Independence Day

This week the dreaded day arrived: baby ventured out into the world on her own. Now that her father and I are busy with work, we've decided to enroll baby in a daycare program two afternoons a week. It was not a decision we arrived at easily, and as I walked into the YMCA with my precious baby girl in my arms, knowing that I would walk out without her, I felt my heart breaking. And I felt panicked for her: Would she feel abandoned when I left? Would she burst into tears and be completely inconsolable? Would I be letting her down as a mother?

All Washed Up (Or Not)

After 16 months of stress-free bathing, my daughter has developed a rather sudden phobia of the bathtub. And I don't mean a mild distaste for it, but rather full-fledged terror at the very prospect of coming within 10 feet of the tub--the way some people have a phobia of spiders, or of heights, or of Heidi Montag's solo album. It's like nothing I've seen before, and my heart goes out to my poor baby, who really seems to be suffering.

At first we tried forcing her into the tub, only to have her stand and scream at the top of lungs for the entire ritual...when she wasn't desperately trying to climb out. The whole thing felt a little cruel. Sure, I want her to get clean, but not at the expense of losing her trust in us and developing a full-on phobia of water. And so I called my panel of experts: women in my family who have raised kids that bathe on a semi-regular basis without hysterics and drama. I got some great suggestions: ideas for bath toys and games, bathing together, switching up the routine.

But when I look into baby's eyes, I think it's more than just making the tub seem like the place to be. She's overwhelmed and maybe even traumatized. And so I'm trying something a little different. Today I undressed her, put her down, and promised her I would not force her into the tub. And I didn't. She began sobbing and ran away. I sat in the bathroom and waited. She eventually came and stood in the doorway and looked at me imploringly. I held out my arms and kept repeating "It's just Mommy." While she wouldn't get in the tub, she eventually let me carry her into the bathroom and give her a sponge bath next to the tub. I filled a measuring cup with water and held it near her. She was scared of it at first, but eventually began dipping her washcloth in it and "helping" me bathe her.

No, I didn't get her into the tub, and no, I don't know if this is going to work. But maybe I can't solve this for her. Maybe it's a fear she needs to conquer on her own. All I can do right now is let her know that she needs to work through this, and that I'm here to help. I think sometimes we need to force our will upon our children, such as ensuring they don't play in the road. Other times we need to treat them as people with their own wills and minds. I'm giving the latter a try.

My sister-in-law told me a story about a client who is afraid of rattlesnakes. When this client one day discovered one in her yard, she picked up a stick and decided to battle her fear. "Sometimes it's important to face your fears," my sister-in-law said. I agree. But it's one thing to pick up a stick and hunt that rattlesnake--and quite another to have someone demand you conquer your fear by throwing the rattlesnake in your face.

I'm hoping that, with my support, baby will pick up the stick and battle her demons. If not, it's going to be very close quarters around here for a while.

Have Baby, Will Travel

We recently returned from a trip to Martha's Vineyard, where we've vacationed for the last nine summers. This trip was a little different from those of the past. For years it was just the two of us. We'd wake up at 10 a.m., head off to the beach, indulge in an overpriced meal of calamari and clam chowder, and then go dancing until what constitutes the "wee hours" on the island. Even last summer wasn't a radical departure from the norm. Baby was only four months old; we'd throw her in a carrier and tote her along to our beach or dining establishment of choice. Granted, we had to curtail our nighttime activities, but for the most part it was leisure as usual.

Things are different now. Whereas we used to worry there wouldn't be time to pick up some Mike's Hard Lemonade before catching the ferry, we now go into into a panic if we forget a favorite toy. (How could we possibly depart for the beach without My Pal Violet, the singing dog?) But it's not just the packing...the function of the vacation itself has changed. Vacations no longer allow us to feel carefree, relaxed and rested. There's no longer a sense that this is "my time," where I don't have to do anything or answer to anyone. Because we always have to answer to a two-foot redhead with her own set of demands. Yes, they are small demands--food, water, the ability to climb up and down the steps twenty times in a row--but they are demands nonetheless.

Instead, the family vacation offers a series of moments. Watching baby frolic in the ocean for the first time. Waking up to a set of brown eyes peeking out curiously from above the wall of her pack 'n play, thrilled to see Mommy and Daddy first thing in the morning. Chasing after baby as she dashes unsteadily down the streets of Vineyard Haven, greeting every passerby with a joyful "hi!" as she wobbles along with unshakable determination. Explaining to baby about boats, and oceans, and galleries, and watching her world grow a tiny bit bigger as she takes in every new detail.

Years from now I won't remember how mellow I used to feel when I returned to work after a trip to the Vineyard. But I will remember my baby's smile as she ran toward me on the beach, both of us ecstatic to be reunited after her swim with her dad. Or her giggles as she sat on her father's lap and played a racing game at the arcade. Or the unexpected tranquility of the three us lying side by side on a beach blanket, quietly basking in the sun like old companions lost in individual reverie. And, most of all, I'll remember the way it felt for the three of us to be together all day, without the constant interruptions of work and email and cell phones.

Yes, our trips to the Vineyard are certainly different these days. But I wouldn't trade this patchwork of memories for all the Mike's Hard Lemonade-inspired nights and late mornings in the world. Compared to family bonding, relaxation is highly overrated.

A Failure to Communicate

My daughter is starting to learn words, and she's quite proud of her linguistic achievements. She squeals "DOG-gie" with delight as she chases a dog around the room; she proclaims "BAY-bee" when asked if there's a baby present; she answers "no!" to every question because she has figured out that this particular syllable, paired with an enthusiastic head shake, communicates something--even if she's not quite sure what. She's thrilled to be able to communicate, finally, with her adult counterparts...and for our part, we are delighted to hear her finally utter sounds we recognize.

The process doesn't always go so smoothly, however. Sometimes she tries to communicate something using a string of nonsensical syllables and sounds...only to have us look at her quizzically and respond with an enthusiastic "You don't say!" But baby wasn't born yesterday (not quite)...she's not fooled, and her frustration is palpable.

I've tried to imagine this scenario from her point of view. What if I were in a foreign country where nobody spoke my language or understood me? And, to make the situation more dire, what if I were largely dependent on others to meet all my needs? I envision a scene like this, between me and my foreign-exchange host:

Me: Excuse me, but I'm quite hungry. Can you strap me into a chair, choose something that you think I might like, and then stare at me while I eat it?
Host: Awww..You look hungry. Do you want something yummy and delicious?
Me: Well, yes, I'd prefer that to disgusting and inedible. Watcha got?
Host: Ooh, here's a treat! Bread with a side of peas!
Me (indignant): Be prepared for me to throw it on the floor, lady...

Or, perhaps a scene on a foreign street:

Me (running up to a stranger): Help! My house is on fire!
Stranger: Well, aren't you cute! What are you saying, dear?
Me: I SAID MY HOUSE IS ON FIRE!
Stranger: You don't say!
Me: What's wrong with you? Send for help! Call 9-1-1! Do something!
Stranger (patting my head): That's right! Good for you!
Me (Grabbing the stranger's collar and pulling it desperately): FLAMES! COMPLETE AND UTTER DEVASTATION! HELL ON EARTH!
Stranger: Are you hungry? Do you want some yummy food? Yum-Yum-YUM?!
I depart, preparing to hurl myself into the flaming embers.

Yes, when you envision things from this perspective, it's not a pretty sight. The frustration is understandable. But it's not all bad. On the flip-side, you have this happier encounter:

Baby: GAW BAW DEE DOP. (Translation: I made a big poop.)
Mommy: You don't say! Good job, baby!
Baby: AAH DEE BOP BOH. (Translation: I like throwing things on the floor.)
Mommy: Really? That's fascinating, honey. Way to go!
Baby: GOO GAA BAA MA MA. (Translation: I love you, Mommy.)
Mommy: I love you too, baby. (Because some sentiments are understood between Mommy and Baby in any language.)

I know it's a start, and the rest will come in its own time (and when she's 16 the dialog won't be quite so adorable). Until then, I'll continue to respond to her attempts at communication with praises, kisses, and cuddles...for the same reason she says "no" to everything. Because I can.

Thinking Outside the Triangle

Recently two events occurred that made me stop and think. The first transpired during an innocent walk down a sunny street in Westchester. My mother-in-law and I were walking with my daughter, who was sucking her fingers while we pushed her in her stroller. A rather benign older couple walked by and suddenly stopped us with pleasant smiles. (All exchanges between strangers in Westchester tend to be pleasant and mildly uninteresting, albeit in a deliberately unoffensive and polite way.)

"Your daughter sucks her fingers the same way our daughter did," the wife exclaimed, referring to my daughter's somewhat unusual habit of sucking her pointer and middle fingers with her palm turned upward.

"And she turned out to be a talented musician," the husband interjected proudly. "You'll see. That one's going to be creative."

I smiled and thanked them, but something was troubling me. However, it was a beautiful day, so I chose to repress the storm clouds that were beginning to form in my mind.

But then, the other day, something else occurred. My daughter and I were playing with her shape sorter. I gave her a circular block, and she pushed it through the circular hole. I, of course, was quite proud of my progeny. Then I gave her the triangle block. She attempted to stick it through the round hole; when that failed, she tried to stick it through the triangle-shaped hole, but she couldn't quite get it in. Undaunted, she turned the shape sorter over until she found the toy's general opening, where you can remove blocks from inside or insert them for storage. She shoved the triangle block through the opening and then, without a second thought, promptly moved on to her next task: emptying her sock basket onto the floor.

I was somewhat taken aback. My daughter had found a creative solution to the problem that wasn't expected or traditional, but worked just as well. She had thought outside of the triangle.

And that got me thinking. What if the pleasant couple was right? What if my daughter is indeed destined to be an artist, or a musician, or a writer? The prospect made me wonder: Do I want that life for her? Sure, I want her to be creative in her approach to problems, and have a creative outlet like writing or art that brings her joy and reduces her stress. But, in all honesty, might I have been happier if that couple's daughter had grown up to be a doctor or an accountant? As a writer myself, I hate to admit it...but, well, maybe.

When most parents dream of what they want for their children, they think big: an astronaut, a basketball star, the president of the United States. No mother dreams of her child growing up to be a middle manager. But middle managers have some nice perks...health benefits, vacation time, salaries and relative stability. They also, in general, tend to avoid some of the drama that accompanies more artistic pursuits: constant rejection, unstable income, the inability to qualify for a mortgage or a lease on a car. As a book editor, I've seen many an author struggle to pay his bills while waiting for his meager advance check to arrive. Yes, I know the greatest things in life are those things you work to achieve. I guess I just don't want my daughter to have to work so, well, hard.

Ultimately, of course, I will support my daughter in whatever it is she wants to do, whether she wants to be a computer programmer or a world-famous composer. I want her to be happy and fulfilled. I guess I just hope, right or wrong, that she'll prefer to use that creativity to be the next Steve Jobs rather than the next Vincent Van Gogh. And in the meantime, I think we'll move on to Mega Blocks. You never hear about architects cutting off their ears.

Let's Hear It for the Boys

So, it's Father's Day, and I've been thinking about how incredible fathers are. I normally write about the trials and tribulations of motherhood. But this week I want to express my gratitude to all of the wonderful fathers out there whose feats of love, daring and agility continue to amaze us moms and delight our little ones. We moms are eternally grateful to those dads who can:

• Swing a 20-plus pound baby through the air without breaking a sweat, while baby squeals with delight as she defies gravity, safe and secure in the arms of her superhero.
• Walk into a room and bring an instant smile to the face of a baby who was just howling in pain after hitting her head on the table for the tenth time that day.
• Babyproof the entire house...and then babyproof it all again after baby has figured out how to circumvent all of those so-called safety devices that somehow only manage to keep Mom out of the drawers and cabinets.
• Wipe away baby's tears and keep everyone calm when baby gets a cut or bruise, kissing the boo-boo and making everyone (including Mom) feel better.
• Go to the grocery store and pick up every item on the list...and a few extra treats to reward everyone for working so hard all week.
• Go to baby's checkups and hold her while she gets her shots, because Mom can't watch without crying (although we suspect you're holding back a manly tear or two).
• Still find Mom attractive after she's been changing diapers, wiping runny noses, and cleaning spit-up all day (even on those days she doesn't quite make it to the shower...)
• Work hard to provide the necessities of life...and even harder to leave those worries behind and laugh, play, and love with your family.
  

Happy Father's Day to all the hard-working, always-loving, and impossibly dedicated dads out there!

The Party of No

It's happened. My daughter has achieved that Holy Grail of toddlerhood, dreaded by parents everywhere: she has learned how to say no. And suddenly there is very little that fails to elicit a negative response. Baby, do you want a banana? NO! Baby, do you want to go to the playground? NO! Baby, do you want to tear up some books and bang on the computer? NO! Baby, do you want to take a nap? NO! NO! NO!

At first I thought that her interest in that particular word had more to do with mechanics than meaning: the word is easy to say and the head shaking apparently pleases her to no end. However, I'm starting to think that she enjoys saying no because she hears the word so much. There is no limit to the amount of times we say no during the day. Here is a partial list of acts that elicit a NO! from Mom and Dad:

• No hitting.
• No chewing on the iPhone.
• No chewing on the DVDs.
• No chewing on the week-old piece of cheese you found behind the kitchen table.
• No touching the computer.
• No touching the dirty diaper.
  
• No touching the remote (unless you're attempting to block ESPN...in that case, carry on).
• No walking on the road.
• No walking with the dirty tissue you found on the road.
• No walking with the cigarette butt you found under the dirty tissue you found on the road.
• No eating sand.
• No eating rocks.
• No eating Mommy's right shoe.
• No eating Mommy's left shoe.
• No eating food out of the garbage can.
• No eating paper towels out of the garbage can.
• No eating last week's mail out of the garbage can.
• NO EATING ANYTHING OUT OF THE GARBAGE CAN!

You get the idea. But maybe we could be more positive with baby. Perhaps we could give her a list of Yesses she can apply to her daily life:

• Yes, eat your broccoli.
• Yes, give Mommy a great, big kiss.
• Yes, try out your new walking feet all around town.
• Yes, squeal with delight when Dad reads your favorite board book.
• Yes, giggle uncontrollably when Mommy tickles you.
• Yes, give your stuffed animals lots of cuddles and kisses.
• Yes, learn something new about the world each day.
• Yes, always remember how much we love you!
  

Now that's a party line baby can appreciate. Even without all that fun head-shaking...