It’s Not All Mary Poppins

Poppy and the Roars

A couple of you have asked, and more are probably curious: How is Poppy doing with Josh the Roarer?

First, let it be underlined that Josh does not roar often. Generally he is a happy little dude, busily exploring my home and everyone and everything in it. His moments of OUTRAGE are pretty few and far between for a 12-month-old … but gracious, they’re LOUD.

Poor Poppy, she does not much like tears of any description, and LOUD tears are orders of magnitude worse.

So, how is she doing?

Pretty well, all in all. She doesn’t like the noise, but she doesn’t fall into weeping when it happens, she has not asked for a ‘nap’. She retreats far, far away from him and looks worried, but, fair enough, sez I. I’d do the same if I could! I deal with Josh, then attend to Poppy, giving her a calm, assuring hug, praising her for staying calm, and commiserating with her about how LOUD that baby is. She usually can rummage up a rueful grin, and we move on to happier activities.

She’s doing well!

October 12, 2012 Posted by | daycare, Poppy | , | 1 Comment

Fingers Crossed

This week, having just regained her equilibrium after the introduction of Rosie (former NBG) Poppy meets her next big challenge: New Baby Boy (NBB) starts today.

I’ve arranged with the parents that Poppy will arrive about half an hour before NBB, so as to be established before …

well, before the crying starts. Because, unless NBB is the paragon that Rosie was, there will be tears and wailing.

Poor Poppy. Poor empathetic, anxiety-prone Poppy.

Am I nervous?

Yes.

In fact, I am writing this Monday evening (Thanksgiving holiday Monday here in Canada) and setting it to publish Tuesday morning, because I am quite sure I will have little time to fritter on the computer once NBB arrives. I fear I will be up to my neck in wailing and/or clinging and anxious children for much of the day, if not NBB, then Poppy. I am hoping against hope that Rosie does not join in the storm of tears, neediness and worry…

I have some small hope that the lessons she’s learned so far will help Poppy weather this new source of stress more smoothly than the last, but that hope is minimized by the undeniable fact that Rosie’s was a supremely easy transition. If Poppy found that difficult, then a normal transition — and really, what are the odds of two supremely easy transitions in a row? HA! — will be orders of magnitude more challenging for her. For me. For all of us.

So, tomorrow morning (Tuesday, when you read this), I will be far, far, faaaar too busy to tell you how it’s going.

Keep your fingers crossed for us!

(Re: that picture. Fear not! Confidentiality is being respected. Most pictures of toddlers I use come, as did this, from stock.xchng. It’s being used legitimately, and is not of any child in my daycare.)

October 9, 2012 Posted by | Poppy, Rosie, socializing, the dark side | , , , | 5 Comments

She’s back!

Monday was too soon to tell you. It might have been a fluke. Tuesday I was still waiting to see if there’d be regression. But today? Today I think it’s safe to tell you: Poppy’s back!

My cheerful, chipper, happy, decisively enthusiastic little dumpling is back, back, back!

Remember how once-happy Poppy had vanished into a quivering, tentative, anxiety-stricken wobble at the advent of New Baby Girl (NBG)? And remember how, coincidentally, I was reading Growing Up Brave right then, and decided to put some of the ideas in that book to use?

Well!

It took two weeks of consistent, diligent effort. I was tired at the end of every day. It’s hard work, particularly for an introvert like me, to pour out all that positivity all day long. But we did it!

Okay, not 100%. But enough that I have hope. Enough that she spends most of her days in her usual happy way.

It’s not that NBG still doesn’t make Poppy nervous. She does. But Poppy can now come into the house with her usual verve. She trots straight to the kitchen so we can make snack together. She doesn’t ask for a nap — until after lunch, which is a real nap, a nap for genuine sleep requirement, not an avoidance strategy.

We’ve even begun to work on the empathy thing. NBG (I really need a name for this child) cries, and Poppy will now hand her her bottle. Now, she essentially drops the bottle in NBG’s lap and backs away fast, but given that her response a mere two weeks ago was to burst into a storm of noisy tears herself and beg for a nap, this is progress. Significant progress.

It could be that a baby crying will always make Poppy uncomfortable, but she is learning — by doing — that she can cope with it. She is learning that anxiety may be uncomfortable, but that she can see it through, that it won’t harm her.

I can now talk about NBG’s tears directly. “I don’t really like that noise, either, Poppy, but poor NBG. She cries because she needs help!” Or, and more commonly, “It’s very loud, sweetie, but it’s just noise. Noise can’t hurt you.” Sometimes, “When NBG is sad and cries, that makes you feel sad, but you know what? You are not sad. Only NBG.” (Which is not precisely true: NBG’s tears make Poppy genuinely sad, but what I’m trying to express in super-simple terms is that Poppy doesn’t own the sadness, it’s NBG’s.)

I can warn her when a distressed noise might be about to happen. “When I put NBG in the stroller, she might fuss a bit, because she will want to start moving RIGHT AWAY, and we won’t be ready to go right away.” Then we’ll talk about what Poppy might do if NBG fusses — stand behind the stroller where it won’t be so loud, say, or even do something kind for NBG. Napping or running entirely away is no longer an option. Even better, Poppy no longer asks for a nap.

What prompted me to tell you this, though, is twofold.

1. Poppy is beginning to take pride in her new confidence. “I didn’t ask a nap today!!” she declared to her mother yesterday evening, with evident pride. Whee!

2. Today, apropos of absolutely nothing, Poppy stopped as she passed NBG, patted her on her wee red head, and announced, “NBG is my friend!”

Wow.

Now, she’s a sorta scary friend bytimes, but … friend! How about that?

We’re not out of the woods yet. Keeping her calm and stable still requires pretty consistent monitoring on my part, though I’m low-key about it, and am giving her more and more space to sort things out on her own. I’m steadily raising the bar: less matter-of-fact comfort and more “you can do it, kid, away you go and get on with it”. It’s still a struggle for her. Without support, she’d probably slip right back into panic and avoidance. She can’t quite manage on her own, yet.

And realistically, she’s only two! She may need support (and the occasional push) for years yet. So, yes, she still struggles.

BUT! It’s a struggle that she is steadily winning. Even more significantly, it’s a struggle which she now understands is worth fighting and which has rewards for her: confidence, competence, and pride of achievement.

I am so proud of her.

September 26, 2012 Posted by | books, individuality, Poppy, socializing | , , , | 9 Comments

Poppy Gets Brave, part 2

On Friday, I told you about Poppy and her Huge Anxiety re: New Baby Girl. It started when NBG cried those first few days, and Poppy, little empathy crier that she is, globallized that into a full-on fear of being anywhere near NBG.

She’d enter my house wailing and demanding an immediate nap, cry whenever she looked in NBG’s direction, and point-blank refuse to eat with us.

What to do? I’ve already explained how I’ve dealt with the refusal to eat.

Following a strategy in Growing Up Brave, I created a Bravery Ladder for the mornings for Poppy. The goal is that she come in happy, and join in the normal routines, without the need for her avoidance-behaviour ‘nap’.

1. Poppy comes in and asks politely for a nap, without tears. As soon as she manages that, she gets a nap. [Yes, I know. I am rewarding the behaviour I want to extinguish with the behaviour I want to extinguish. Ironic, no?]

2. Poppy asks for a nap politely, without tears, but before she gets a nap, we prepare the morning snack together. (Thus, the nap is deferred at least 5 minutes.)

This was what we’d achieved by the end of the first week. She was doing well. She would ask for her nap, yes, but I would cheerfully tell her that “First we have to make snack,” and she was fine with that. We’d proceed to the kitchen, pull a chair to the counter, and Poppy would chatter at me as I sliced fruit and put it in containers, fill water bottles, and tuck it all in our snack bag. She’d count pieces with me, she’d drop things in containers. Some days we were alone while doing this — Poppy is often the first to arrive — but some days NBG, who’s often second to arrive, would be there, too, sitting in a high chair while Poppy and I worked at the counter. By the end of her second week, the nap was being deferred a good half hour, and had shortened to ten minutes.

My focus in this Bravery Ladder is Poppy’s arrival, because it’s been so fraught with anxiety. Of course, sometimes NBG does cry at other, random times during a day (she’s a year old, after all) and Poppy will immediately leap to her avoidance strategy: “I want to go a nap! I tired!” At these times I have begun responding with compassionate empathy, “You’re not tired, sweetie. You’re feeling nervous because NBG is crying. But crying is just noise. It can’t hurt you.” I give her a hug, then I give NBG a hug, and then we move on. And there is no nap.

This is sooooo much better than two weeks ago! I am SO DAMNED GRATEFUL for that book!

Now, this week, we’ve moved on. To stage 3:

3. Poppy asks for a nap politely, but first helps me prepare morning snack, and then help me greet NBG and give her her first bottle of the morning.

This is where we are now. Poppy is coming into my home, and in a happy, cheerful, so-chipper voice, saying, “May I have a nap, PLEASE, Mary!” And I am saying, equally chipper, “FIRST we have to make SNACK!” Because this is now expected, Poppy is all, “Okay, Mary!”, and off we go to the kitchen.

If NBG arrives during this time, Poppy becomes somewhat solemn, but does NOT break into immediate storms of tears. She does start asking for a nap, but I tell her, “Not yet! We’re not done making snack, remember?” and she copes just fine.

I pop NBG into a high chair and draw her in so she can see what’s going on. (NBG, thank GOD!, is no longer crying when she enters my home, so she sits there and happily oversees our so-interesting activity.)

Sometimes I have Poppy give NBG a taste of whatever’s being prepared. We cheer if she eats it, and we laugh if she spits it out. (NBG is so FUNNY!!!)

When snack is done, we move to the living room, where Mary will sit down in the comfy armchair to give NBG her first morning bottle. Last week, I was putting Poppy down for her nap first. Now, Poppy is part of this. Now, Poppy will carry the bottle from fridge to living room, stand beside me as I settle myself and NBG into the chair, and then hand me the bottle. I get her to hold the end of the bottle, while I cradle NBG.

Of course, NBG is a year old. She does not strictly need anyone to hold her bottle, but it’s nice for her to get a cuddle first thing in a still-a-little-stressful morning, and it’s definitely nice for Poppy to be the one to 1) have a job to do to defer that damned nap, and 2) offer NBG some comfort and nurturing, so that she can feel compassion and competence instead of fear and revulsion.

It’s all good!

Next up? Step four, which has not yet happened. At this point, though I’m sure Poppy will still be asking for a morning nap, my response will be different.

4. Poppy will help with snack, help give NBG her bottle, and help get ready to go on our morning outing.

And there will BE. NO. NAP.

Ba-dum-pum.

My response will be to say, lightly, cheerful, and just BRIMMING with confidence!!!!, “Oh, no. You don’t need a nap. First we make snack, then we give NBG her bottle, then we have to get ready to go out. There is no time for a nap. Get your shoes on, please!”

You see? Outline her successes thus far, and then, whoosh, on to the next thing.

She’ll be a little anxious, but I’m confident that with three weeks of steadily-increasing comfort/exposure to NBG under her belt, she’ll be able to deal with it.

That’s on for next week. I’ll keep you posted.

After a few such mornings, I am reasonably confident the nap request will diminish in intensity, from a desperate need to a mildly worried question and eventually she’ll … just forget she ever wanted one.

RIGHT ABOUT THE TIME NEW BABY BOY WILL START!!!!!!!

Yes, indeed. Daniel, with the advent of his baby sister, has dropped to two days a week, and so, starting after Thanksgiving (which, in these parts, is mid-October), we will be introducing New Baby Boy, for three days a week.

Poor, poor little Poppy.

Life is just so unkind…

September 18, 2012 Posted by | behavioural stuff, health and safety, Poppy, socializing | , , , | 10 Comments

Poppy Gets Brave

Poppy.

Poppy has not taken to New Baby. You would be justified in thinking that this is pretty standard behaviour for a two-year-old, suddenly deposed from the throne of Baby of the Household. Certainly that was my initial response, and it may indeed be a factor.

After a few days’ observation of the little so-and-so, though, I’m not sure that it is, and even if it is, it’s far from the main issue.

Anabels rightly remembered that Poppy is an empathy crier. This, too, is a factor, except that New Baby, as I described yesterday, does not cry a lot. If Poppy cried every time New Baby cried, she wouldn’t be crying much.

However, that the emotional attunedness that makes for empathy crying? I think it’s a co-symptom of what I think is the real issue. A co-symptom of, or perhaps it makes her more vulnerable to the real issue, which is …

Poppy is dealing with Huge Anxiety re: New Baby Girl.

It started with the crying, for sure. New Baby Girl (NBG from here on) arrived, and Poppy, ever cautious in new social challenges, hung back a bit. NBG burst into a shrieking storm of tears, and Poppy, ever the crying empath, broke into a similar storm of tears herself.

If it had stopped there, if Poppy simply cried when NBG cried, well, the problem would have solved itself by now, because today NBG did not cry once. But instead, I think the tears they shared stressed poor Poppy out, to the point where, in Poppy’s mind/psyche/emotional world, NBG is now associated with scary levels of tension, misery, anxiety. Additionally, my home is associated with NBG. Particularly, it seems, the front steps and entry, and the dining table.

Over the first few days of the first week, Poppy moved from her usual decisive enthusiasm — “Hi Mary! We saw a balloon today! A balloon in the sky!” — to a tentative, querulous mess. As she headed up the stairs, the tears would start, she’d be telling-begging her parents “I want to go a nap!” Even those days she was the first child here — no evil scary NBG in sight — she’d be demanding to “go a nap!” as she walked through the door. I was dishearteningly reminded of baby Lily, who’d started out so full of fun, but who reached such a state, that, after months of effort on her parents’ part and mine, I had to give them notice. Lily was not thriving with me.

That was hard, people. I’ve given one other family notice (and only one!), but never before have I felt that I’d failed with a child. I felt that I failed with Lily. I still do feel that way.

With Poppy, at least there was a clear precursor, but the symptoms were unsettlingly similar.

It must be the intervention of some kindly-disposed fates, then, that about a month ago I was asked if I would review Growing Up Brave: Expert Strategies for Helping Your Child Overcome Fear, Stress, and Anxiety.

Just in time for my sweet little sunshine Poppy to turn all quivering and anxious. But this time, instead of spinning my wheels helplessly, I had IDEAS!

Growing Up Brave is not aimed at parents of toddlers. Its focus is school-age children and adolescents with genuine anxiety disorders. Poppy is two, her source of anxiety entirely age-appropriate, and the level of anxiety, while greater than the norm, is not to the point of a disorder. (Says me, the woman with an English degree and a B.Ed.)

However, I learned a lot of useful things from this book, have put them to practice and … spoiler alert! … it’s working!

The author, Dr. Donna Pincus, is director of an Anxiety Treatment Program at Boston University. The book is an absolute pleasure to read, clear, factual and informative. Ideas and concepts are given practical illustration through non-identifying case examples.

I learned that some of my approaches were absolutely correct. You’ve heard me preach before that generally, knowing “why” a toddler does something isn’t necessary. Dr. Pincus says that, too! “Instead of worrying about what causes a child’s anxiety, we parents can better focus on what we can, normally, expect.” Ha! I feel so affirmed.

When Lily stated evidencing this behaviour, I first investigated her sleep patterns. Growing Up Brave devotes an entire chapter to “Managing Bedtime”.

The less satisfactory his sleep, the more anxious he becomes. The persistent inability to sleep well makes it harder for him to regulate his emotions and cope with stress during the day… [N]ew research confirms [that] helping a kid get a better night’s sleep, which doesn’t take long, can have an amazing effect in immediately reducing the severity of his anxiety.

My instincts here were sound.

Dr. Pincus explains — which I understood — that anxiety itself isn’t the problem. Anxiety, in fact, is adaptive, keeping us from making all sorts of rash and dangerous decisions. The person who feels no fear at all, ever, is not going to live very long. Anxiety keeps you from walking in front of a bus, from leaping into a fire, from having unprotected sex. Being brave does not mean you never feel fear. It means you see “difficult tasks as challenges to be mastered rather as threats to be avoided.” (p. 13, quoting Albert Bandura)

Ah. Avoidance. I had a thing or two to learn about avoidance. Obviously, avoidance is not helpful. If your primary strategy for dealing with something that makes you nervous is to avoid it entirely, you’ll never learn how to cope with it. You’ll never learn that you can cope with it. Avoidance not only robs you of the opportunity to deal with your problem, but it reinforces the belief that you’re incapable of dealing with it. I didn’t need to be told any of that. I just wasn’t recognizing avoidance behaviours in Poppy and Lily, even when they were biting me right in the behind.

The nap request? Avoidance. My confusion arose because I had been seeing this behaviour as useful and effective … yet it wasn’t helping at all. In fact, it seemed only to make things worse. Once I realized what I was looking at — thank you, Dr. Pincus! — I was better equipped to develop a more effective response.

My confusion arose because this kind of retreat is not that unusual, and it’s not always, or even usually, avoidance. A child comes in fretful, but after 15 or 20 minutes alone in a quiet room is ready to join the fray. I’ve seen it regularly enough to have given it a label: I call it a “transitional strategy”. Introverted me totally gets that, and respects it. Used in that manner, retreat is indeed a reasonable transitional strategy. But the child who cries to be alone, cries with fear and trembling, and NEVER WANTS TO COME BACK EVER, EVER,EVER!?!? That’s not “transitional”, it’s just “avoidance”. Ooooohhhh…

The opposite of avoidance, I learned, is exposure. Rather than flee what’s provoking the anxiety, you approach it. But not all at once. I’m not required to fling poor Poppy bodily off the dock and into the depths of her fear. Rather, we’ll approach it incrementally, with what Dr. Pincus terms a “Bravery Ladder”. First Poppy will dip in one big toe, and get lots of praise for the courage that requires, and then one foot. She’ll be swimming those seas eventually, but we’ll let her do it a baby step at a time.

The book suggests that the child works with you to identify a goal, and then to break it down into achievable steps. Poppy is only two. If I suggest to her that the goal is to be in the room all day with NBG and be happy about it … I think the poor child would have a nervous breakdown on the spot. She does not yet see her anxiety as a handicap; she’s not mature enough to see time spent with NBG as a desirable goal. NBG makes her feel shaky, nervous, scared. NBG makes her heart race and her tummy clench. Why on earth would she ever want to spend a whole day with her????

So I’m not consulting Poppy about this. I’m devising the Bravery Ladder myself. I considered a number of factors:
– Poppy has been using a nap as an avoidance tactic. She needs to stop doing that, but we’re going to wean her off it gradually.
– Poppy has been avoiding contact with NBG. We need to encourage contact gradually, and do our very best to see that it’s positive.
– Poppy hates, hates, hates, hates it when NBG cries. Poppy needs to learn that even though she finds the tears distressing, she doesn’t need to cry, too. Even though the tears make her nervous, she can stay in the same room and be functional. Eventually — the long-term goal — I want Poppy to be able to shift her attention from her own reaction to NBG’s tears to concern for NBG. Instead of fleeing the tears, I want her to move in to comfort.
– The sight and sound of NBG a trigger for anxiety, obviously, but so is my front porch and entry, and also the dining table. In other venues, particularly out of the house, she’s quite relaxed. So I can use the other venues as places she can experience NBG’s presence with less anxiety, gradually desensitizing her in a fairly passive way. I can focus efforts on active re-training in the entry and dining room.

So. Toward the end of last week, I greeted Poppy with a carefully measured dose of calm and confident cheer. Warmly welcoming, but not over-the-top.

“I want to go a naaaaaap!” Poppy is whining, tears on her face, her voice a creaky trembling whinge. Before this, mom or I would try to get her engaged with some other idea or activity without overtly refusing the request. It was not a successful strategy. Poppy would rail and scream, flail and fuss. Mom would peel Poppy off her body, hand her over and flee.

Whee, fun.

Today, though the ultimate goal is to be rid of this nap tactic altogether, I start small. Rather than refuse the nap outright, I’m going to let her earn a brief nap … by controlling the expression of her anxiety.

“You want to have a nap?”

“Yeeeeeees. I want to go a naaaaap!”

“If you ask me in a calm voice, you can have a short nap. If you cry, you will stay downstairs with the rest of us.” (Including, of course, scary scary NBG.) All this said in tones of matter-of-fact cheer. Poppy pauses and takes a breath. She stops wailing.

“May I go a nap, p’eas?” The tone is still pretty creaky and whiny, but the form is polite. She’s not crying, she’s talking. It will do for a start. Even though she’s experiencing anxiety, she’s controlling its expression. That’s pretty damned good for two years old. It’s a first step, and a small one, but it’s a step. Her toe is in that water!

“Nice asking! You used your polite words. Thank you! Yes, you may have a nap for a few minutes.”

Up she went, and stayed there for the 20 minutes it took to get everyone ready for our morning outing. When the stroller was packed with diapers, sand toys, snacks and the other children, I raced upstairs and brought Poppy down. Once we were heading to the park — a low-stress venue — she morphed back into her usual cheerful, engaging, declarative self.

I ensured that she played close to NBG for some of the time we were at the park. I pointed out the times that NBG smiled at Poppy. I had Poppy give NBG toys, and noted that NBG enjoyed them. I also let Poppy wander away and play by herself for some of the time, too. NBG is stressful for Poppy. Small doses are sufficient.

And when we approached my front porch on our return from the park? Whiny, creaky, pathetic request to “go a nap”.

Sigh… But that’s okay! Baby steps. Baby steps!

Whew. You know what? This is turning into a short novel. I’ll stop here and finish tomorrow.

September 14, 2012 Posted by | behavioural stuff, books, health and safety, Poppy, socializing | , , , , , | 10 Comments

Tired but hopeful

Lily is going through a rough patch.

Consequently, so am I.

Sigh.

Lily had a rough transition to daycare initially. It wasn’t drawn out, it took the fairly standard three weeks, but it was loud. No, it was GLASS-SHATTERING, eardrum-piercing PAINFUL. Not for the entire three weeks. By the end of the third week, she was fine. But while she was in transition? Ugh.

When she’d finished the transition? She was delightful. There was no more delightful child than Lily. Cute, cuddly, her default was glee. She took ‘adorable’ to a whole new level. Catching her eye in mid-grin always made you laugh. Always.

Note how all that is in the past tense?

Eight months later, she regressed. No more happy drop-offs. No more cheery waves. Now she entered wailing. And, for the most part, she stayed wailing. Well, whining or fragile. All day. Ugh.

What caused it initially? The theories abound… a change in the routine at home, a new kid in daycare, an ear infection, gramma visiting… all possible, but who knows? After a few weeks, whatever started it was no longer relevant, anyway.

I tried all the standard things. A new entry routine, more cuddling, ignoring the tears, being positive, tweaking her naptimes…

Nothing.

I talked to the parents about sleep patterns, because I certainly noticed it was worst on Mondays. Mom says they could be more consistent; Dad says they are. Hm.

So I provided them a sleep log. I charted daytime hours, they charted evenings and weekends. Separate charts. After three weeks, I collated them, and we discussed the results over tea in their dining room one evening.

Mom was right. (I thought she was.) Bedtimes varied by up to 90 minutes. Nap-times on weekends were essentially non-existent. Moreover, total sleep in twenty-four hours varied by 4 hours, anywhere from 12 to 16 hours. My nap-times were not consistent enough, either. Drop-offs varied by as much as two and a half hours. We all had some work to do.

Dad is still saying “It’s not so bad.” Mom points out the 90-minute bedtime variation, which he shrugs off until I say, “In order to be considered ‘consistent’, her bedtime should vary by no more than 15 minutes. Twenty at the very most.”

“Oh.” They both look startled at that.

I suggest that for a child experiencing transitional difficulties, consistency is very important. Predictability and routine are good, they provide a sense of stability. They give her certainty which she appears to very much need.

We leave the table with some strategies. They will choose a drop-off time and stick with it. Similarly bed-times. I will give her no more than 40 minutes nap after drop-off, and ensure that her afternoon nap starts at precisely the same time each day. I will employ a strategy they’ve use with good results, of giving her a positive word to strive for. Instead of “Calm and quiet”, I will try “Let’s giggle, Lily!” (It’s been working, not to make her instantly happy, but to shake her from the Misery Groove when she gets stuck, so you can shift her in a more positive direction.) We will continue with the charting.

And, after a week of our new regime?

I can see progress. She still comes in wailing, but it’s low-level. In fact, I’d call this morning’s entry more ‘whining’ than ‘crying’. Her mornings are still unsettled, but after lunch and nap, her afternoons are much better.

And yesterday? Yesterday afternoon I saw the Old Lily! The cheery, smiley, how-can-you-not-squooze-the-child happy Lily.

I am so relieved. Because really, I was beginning to think this was one of those children for whom daycare is not the best option. “It could be that Lily would be best off with a nanny at home,” I had told them, a thought which they said hadn’t yet crossed their minds. After a week of consistent improvement, I’m not thinking that any more.

But, lordy, I’m tired. My mornings are intense. Lily is always in my mind. I’m constantly monitoring her emotional state, ready to divert, to intervene, to distract. I am pouring out a steady stream of cheerful narration of our activities and doings.

And I’m seeing results. A concrete example: Mary needs to pee.

On Monday, I took her to the bathroom with me. On Tuesday, I told her I was going to go up to pee, and when the lower lip started trembling, I told her I would only be a minute! And then we would read a book!!! Which worked, if I was very quick. On Wednesday, I didn’t have to be so manically quick. On Thursday, I could tell her (and all the children), “I’m going upstairs for a sec,” and there wasn’t even a quiver to the lip. Progress.

But, goodness, I’m tired.

See, all week I have been upbeat! and happy! soooo happy!! ALL. THE. TIME!!! And you know? I am not that kind of person. I am a quiet sort. Low-key. Calm, not perky. Cheerful enough, but not bubbly. My forte is peace. And all this pouring out and pouring out and pouring out of positive energy, though it is rewarding in that it is moving the girl from her funk to a more positive state of mind, is exhausting.

I won’t do it long-term. I can’t do it long-term. I am seeing enough improvement already that I don’t think I’ll have to.

If it turns out, though, that when I return to my normal, low-key peaceful self (instead of the Manic-Peppy EverReady Bunny I’ve been this week) that she goes all Mr. Hyde on me again? Then it will be time for her parents to seek other care. Because if that’s what she truly needs, well, I can’t deliver.

Sometimes that happens. I will regret it, because Lily at her best is way beyond delightful! But I won’t feel guilty or inadequate, because I’ll know that we all gave it our absolute best, and, bottom line, we want what is best for Lily.

At this point, I still think that’s here with me. I’m hopeful this will work out.

We’ll see, won’t we?

January 14, 2011 Posted by | Lily, sleep | , , , , , | 8 Comments