I'm excited!

It's a good way of expressing it. And I know why he chooses to say so. But I think that is only part of the story.

Too loud. Too quick. Too much.

I see he is wired. I see dysregulation.

In an earlier blog I wrote about Digger in the playground. As a parent I definitely let him try his abilities more than other parents I met outside, well... and inside for that matter. Some may even say I'm an irresponsible parent. But I see his concentration and focus. I see a wicked sense of balance in a small bundle of muscles. He is not reckless, or indeed fearless. He is brave, strong, exploring the world around him and himself in it, as he is supposed to do. Curious to find out how his body works, and how much he is able to do. And I love looking on from the sideline.

As a parent it is my job to pick him up and kisses his bruises when he falls. And encourage him, when he is ready, to get back on the horse. It is my job to follow him. Not to push. To follow.

Or so I thought.

Recently, I have seen something new in my son. He gets too excited. He had a couple of quite major falls recently. And they happened when he was hyper. Too excited.

In the minutes before his falls, I was uncomfortable with the situation. I overrode my feeling, just repeating my playground mantra 'If he dares, so do I.' But in all honesty this felt different. I felt his anxiety. He was scared.

It's one thing to keep my own cool, not letting him feel my nerves. I try very hard to response calmly to him, also or especially in emergencies. I try so hard not to add a sense of emergency by rushing and shouting 'WATCH OUT!' etc.

But I have to admit it is quite another to sense his anxiety, and then to realise it is time to stop.

It's about a limit, I thought was clear cut, but I suddenly realised the goal post had moved.

So now I step in.

'It's time for a break/snack/cuddle, my heart. Let's got to sit down.'

'I can tell, you are getting too excited. So the risk of you falling and hurting yourself is much bigger. I am keeping you safe.'

Some cool skate dudes we met recently, told me exactly that. 'If you press yourself too hard, that's when you get really hurt. Never press yourself too hard.' Wise words from a teenager.

So I took the young skater's lesson, and I stopped my son before he got too wound up. He was doing some increasingly risky stuff, and I stepped in. He complained a lot. But it worked. Soon he was calm again, was ready to have another go. And there were no accidents.

He had barely opened his eyes the next morning when he asked if he could go skateboarding again. The second thing he said was 'Mummy, can you please make sure I don't fall?' In other words, he got it too. I was keeping him safe.

This may all be blindly obviously to you, the silent reader, but to me this is a real shift in perception. I never needed to step in like this before. Yes, to keep him safe, but he would generally know his limits. The new thing for me is that when he get overexcited, he doesn't feel those limits anymore.

And it happens more and more often.

I wonder at lot about where this is coming from. Perhaps it is just age appropriate - he can do more, and I trust his ability to do more too - but I sense there is more to it.

Sure, it is about dysregulation and regulation. I'm just surprised at the amount of regulation I am having to do at the moment. I wonder where the unsettling feeling in him is coming from.
I've had some issues in my family. And my husband has a nasty accident. We haven't been as emotionally available lately. We've been worried about other stuff.

But we live with a 105 cm tall emotional sponge. He feels our worries. And it worries him. So we gotta get a grip. On us and on him.

At the moment it seems we cannot give him enough 1:1 time.

If we do not respond to him at first enquiry, he just repeats his request for attention, again and again and again and again and again. As most children would. And then he will move on to shouting. SHOUTING!!! If it is a full on escalation he will only communicate in 100+ decibels.

'Sweetheart, I cannot hear what you are saying when you are shouting.'

The whole regulation thing definitely starts with acknowledging him. And he will go and go and go until he get the attention he needs. Attachment-seeking indeed.

As Bryan Post says: 'It's not a problem. It's an opportunity.' To learn. Hell yeah. Always.

That our new motto. And it makes us laugh nearly every time. Never a dull moment...

Sleeping arrangements – there’s a toddler in the room!

‘Is he a good sleeper?’ a friend asked me soon after our son moved in with us.

‘Oh, quite good, I think. Last night he only woke five times.’

She laughed. She’s a mother of four. ‘Welcome to motherhood.’

The first year or so Digger woke a lot during the night. Five, six, seven, eight times. Every night.

I tended to the nightly call outs, mostly because I woke and Pierre didn’t. But then come morning, I would be cream crackered. So Pierre would get up with Digger. Before the crack of dawn.

Even after such a broken night’s sleep Digger would wake around 5.30am. That gave daddy the time to play with him for a good hour or two, before he set off for work. Leaving me to catch up with sleep. Digger himself caught up at his two daily naps.

Especially the mid-morning one was lovely for us both. I often joined him for a nap. Either on the sofa or on the parental big bed. Him in the nook of my arm. Super bonding time. I did so after the sound advice given to me by my sister: sleep when baby sleeps. This as opposed to stressing out over how to make the most of the time he was out for the count. Should I read a book? A magazine? The newspaper? Or call a friend? Make a cuppa tea? Iron? Write a letter? Check emails? Shop online for baby stuff? Oh the choices!

‘Before I know it,’ I told myself, ‘he will have outgrown his daytime naps. And I will miss them.’ And indeed I do miss the naps, and holding a sleeping baby.

I was so relieved when I heard that Digger slept in a cot in his foster mum’s room. That was exactly what we did and still do. We live in a ramshackle Victoria terraced house, where it’s just not possible to have his bedroom on the same floor as ours. And trekking up and down the stairs all night long is not something I would enjoy. We have a super-sized cot, hand-me-down from a friend. One that even I fit into. Knees bend but still. One he can probably sleep in till he is 5.

I can’t see how I or Pierre, or Digger for that matter, would have survived the first year, had he not slept in the same room as us.

To this day Digger still calls out an occasional nocturnal ‘Mummy….? Daddy….?’ No longer as urgently as in the beginning. Some calls may even be speaking in his sleep. Like last night when he asked if he could have some ice cream for his bike.

I often hear him rustle the sheets; I peek and see his little silhouette. He is sitting up. He’s checking that we are still there. After a while he lies down again. And falls back to sleep.

I love the sound of his and my husband’s slow, regular breathing. It calms me. And sends me back to sleep.

It’s easier to see the progress towards all night sleeping looking back. That first year was hard for us all. But we took his lead. I tried a couple of times to walk out of the room just for a sec, - to get him used slowly to me not being there. He broke down almost immediately. It broke my heart to hear his grief and fear. It took forever to calm him down again. Somehow this unlocked memories of my own. Of my own mother, getting annoyed with me for not falling asleep. Not unlike the book with the memorable title ‘Go the f*** to sleep!’ I remember her gritted teeth, and my own fear. Hmmm. Let’s try something else. To be the parent I needed back then. Not permissive, just empathic and trusting him to let me know what he needs.

So we abandoned sleep training before we even got started. We didn’t have the heart or stomach for it. For all we cared it was utterly counter productive too. We stuck with a slow routine of bath (now optional), cream, bottle of warm milk, books, songs and stories. Finally, a short goodnight poem. Full on 1:1 time with a hand over from parent 1 to parent 2 in the middle. Milk and stories would be administered on our bed, still he was properly out. Then, and only then, could he be decanted into his own bed.

We reconciled ourselves that just like walking, when he was ready he would let go of our hands so to speak.

This was most definitely the quicker way to settle him, and after a while it led to uninterrupted nights sleep. Which they have remained ever since, but for the odd hick up in case of illness or such.

Overall bed times have become shorter and easier, especially since he dropped the daytime naps. 30 mins all in. Sometimes quicker.

About a year ago he started to ask to go to ‘little bed', to fall asleep. Usually that’s how we do it now. Except for some nights, after days of big emotions, or just if he is especially tried; then he falls asleep in our arms on our bed.

He can fall asleep in his own bed, on his own, albeit still with us in the room. He nestles into his pillow, with a smile on his face. Eyes closed. Soon after he is gone. To the arms of morpheus.

No longer closing his eyes as he falls asleep, like a baby would.

He can close his eyes to fall asleep.

Now he definitely is a good sleeper.

Dropping the diaper (a short ode to a small man’s underpants)

I love my son’s underpants. Cute, clean and easy. 

I love this new silhouette too. He looks taller without the bum padding. More grown up. It’s a proportion thing. Slim hips and bubble bum.

I thought I would miss diapers, even blogged about it. Truth is: I don’t. We both just moved on. 

Predictably, the washing machine runs more often. And he still needs night-time diapers. But I reckon not for long.

In the end, he dropped the diaper aged 3 1/2. I did manage to wonder whether he would ever loose it. I noticed that often he was the oldest boy, or even the only boy in diapers. And so did others, mothers in particular... Sometimes I felt stressed about him still being in diapers, when no one else seemed to be. I even started to worry that he wouldn't be able to start preschool in September, because they insists that the children should be potty trained to start.

But I just had to be patient. Let him drop the diaper when he was ready. And he wasn’t. Till he was. He had a couple of false starts, which lead to accidents, which he hated, so back in diapers.

Until one day…

‘I like my underpants. They feel good.’

Now if he wets the night-time diaper he cannot get out of it quickly enough. Not long ago he even said ‘Don’t worry mummy, I’ll just wee in my diaper.’ In answer to whether or not he needed to visit the loo before a long car journey. In fact, just the other day when facing a 2-hour car journey he did suggest he could wear a diaper. I said he probably didn’t need it, but I admire his thinking.

Today I finally gave away two un-opened packs of diapers. And two potties, a small travelling potty and two children's seats. He never really got into of these gimmicks, graduating straight to balancing on the big loo. ‘Ticky’ as he calls is, in his trademark no-'r' speak.

I knew I wouldn’t want to hurry him. I learned quickly that pushing the issue was completely counter productive. This is his body. Not mine to train. Despite his incredible physical abilities (more on that another time) and the fact he is very advanced in other areas, he still needs to be a baby many times a day. We bottle feed twice a day. 3 years into adoption, he still needs it. We are still playing catch up on the first 10 months we weren't there. I think the diaper fits into this pattern too. Advances in other areas of his life and skills, always seems to be accompanied by a strong need to be babied. Forcing or even just suggesting to grow up is just not the way forward. 

‘NO!!!’ he’d shout with ear splitting force, if I ask once too much whether he need to go to the loo. I can accurately tell about 5 mins before he can. I can only suggest he goes. And only once. It’s about balancing respect and helping him. 

It infuriates him if I ask him in front of other people. Especially if I press the issue. ‘Are you sure you don't have to go??!’ is as disrespectful as it comes for a 3, 10, 14 or 30 years old. ‘No!’ is a great reminder that I have overstepped it as an eager mum. Well, fair enough. So we have agreed that I whisper the question. Once. Usually I don’t need to.

There is only one come back to his NO!, and that is ‘Okay.’ Said not in the patronising way of a mother who knows better, but in the accepting, trusting voice. There are times, when I find the line a between the two a blur and he know exactly which side of the fence I come down on. He so has my number.  

‘Just let me know when you are ready.’ 

There are times when I have to remind him. Because he hates wetting himself. It's embarrassing. So he needs a little help. For instance if he is engrossed in something, so engrossed he may forget. Then I ask him in my mothertongue or whisper in his ear: ‘Let’s go to have a wee. If we do it now you can play longer afterwards.’ That is my most effective sentence. Along with ‘I wonder whether there are any plants that would like watering in the garden…’.

Usually though, I just have to trust him. He thrives and grows on the trust.

Slow down, mummy. Slow down.

I came across a couple really helpful articles at the time about potty training by the paediatric urologist, Dr Steve Hodges. This one at parent.com and this one in the huff post. He also wrote this nice one on bed wetting. The right kind of articles at the right time.

In his bed

Pierre has a little homemade verse that he likes to recite to Digger at night. He's been doing this for almost as long as Digs has been home with us. 

It's the last words of the day. Said just before Digger falls asleep. The last bit of our night time routine.  Before the final kiss of the day. 

In his bed

In his room

In his house
On his street

His daddy loves him 

His mummy loves him

He is safe and sound

Yesterday I said it as well when I put him to bed. With a little smile on his soft and sleepy face, eyes closed, he lisped it over his dummy and fell into a deep sleep almost immediately. 

As if those words were his night time anchor. Spoken out loud to help him let go of the day. Feeling safe and sound. I always thought falling a sleep is such a massive sign of trust, if not exhaustion. Letting go must be a quite feat for a little one. Especially if they are scared or feeling brittle. I imagine it is like setting off in the little boat, like Iggle Piggle in the Night Garden. Across the ocean, bobbing along alone on the sea til the morning. 

That takes a lot of faith to let go.

I've seen the power and magic of this little verse.

I'll use it now too. 

Thank you daddy. 

ode to a toddler's diaper

He pulls the diaper straps really tight. His little belly is bulging out over the top of it. He wants them to cross or touch at the very least. He succeeds.  We inspect his handy work. 

'Are you sure that's not too tight?' I ask 'It looks kinda tight.'

'Sure. Nice and cozee'. He answers.

We look up. Our eyes meet and we smile. 

Digger has been sort of potty training for months. Potty, loo or standing. Whatever. It comes and goes. I don't mind. I've been trying to be gentle about this whole thing, and to follow his lead. It's his body after all. I've learned Digger can get quite narked if I press the issue. 'No pee now!' 'Okay. Just let me know if you need help when you need to go.'

I heard a good trick to get little (and big) people to aim better: put a Ping Pong ball in the bowl. So I've popped in a bright yellow one. Thinking Digger might be intrigued and that he might be encouraged by it. He's not. He's mostly concerned that it may get flushed out. I think it might well be. I probably tried this trick too early. Like so many other things in parenthood. 

I'm not sure how much to press potty training. I even worry I am keeping him in diapers. So this week I've begun to offer underpants or diaper to him when I change him. He can go either way. Although truth be told:

Digger prefers naked. Anywhere. Anytime. He loves weeing in the garden. With his little arched back he looks like Mannickenpiss. Summer has been great for this. Naked gives him so much more feel for his body and what goes on inside. 

'Exiciting!' He exclaims when he sees what he has produced. A new and favourite word. 

His little bum soon get wrapped in a diaper again. Certainly for naps and nighttime. 

Getting it on can be a struggle. He's quick. It can be difficult to catch him. And catch him is what he wants me to do. It's a game. Currently I have most success asking him which animal he would prefer me or us to be while changing him. Miaow is his favourite.  

Respectful diaper changing and potty training takes on another level of signifance in the context of adoption I think. Few things are more intimate than wiping poo of another person - whatever age. It's private. And about personal boundaries to be acknowledged and respected. It's key for bonding too. I'll admit we hardly knew which side was up at first. Digger got hold off the bum cream at an early diaper change and ate some! In fact it was during introduction. The first day we had him alone in our house. We thought we'd killed him. Confessing guilty to Rosa his foster mum when we returned with him. She laughed in the kindest most understanding way. 

Some of our earliest and most precious bonding moments were during changing. Exchanging all important touch, eye contact and smiles in this preverbal world of his. Perfect to show attunement to use a technical term of something that can be quite magic. Now we sing and chat and take turns. He's quite involved and often pops the diaper in the bin himself. Yeah. 

But is he getting to big for diapers? 

There is a lot of external pressure - prestige even - about early potty training. Am I holding him back? Should I be pressing the issue more?

Thankfully a friend remindeded me that in Scandinavia the question isn't 'Is he potty trained yet?' But 'Has he dropped the diaper?' Much more empowering. And the power-to-the-kid isn't just linguistic. It's an approach. The believe is that it will happen in its own sweet time. On average in these northern parts of the world is 3+ for boys, notoriously later than girls. Digger is a few months short of this. I exhale. This approach sits so much better with me. 

We have become much better at changing diaper. All of us. From fumbling begins of  'sorry darling. Is that too tight?' we now manage quite quickly. At night I can even do it without waking him. Or rather - without him letting me wake him.  Yet diapers are often dry in the morning. Like this morning. Bone dry. Despite the full bottle of milk we still pour into him when we snuggle for milk and stories every night. 

Potty training is about psysiogomy. Maturity of body and mind. And Digger is definitely heading that way. With or without me rushing him. 

Days of diaper changing with Digger are numbered. 

I will miss them. 

Sport Casting Digger World

Digger loves me sport casting of his every move. He cannot get enough. He would have me do it all… day… long… if he could. ‘Peak, peak’ he chimes, pointing to my mouth. (S–sounds are very hit or miss at the moment.)

There are many words for sports casting: 'Peak, peak', verbalising stream of conscientiousness, broad casting, sports commentating, say what you see, voice over and hero sound tracking to name but a few. They are all of course subtly different. At our house we’ve settled on the term sport casting. My husband is getting into it too.


The present World Cup of course is really good for brushing off this particular skill.

It is simple – just say what you see your child doing.

‘Digger’s holding the bulldozer in his right hand. He moves the bulldozer in. In towards the giiiiaant heap of Duplo blocks. He pushes the nose into the pile. And clears a small path. Oouhh… this is tough terrain. And he get’s stuck!! He cannot move the blocks. Oouhhooo… But wait…. he pulls back. He’s free! He backs out.... He backs out a bit further… he hesitates… And now! At full speed! He rams the bull dozer into the pile again.’  You get the gist…

This is not the same as acknowledging their feelings, as in ‘Oh dear, I think you just got a nasty shock there. Is that how it felt to you?’ Nor is it solving conflict (see links below). This is primarily about seeing one child, and to verbalise what you see. And children love that. All the children in our family love it, and cannot get enough. It is a wonderfully effective way of opening your (my) own eyes to all the minutiae of your child's Toddler Kingdom.

But there are many pit falls in sport casting. I definitely had to practice before I got half way decent at it. And I still run out of steam. And end up saying the same few things over and over again.

Most practitioners agree that you should stay away from steering the child’s actions. That includes staying away from saying stuff that may change how your child is playing. Such as ‘are you sure that is a good idea to put the red block on the green block? Here… take another green block. It’ll look nicer’ or ‘Darling, you just need to turn the block over. Then they will fit together.’ or worse still ‘Do you want me to do that for you?’ My sports casting versions of these would be along the lines of ‘He picks up a red block. He puts it on the green block.’ Or..

“He appears to be a trouble…. The blocks don’t seem to fit together… This looks very frustrating for our young hero… he is now audibly frustrated…’ etc (Yes both Pierre and I can end up using less-than-toddler-friendly language – we get desperate, in our fumble for new words and ways of expressing it all.) If I step back and leave him to it, he usually solves the problem himself, if he doesn't give up and move on to something else.

So…absolutely no questions allowed, no interjecting (unless to keep your child safe) and no directing.

Just sit back, observe and speak. It’s a bit like jazz riffs and improvisations. Just go with the flow...

I channel my inner sports commentator. I get into the grove of it and enjoy it. It is fun! And can get very absorbing for us both.

I try to be enthusiastic, engaged and non-judgemental – just like sport commentators. They have to remain fair to each of the competitors, all the while they are completely riveted by the game.

Staying non-judgemental though is nearly impossible. Just try to think of a sentence that doesn’t convey how you feel about it. Even about the weather. ‘The sun is shining.’ See? Impossible.

There are times when I suggest sport casting to Digger. Like when we need to get a move on – e.g. getting home from the park in time for dinner (ie when mummy has lost track of time). Sport casting Digger when he is scooting has been a revelation. He motors off in great style, often so far ahead that he cannot hear my comments. And yes, people may look at me funnily when I continue commenting – I have come not to care about this. Mostly though, they laugh along with me...

Oh, the things we do for our children…

Here’s a few link of some posts with more info on sport casting, mainly from the Janet Lansbury school of thoughts, its origins with Magda Gerber acknowledged. There are others I like but I have not found English web links to these. Lansbury’s way and focus is different to what I describe above, although her sport casting is amazingly effective in resolving certain conflicts as described below:

5 benefits of sportscasting your child's struggles

The secrets to successfully sportscasting my children's squabbles

5 ways sportscasting helps

Digger's laughter - Children’s laughter as a clear demarcation of self

Is there anything more delightful that children’s laughter? It’s right on top of the feel good scale. Digger’s husky belly laughter is an obvious favourite in this household. It’s good for all of us. Scientist will have us know that it releases serotonin, and makes us feel close. Laughter is an amazing social glue.

I have been watching Digger closely when he laughs. Trying to hone in on what he finds funny. The first time Digger laughed out loud at something on TV was at Pingu. That little mischievous penguin, the Bart Simpson in the World of Claymation. What’s not to like and laugh about? I completely follow.

As Digger's language is coming along, so too is his sense of humour. For most children it is a learned behaviour, says Louis Franzini who wrote his phd on the subject, much of it published in Kids Who Laugh: How to Develop Your Child's Sense of Humor. Having a sense of humour plays an important role in developing self-esteem, learning to problem solve, and honing social skills, he states. Digger appears to have a keen and good sense of humour, yet more signs of his sunny personality and of his ever-growing cognitive development. In all honesty I am not sure how much we have to do with it. It seems to be who he is. Most days he is a cheeky cheerful monkey who tries to makes us laugh. And he does cracks us up! Frequently. I bet it feels good to him when we too are in stitches. Especially if it is over something he meant for us to find funny.

Digger laughs at jokes he can’t possible understand. He is simply joining in. Like when I told him an old family favourite: the one about the goalkeeper who didn’t have any children because he couldn’t score.

Laughter has so many terrific nuances. A sound and sight of beauty in everyone. We all giggle, gurgle, chortle, chuckle, guwfaw, cackle, snigger, snort. Well, I snort if I really get going. Perhaps not so beautiful come to think of it… Anyway, those involuntary spasms are yet another dimension of layered communication. And a key into somewhere deep and very personal. Or a wall to keep us from getting hurt. Laughter, as giggles, can be an incredible effective form of defence and release, no less so than many tears.

When I called to tell my mum that my first boyfriend and I had split up – SHE LAUGHED!! Say whaaaaa….???!! I was stunned and nearly dropped the receiver. Was she high?! I called her to be a sympathetic ear... My husband says I too laugh at moments that can definitely be taken as inappropriate if not insensitive. He says it is a family weakness. Geez. That is not at all embarrassing… He he. Only good thing to say about it is that is sometimes … sometimes … can break the ice - like at those tense and yet intensely boring management meetings.

Recently, I have been learning a bit about Theraplay. At a course last week, arranged by PAC, Annie Kiermaier gave some wonderful advice, and showed us many new games to play with our children in which laughter plays an important role. I did exactly that when I stepped through our front door later that afternoon. I put down my bag and started playing, and have kept at it since. Kiermaier showed us a short video in which she pretended to be blown over by a child. So now Digger and I do the same. We sit facing each other on the carpet, then lean towards each other, and when he blows in my face I make a big noisy fuss, and roll over. Feet in the air, all the way up and over on to my shoulders. ‘Mummy bum!’ he exclaims with delight.  If he can talk or move from laughing so hard.

Tickling can be fantastic, tantalisingly soothing even, but it has to be done with great care. As mentioned in an earlier blog on touch I have profound memories of being tickled too hard for too long by my father. Tickling has such a strong potential of being too overwhelming and uncomfortable, and so it can be misuse of power. 

‘Is this good tickling or bad tickling?’ Kiermaier suggested we ask, if we can tell when we are tickling our minions. Just adding little pressure will activate other nerve ends than those that respond to soft touch, she added.

True laughter is the best medicine. Studies are now showing it too. It lifts depression and makes sick people feel better. I always knew that things were going the wrong way for me, when I lost my ability to laugh. That is a serious wake up call, inviting me actively to seek and find it. And it always helps.

Grown ups being silly is the best! It is such an indication that they are genuinely engaged. Emotionally it is the real deal. And that is what children need and go for like heat seeking missiles.

It is also worth being aware of the perhaps less obvious sides of laughter. Say a child laughs inappropriately, when you tell them off. That it is a clear indication that you have overstepped their boundaries, and you need to step back.  They are trying to diffuse the situation and their stress – in an effectual manner. And this we can help channel more effectively for us both when we respond more playfully, with loving warmth and presence. Those qualities are key, and will help me any situation if I can tap into them. Laughter then springs naturally.

I am glad someone pointed this darker side of laughter out to me. Because I have seen and felt it as a demarcation with Digger. I did tell him off too harshly, and he did use laughter to push me away rather than draw me in. Outch. He is such a little adult pleaser, so I feel I must take extra care to notice these other ways of him expressing discomfort. And help him shed it.



I can also recommend HandinHandParenting on their view on laughter:
http://www.handinhandparenting.org/article/helping-children-conquer-their-fears/
http://www.handinhandparenting.org/article/helping-children-with-tantrums-in-public/

And Larry Cohen:
http://www.playfulparenting.com