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.