretty sure I'd get the credits. And if it's standing strong against the temptation to use fear, shame, bribery or punishment to manipulate him, I think I am acing it.

I'm teaching him that I really do love him unconditionally. He's seeing first hand that he is secure, that nothing could ever make me abandon him. And, although his little brain might not process it to the full extent, I'm showing him that he matters to me more than the shopping, more than the passersby, more than our schedule, and more than my own feelings. Because let's face it, it's embarrassing. And it would be easy to prioritize that feeling over your child's need for acceptance and support through a tantrum.

I may not like this new kind of test, especially since no one has the answer key, but I'm doing my best to rise to the challenge of living in the answer-less world of parenting. In the end, it'll probably be my kids who get to hand down the grades, and I can only hope that the work I'm doing to build a healthy relationship with them now will pay off when that day comes.

Day 3: Teaching Each Other, Teaching Ourselves

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I was pissed. The house was a mess, Max was struggling to fall asleep, it was already 1:30pm (waaaaay too late to just be starting nap time), and I had a to-do list hanging over my head that I knew wasn't going to be touched. I was experience internal chaos, and it pissed me off. I could tell that Jack was picking up on it as I was helping him into his comfy pants for his nap (because he picks up on everything), so I said, "Jackson, I'm feeling really really frustrated right now." He looked at me thoughtfully, raised his hand to touch me, and in the sweetest voice you've ever heard half-whispered, "Calm. Calm. Calm. Calm." as he gently stroked my hair. Just like that, the chaos was replaced by utter contentment and peace. And that change in my energy was met with, "Mommy feels better now."

My inability to cope with life at that moment gave Jackson an opportunity to practice a really valuable skill. He got to see that, at only two years old, he is able to make a big difference in his world and mine. I got to see that when I model these tools to him it matters, really matters. It was a great reminder that, even though I sometimes model negative reactions, it does not erase all the positive things I give him.

I will choose acceptance over resistance.
Jackson ran away from me at the grocery store. This has never happened before because he's always been in the cart. But today we took the fancy cart with the car on front for him to drive. The car he can get in and out of at will. I did my best to assume things would go well, but if I'm honest, I pictured him having a tough time staying in the whole time since we had a pretty long list. So when we rounded the corner past Mr. Cow, he jumped out, looked at me with sheer glee, and ran.

I had a choice to make. I could be the mom running down the aisle after him yelling, but Max was in the sling and Jack would probably out run me. I could be the mom who walks away to scare him into coming back, which would scar my sensitive little boy for life. Or I could be the mom who waits patiently until he's ready to come back on his own, which makes me feel "permissive" even though I know better.

So I stood there and waited with a smile on my face. I took in the sweet laughter. I watched him run to the end of the aisle and gaze into the ice cream freezer to see the pretty colors, having no idea he was looking at mommy's nemesis. I watched him turn to see if I was reacting, then sit down with a huge smile on his face and talk to himself happily. Then I watched the smile disappear as he looked to his right at what I can only imagine to be a rather large man who was smiling at him just out of my line of sight. Then I heard that wonderful word, "Mommy!" He said it again as he ran back to me, much faster than he had run away.

If I had resisted this behavior, I would have cheated him out of that valuable lesson he learned all on his own. They say what we resist persists, and indeed, if I had cheated him out of that lesson, I dare say running the aisles would become our grocery store routine. He needed freedom and room to figure out that the behavior I wanted to see in him, staying in the car with me, was also the behavior that made him feel safe and happy. I'm so proud that I gave that to him this time, because there are so many times I don't. I guess we both learned a lesson.

I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive 
me nuts.
Jackson keeps putting his hand, food, utensils, and anything else he can reach, in his water glass at meal time. I can't stand it. Cups are for drinking and any other creative use of them just isn't right. Oh, wait. Did I say creative? That's right. He's using his imagination, exploring his world, finding out how things work. Duh, Mom. Get over it!

I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.
Jackson has a great routine. He knows what to expect in his day and roughly when and how, and it gives him security so he can learn and grow. Max is not so lucky. I feel like I'm cheating him out of this because our life doesn't allow for three consistent naps and a consistent bed time. In fact, life isn't even allowing for any kind of sleeping routine like reading before he goes down, because the window to get him down is so small we just have to get to it. But he's happy, he's learning, and he's growing. It's not a coincidence. It's because of all the other constants - breastfeeding, bedsharing, ECing, interacting - that provide security just the same. I can let myself off the hook for this one. Someday when we aren't juggling as many naps, we will start a routine. It's never too late. And he won't be illiterate if I don't read to him four times a day before he sleeps.

Day 2: Am I Really Doing This?

Most days I feel like I'm nose-above-water with an anchor tied to my ankle, so it seems a little crazy to undertake one more thing that requires a daily commitment. But the reason I struggle with positive parenting in the first place is because priorities are all too easily jumbled in the busyness of life. So I guess a daily reminder to keep my children at the top of the list and to stay present with my goals is something worth making time for.

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
Day 2: Jackson throwing his fork, then broccoli on the floor because he's angry isn't "bad behavior." It's his way of showing me that he's aware of his needs and feelings, that he trusts me enough to let me see them, and that he needs my help managing them. This was his way of expressing that he was angry and sad because Daddy had to leave, and I'm so grateful he didn't just "behave" and sit alone with those feelings.

I believe my child's behavior is always motivated by a deep desire to have his needs met. Those needs are never as simple as 'wanting to make me mad' or 'acting out'. Each behavior that elicits a negative feeling from me is nothing more than an earnest attempt to communicate those needs. I have to work hard (really hard!) to act on this conscious belief rather than the unconscious beliefs I've internalized from others.

My job isn't to correct his behavior, it's to identify the need he's trying to show me through his actions and meet him there without judgment. Each time I do this, I reinforce that our home and our relationship is a safe place for him to feel and to be as he is, that he is loved the same when he's angry as when he's cheerful, and that he is understood and accepted. My job is also to offer him the tools he needs to communicate those needs in healthier, more effective ways. Modeling is the most important way to do this, and also happens to be the most difficult for this big-feelings Mom! Is it any wonder he throws something to communicate that he's angry, when he's watched me do the same?

Each time I ignore the real issue and treat the symptom, I chip away at the relationship I've spent two years building, especially the trust and security he so desperately needs. This happens all too often...hence the blog!

I will choose acceptance over resistance.
Day 2: Max has decided that he would like to wake up in the middle of his afternoon nap, the only quiet time mommy has to accomplish things, to poo. I consistently nurse him well in advance of nap time and offer him the potty multiple times before laying him down, but he has decided that a poo before nap just isn't his thing. I can let it bother me every day and ruin my afternoon, I can fight it by trying even harder to encourage pre-nap poos, OR I can simply accept that for now, this is what works for him. I can anticipate it, work it into my schedule, and release myself from the dread of interruption. Maybe I can even enjoy the quiet opportunity to spend a few minutes with him while Jackson's sleeping...even if it is for poo.


I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.

 Day 2: As I was packing the 6-month-sized clothes away and exchanging them for the next size (already?!), Jackson insisted on rifling through all the neatly folded piles to find things that would fit on or over his head. My first reaction was to get annoyed and make him stop, but when I saw how goofy he looked with a tiny little shirt hanging from his head, I decided to cherish his love of dress-up play instead. In the end this meant that I got intense joy out of watching him play, especially once he donned his first Halloween costume complete with yogurt bucket hat, self-made bead necklace, playdough scissors, and basket of food on his way to "hang out with Cinderella's step-sisters."

I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day. 
Day 2: Jackson was unruly at bedtime. His eczema was flaring up for the first time in two weeks and the manic behavior usually comes with it. He was climbing the walls, almost literally. Instead of acknowledging that he was feeling out of control and just as overwhelmed as I was, I chose to bark demands at him. "Control your body," knowing full well he couldn't. "Calm yourself down," knowing he wasn't capable, especially not on his own.

I felt overwhelmed by the level of activity, angry that I had completely lost control of the situation, frustrated that after weeks of success on a new plan of action for his eczema we were hitting our first obstacle, guilty because it might have been the pizza I ate the night before that was causing the flare up. And the icing on the cake is that I'm fully aware in the moment of the fact that I'm failing him, and rather than latching on to that as a way to change direction, I feed into the problem by letting it make me feel angry at myself for not being able to remain calm! Let's just say a wave of big feelings was knocking me down, none of which he was responsible for.  But I made him responsible for my feelings when I was impatient and refused to do what was best for him. Instead seeing that he needed help, I saw him as an obstacle that I needed to overcome. I failed him.

Once we both miraculously calmed down, I acknowledged that I had let him down. I asked him if he was feeling overwhelmed and told him that I should have helped him, that it's okay to feel that way and okay to ask for help. I apologized, he forgave me. It's done. I will release myself from the guilt and anger that come along with these disappointments, and I will file it away under "learning experiences" not "failures."

This one is the hardest, and most important for me. Forgiveness and grace don't come naturally. I like order and justice, black and white, and it banishes me to a cycle of negativity all the time. The more I beat myself up for my mistakes, the more I make them because I feel unworthy and incapable of change. I label myself a failure and it remains a self-fulfilling prophesy.

But I refuse to continue modeling this to my children. I refuse to pass this family curse on to them. I WILL forgive and accept my imperfect self because they deserve a mom who walks around with joy and freedom, not with a heavy burden of failure and self-loathing. And because I can't bear the thought of them internalizing the message of imperfection as unworthiness. I am worthy of these things because God says I am, and who am I to argue with that?