Sunrise, Sunset (already)
When Muffin was 7 months old, I let her fall off the bed. She was rolling well by then, but not that fast and usually not over and over. I was in the room with her, but I was distracted and running late, trying to get ready for a big night out with the Canuck. We had the overpriced babysitter lined up and everything. Digging through my underwear drawer frantically, I turned my back for too long and heard a horrible thump that I swear stopped my heart for a second.
In the end, she was fine. She had a bloody nose (I was sure it was her brain matter leaking out) and howled horribly for 20 minutes. She'd start to calm down, would see me sobbing, and then her waterworks would start again. But in the end, as I said, she was fine. I'm sure she doesn't even remember it.
But that was one of the worst nights of my life (which, perhaps, says a lot about the pretty lucky life I've lead). I felt so guilty that I wasn't watching her more closely. I was overwhelmed by panic that something would happen to her. All my new-parent fears about breaking her -- which were finally starting to fade away -- came back in a rush.
Now Muffin is 15 months old. The other day my neighbor R, who has a daughter a few months older than Muffin, was relating a story that involved her daughter standing on the couch. With R across the room. Standing, on a cushy, unstable surface several feet off the floor. With Mom too far away to catch her if she decided to take a nosedive. This was just a detail on the way to making an altogether unrelated point. But what I took away is that her daughter can be on the couch by herself without Mommy having a heart attack.
At the playground, I notice a difference between Muffin and the other kids. It's hard to compare, since she is so huge, but it appears that kids her age and even younger are going down the baby slide solo, ascending and descending stairs confidently, and of course walking. Muffin mainly sticks to the swings. The jungle gym gives me visions of broken arms and black eyes.
I guess I'm a hoverer. One of those helicopter moms in training. And that's a big problem, because now Muffin is obsessed with climbing. She manuevers in and out of her big plastic car. She races up stairs on her hands and knees when she get the rare opportunity. With a boost, she lumbers onto the couch and loves flopping on the pillows. Nothing makes her prouder than sitting like a big girl on one of our dining room chairs. She even tries to climb on the coffee table but thank goodness she can't reach yet.
I've got to steel myself: she's probably going to fall again, because that's how you learn, by making mistakes. I'll be there to kiss her boo-boos and dry her tears. Who's going to dry mine?
In the end, she was fine. She had a bloody nose (I was sure it was her brain matter leaking out) and howled horribly for 20 minutes. She'd start to calm down, would see me sobbing, and then her waterworks would start again. But in the end, as I said, she was fine. I'm sure she doesn't even remember it.
But that was one of the worst nights of my life (which, perhaps, says a lot about the pretty lucky life I've lead). I felt so guilty that I wasn't watching her more closely. I was overwhelmed by panic that something would happen to her. All my new-parent fears about breaking her -- which were finally starting to fade away -- came back in a rush.
Now Muffin is 15 months old. The other day my neighbor R, who has a daughter a few months older than Muffin, was relating a story that involved her daughter standing on the couch. With R across the room. Standing, on a cushy, unstable surface several feet off the floor. With Mom too far away to catch her if she decided to take a nosedive. This was just a detail on the way to making an altogether unrelated point. But what I took away is that her daughter can be on the couch by herself without Mommy having a heart attack.
At the playground, I notice a difference between Muffin and the other kids. It's hard to compare, since she is so huge, but it appears that kids her age and even younger are going down the baby slide solo, ascending and descending stairs confidently, and of course walking. Muffin mainly sticks to the swings. The jungle gym gives me visions of broken arms and black eyes.
I guess I'm a hoverer. One of those helicopter moms in training. And that's a big problem, because now Muffin is obsessed with climbing. She manuevers in and out of her big plastic car. She races up stairs on her hands and knees when she get the rare opportunity. With a boost, she lumbers onto the couch and loves flopping on the pillows. Nothing makes her prouder than sitting like a big girl on one of our dining room chairs. She even tries to climb on the coffee table but thank goodness she can't reach yet.
I've got to steel myself: she's probably going to fall again, because that's how you learn, by making mistakes. I'll be there to kiss her boo-boos and dry her tears. Who's going to dry mine?
posted by Muffin's Mom at 7:57 PM
4 Comments:
Well, of course I'll be there to dry your tears. That's part of my job, right? Watching muffin crawl and climb and explore is so much fun! However, you just know in the back of your head that someday there could be scrapes and bruises and broken arms and other injuries that result in the spirit of exploration. We'll just do our best to make sure she's as capable as possible and until she has better judgement on what she is and isn't capable of accomplishing then we stick closeby and ready to leap on a moment's notice. Superdad to the rescue!
Yeah, the canuck will be there with you.
Hey, I would recommend a book by Magda gerber (www.rie.org) called Dear Parent which will show you the ways to see your child as a "competent infant". It helps me approach Camilla in (what I think) is a healthier way. being the support but not the hindrance for her to optimise her own innate ability and spirit.
*Wave to the Canuck*
Kisses to you
Nice idea with this site its better than most of the rubbish I come across.
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Very pretty site! Keep working. thnx!
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