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Child care with dummies

Posted: November 22, 2018 at 9:27 am   /   by   /   comments (0)

So, here I am, still in Brandon playing at being grandmother/mother/advisor. Honestly, I had forgotten how much work it is to have a newborn. It isn’t all cuddles and coos, that’s for sure. Tell me, was there ever a book or guide written that tells new parents how frustrating, beautiful, annoying, tiresome and delightful parenting is? I never read a paragraph, anywhere, about diaper-explosions. Nor has one word ever been written about how those poopsplosions get everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. I’ve learned to check my hands, my shirt and my shoes after cleaning up on aisle thirteen. Not one publication has ever given the real picture or, for that matter, shown a picture of what a nappydisaster looks like. Books from my day made life with a newborn sound like babies were predictable and getting them on schedule was key to a happy household. I spent way too much time trying to be a by-the-book mother and missed out on the beauty and humour of the situation.

Early this morning, around 3 a.m. it came to me. I could be the person who writes the definitive book on what to expect from a newborn, aka “The Night Terrorist”. I’d start by saying it’s probably a good thing infants are so darned cute, but don’t get lured down that dark lane. Cuteness is some form of protection for all parties, I’m sure of it. There are moments when the little bottom is dry, the belly is full, the burps and farts have happened and you find yourself thinking this is a cake walk. And then the on-board alarm system fails. The wailing and writhing begins and you find yourself staring down at a child possessed. A cute child, but possessed nonetheless. When I was in the newborn baby business, no one ever told me my beautiful baby would cry just because s/he could. I have warned our daughter about this. Oh, I’m sure there’s some physiological or neurological reason for it, but why not let a parent know, right? I made sure our daughter understood her wailing baby, at 3 a.m., isn’t necessarily a baby who needs intensive care at a trauma centre. Uncontrollable crying in a newborn was called colic, for decades. Whatever it is, it’s heartbreaking, frustrating and sleep depriving. Some experts believe a baby cries uncontrollably because their brains are processing everything they’ve seen and heard during the day. Good thing our new little guy doesn’t watch broadcast news— he’d never give us a break. So, here’s a very few ideas I have jotted down for my guide to the care and cultivation of newborn humans.

First of all, you don’t have to tippy-toe around a newborn. They are used to lots of noise, mostly because they make most of the noise. Secondly, for the sake of your own sanity, soothe the kid when s/he goes from zero to sixty on the wail-scale. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is more agonizing than listening to a distraught infant who has nothing but time and lung-power on their side. And no, they don’t wind-down. They wind-up. Next, pay attention to those facial expressions. Babies may not speak the language, but they do give you a hint (once in a while) about what’s stuck in their little craws. Most baby books will tell you to check their diaper if they’re fussy. Honestly, I haven’t met a baby who has a melt-down because their Huggies are heavy. When the kid is rooting around for a nipple, any nipple on anybody or anything it is a clear sign of hunger. Also, cooing and smiling isn’t gas. It’s cooing and smiling. Gas is much noisier. A beet-red face accompanied by grunting means clear the way, the pooh-pooh train is heading for the station. Sharp piercing screams mean there’s a glitch someplace, check to see if their little fingers and toes are okay or if the diaper is too tight or the bath water isn’t right. And there you have it. One (of many) sleepless, early morning pondering the ways of the newest member of our big, crazy, mixed-up family and I have an idea for a Child Care with Dummies book. By the way, speaking of dummies/pacifiers, they were invented for a reason, and the reason was quiet.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca

 

 

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