tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956356945590432652024-03-13T07:59:00.829-07:00Existential Parenting: My Journey to Discovering Meaning in Becoming a ParentAfter experiencing so many life changes in pregnancy, I found myself wanting to keep track of and share my journey. I have had some very interesting experiences, including new knowledge, relationships and an understanding of myself. As an existentialist, I have searched for meaning in these experiences and have found a way to feel more calm and confident than I ever have in my life in the face of increased pressure and responsibility.Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-31626348231590205672018-10-02T13:48:00.002-07:002019-05-20T18:55:48.838-07:00What's In a Name?So, here we are, with two children, which less than a month ago, I referred to as our "sons". When Waylon finally communicated clearly to us what she was experiencing, we were full of fear, but moved forward to support her in the best way we could. I had just come out to everyone in my life, was so blessed with the overwhelming warmth and response - even from those I did not expect. I felt a little more unburdened, a little more settled, than I had before.<br />
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A few days later, I drove Waylon to school and she said as I pulled to a stop in the parking lot, "Mommy, I want a girl name." My heart dropped and the lump in my throat came back. "What?" She repeated herself. I asked her why she didn't like Waylon? I thought that it was gender neutral enough - I mean we had been using it for 4 years, and in the last year, in public, people just assumed "Waylon" was a girl - even when she was dressed in "boy's" clothing. She told me that she didn't like Waylon and wanted a girl name. I said, "Well, when mommy was pregnant with you, I wanted to name a daughter Willow. But I didn't know you were a girl when you came out, so I named you Waylon." Her eyes got bright, "I'm Willow." I said, "Well, ok, honey, let's talk about it with daddy later. I got her out of the car and was hoping she didn't see me shaking.<br />
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I was simply devastated. I completely understood now the "grief" I told parents about that they may experience when a child transitions. All I could think of was my little baby, Waylon. I called her that in my belly, once I knew that she was a "boy" - at least assigned that way at birth. I named her Waylon Joseph - the Joseph after my father - his middle name. How can I possibly change that? I saw "Willow" as a different creature altogether. A little baby girl. And Waylon IS now that, but he's also my little baby boy. The one whose name I said as I gave birth to, the one whose name I said as I held to my breast, the one whose name I softly sang to, I even had a whole song with his name - of course it also had the phrase "my little boy blue" in it. I cried the whole way home, and sent my mother a message, crying to her as well.<br />
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This felt too real. To change her name. To claim her as female. To change a 4 year old's name. There is always real doubt here - it is hard to trust your child's opinions and beliefs when they would do things like eat candy all day, never bathe, or run into a road with traffic. But, I knew from my own experience, no one taught me to be a boy or girl, I had my own feelings that did not really change over time. And I had a sense of it, as a very young child - research indicates that you can start to see it from 18 months and a firm sense of it by 3 years of age. And all of those things that they don't know yet, are about learning about the outside world. Kids are the most in touch with their feelings than any of us, including adults. She would know how she feels and not be filtering it through fears of the future, like I was.<br />
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I would let my mind go to the future - what would this mean for what she wants in her adolescence? We don't even let the kids take medications unless they are absolutely necessary. Does this mean hormones??? I used my yogic breaths to bring me back to the present. I can't see the future - only what's happening right now. And then I cried again. What's happening right now was letting go of my "little boy blue".<br />
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I spoke to Mike and told him what happened. I said, "Mike, this is moving too fast. I need her to slow down." Then my White, cisgender, heterosexual, male husband said to me, "Misty, she's not going too fast, she's just not repressing anymore. But you still are." Damn, Mike, when did you get so freaking woke?? And I replied, "I am repressing! I'm not ready!"<br />
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The next day, not only did Waylon bring it up again, her teachers told me that she has been talking about it in school as well. She wants a girl name.<br />
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Mike and I decided to talk about it and offer her lots of alternatives, even things like Waylynn. She balked at the idea of anything else. Cry-screaming, "I am Willow!" every time we offered another name. As a family, including Wilson, we talked about what made Waylon want to change her name. Wilson seemed to understand immediately, and ran off to write out a page of name options. Unfortunately, those were a little scary and included one that he pronounced "Ho" (Howe), which Waylon quickly rejected. She settled on Willow.<br />
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I had originally chosen Willow as a child's name in my early twenties. Partially because I am a Buffy the Vampire Slayer superfan, and partially because I am in love with willow trees. Everything about them appeals to me. Their wispiness and ethereal leaves speak of a spiritual component to nature that we often miss. Willow trees are also one of the strongest trees, simply because of how flexible their branches are - they are full of water, making them resilient. They bend to great distances without breaking. Yes, this baby was a Willow.<br />
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We all agreed and then moved to pick a middle name. I offered Josephine, something similar to my father's name, and by that time my mother had skyped in to help. My father said "Willow Josephine sounds horrible," so we scrapped that. It was a very surreal moment. Not just because my mother, who has struggled with accepting affectional and gender orientation differences was being super supportive, but because there we were with a child that was helping us name themselves.<br />
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The significance of that moment hit me. Of course, she is picking her name. In every way, she is telling us that how people and society defined her is NOT who she is. She defines herself. And I sat there in awe for moment, to look at this little soul, my daughter, a child that I wanted to teach how to be strong, and here she was, teaching me, that she's already strong. This kid LITERALLY violates all of our social norms. And there it was again - we let society define every aspect of ourselves, and then we walk around miserable that we don't meet those expectations - it's not just gender, it's our physical bodies, our attractiveness, our health and mental health, our work and career, what makes us happy, even our emotions, thoughts, and ideas. And she is saying, "No. I define me."<br />
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My mother then shouted out, "Willow Grace!" And my heart jumped in joy. "That's beautiful!" And then the definition of grace hit me.<br />
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Simple elegance. My baby was just that. Elegant and ethereal - she loved everything about femininity. In Christian belief, the religion of my youth, Grace means the unequivocal acceptance and love from God. And although I am not Christian, I believe in greater purpose, and the idea that our universe or Creator loves all of their creations, that we all carry purpose and blessings, is a lesson that I still believe. She was put on this earth for a reason. And God, or the Universe, made her as a blessing. Finally, grace means to honor someone or something by one's presence. And that is the essence of her soul - she blesses everyone she touches. Her love makes everyone smile. Her heart is so open, and she brings joy to anywhere that she goes. She is blessing me every single day.<br />
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Tonight, she came home to write her name for her homework. Any misgivings I had were put to rest when I saw this - She had traced the name Waylon as she was supposed to do for her work. But on the name line, she wrote, on her own: Willow. She has been practicing writing it on her own in her own artwork for days. Here she was asked to trace Waylon over and over, which she did, but she still claimed her real name on the top of her work.<br />
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So here, she is. Our Willow Grace. We are trying the name out to see if this is what sticks for her. There will be lots of mis-namings, as we learn to call her by the new name (just as we have struggled to say her/she and not "boys"). If this name we all helped her with is the one that speaks to her soul, then we will be happy for her. We are open that it is or will not be, but if this does work for her, we will change it, legally. And if someday she wants to change it back, we'll do that too. Because she's here to teach us that nothing defines us - not other's expectations, not even a name. Be true to your soul, and you will find resiliency, strength, and grace.<br />
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<br />Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-82921977637202713512018-09-26T13:30:00.003-07:002019-04-24T06:38:46.461-07:00Breaking Down the Walls<div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Growing up, being different in many ways, I learned how to build walls. Walls around my heart, walls between people who did not understand me, walls between people that had different political beliefs, walls between those who could hurt my heart, walls, walls, walls. It's only recently with a wellness journey, with daily yoga practice and study, daily meditation and breathing practice, that I've started to see my role in building those walls. But, I still pushed people, including family, away past the boundaries of those walls.</div>
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And then, very recently, my world turned upside down, those walls came crashing down, and my heart is open and raw, because of Waylon.<br />
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Waylon Joseph Ginicola was a surprise baby - less than 2 years younger than his brother and treasured by Mike (my husband) and I since birth. Waylon always was an interesting kid. His pregnancy was so different than Wilson's, so much calmer and noticeably, I was much happier. I had the feeling that Waylon would be a super interesting and loving child.<br />
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Waylon was born on May 29, 2014. His labor was 50 minutes long after I started labor. He was ready for this world, even when I was not ready for him. He was born with me standing up, holding onto Mike, and our midwife diving below us to literally catch him after I screamed, "The baby is coming....NOW!!" Despite his crazy entry into this world, he was noticeably different from his brother - peaceful, sweet, and calm. We called him Baby Buddha.<br />
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At 3 months old, I noticed a sassy spirit. As he grew bigger, it was hard to avoid - he was bigger than his little shell of a body. He was sensitive, sweet, sassy, and very funny. Mike saw how much he was like me. He looked like me, and was a little hot mess like me as well. But he was more than anything, sweet, affectionate, and loving.</div>
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I loved my baby boy. I loved dressing him up in his cute little boy clothes. I had all my "boys": my husband, my son, Wilson, and Waylon; and that was that. </div>
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We noticed something different about Waylon at around 18 months; he wasn't interested in toys we had, and he had a speech delay. There was no pretend play, and very few words. We called in Birth to Three and they began services. There still was no interest in most toys, however. Then one day, after he had turned two, I brought him to the gym childcare while I worked out. I came back and Waylon was holding a baby, feeding the baby swaddled in a blanket and playing with a little stroller. Pretend play!! It hit me. The problem wasn't with Waylon; the problem was that we did not have the right toys!<br />
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Wilson picked up on the messages Waylon was giving us before I did. One day for a reward, I took him toy shopping. He asked to pick up Waylon something. And he picked these little princess shoes. I asked him if he was SURE that was what he wanted to get him. He told me, "Waylon is going to love these." And he was right. Waylon lit right up - and wouldn't take them off - even to sleep.<br />
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That year for Christmas, we stocked up on the toys that Waylon showed interest in at the gym: doll babies, a stroller, crib, jewelry, and all sorts of fun stuff. As I wrapped the presents that year, it struck me - it looked like we had a girl and a boy. All Waylon's toys were stereotypically female. All Wilson's stereotypically male. It isn't as if I hadn't tried to change their interests - I once gave Wilson a doll and he looked at me like I had just insulted him. He dropped the poor doll baby on its head and never touched it again. He gravitated to blocks, cars, and technology. Waylon liked blocks and figurines, but really showed no interest in any of Wilson's others toys. That Christmas was the first one that I saw Waylon actually PLAY with the toys we bought.<br />
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Our Abuela and Tia Gaby, who have helped us with both kids, sent pictures and told us of something peculiar, yet endearing, that Waylon was doing at their house. Waylon was going into Abuela's closet and stealing her high heels. He was walking around in them, dressing up, and asking to have his hair and makeup done. Waylon was doing fashion shows, dances, and even reading and telling stories about the fashion in Vogue magazine he found. You could see the happiness and joy in his eyes.<br />
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Now at this point, I will admit, I recognized that he was gender non-conforming or gender expansive/creative. This is my specialty in my research and clinical practice. We spoke about it with the pediatrician. And I have the book knowledge! Gender non-conformity usually means that a child will come out as gay, lesbian, queer, or bisexual later in life. It can also mean that they are heterosexual, just creative! And a small percentage reveal that they are trans/ transgender. Since I'm bisexual, and my brother is gay, I figured Waylon would likely be gay or bisexual. I filed that somewhere in my mind, but committed myself and everyone around him to not make assumptions and let him tell us. At least that's what I thought I was doing - listening to him.<br />
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But there is something else. Deep down, I was very opposed to the idea that he could be trans. I fully support trans people, I understand the biology, the science, the identity. I wasn't opposed to the identity, but I never wanted that for my child. It was perhaps THE hardest life I had ever witnessed for a person, certainly could be made harder by other other factors too - like having a disability or being a person of color. When a friend asked me when I was pregnant with Wilson what potential issues in a child I felt I could NOT handle - I responded, "I would never want a trans child. I couldn't bear to watch a child go through that life."<br />
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Dressing Waylon in the mornings was an ordeal. But putting shoes on to leave for preschool was almost impossible. He screamed, and cried. And because of his speech delay, he couldn't tell me why. I tried all sorts of shoes and to no avail. He hated shoes, or at least I thought. Then we went to my friend Jess' house, where her daughter Taryn had lots of girl shoes. Waylon put on a pair of her shoes by himself and wore them the entire time. When it was time to leave, Waylon cried. Not a tantrum cry, a sad, painful cry. As I tried to coax the shoes off his feet, he took his shoes and threw them and said so clearly, "No! They are ugly!" Again, I got it. He wanted pretty shoes. I took my little one shopping and he picked out pink cowboy boots and purple Peppa Pig Ballet flats. I had to field some questions from kids in his preschool classroom, but they seemed to get it quickly. He liked the color pink and purple. Pink and purple aren't boys' or girls' colors, they are just colors. And I believe that. But, I think I was also convincing myself. In my mind, I kept thinking that he'd likely be gay. </div>
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Aunt Jess then donated princess dresses that her daughter had outgrown. I've never seen a happier Waylon. He danced. He spun, he smiled, he laughed. He was so happy. I was so happy for him. But then he asked to wear his dress to school. A lump formed in my throat. "No, honey, dress up is for home." He kept asking for about a year. Mike and I would look at each other, knowing, fearing, trying our best to be supportive, but not let him get hurt. And that's what we both envisioned. Him being bullied, someone saying something cruel to this sparkly baby.<br />
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And that is the best way I can describe Waylon. He sparkles. He loves everyone. He does not care about age, size, race, language, sex or gender. He fearlessly approaches people who look nothing like him. He talks to them. He hugs them. He spreads love to so many people. I've witnessed it so many times. And I'm astounded. I was petrified that someone would take this away from him. I had my own experiences - as a sexual assault survivor, as a person who had been rejected for being bisexual, who had been misunderstood for having a different gender as well - a mixture of feminine and masculine. But, I don't think I could ever remember being so fearless, so open-hearted. He was that in spades. </div>
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Waylon complied with wearing no princess dresses outside the house, but he would wear them nonstop in the house. He would sneak my clothes and dress up in them. He even took my swimsuit once and put it on, along with a pair of my earrings. Eventually, he began to ask to wear ponytails and pigtails to school. He was so adamant about it that he would have his teachers redo them in school after nap. He loved having his hair "pretty".<br />
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On his birthday, I took Waylon, for the first time, to pick out his own clothes instead of having his brother's hand-me-downs. Nonni and Papa had given Waylon a gift card for his birthday, so we went out to spend it. Waylon half-heartedly picked out some button down shirts and some tiger shoes. Then he put his hands on his hips and said, "Now...Where are the skirts?" I froze. My mouth dropped open and before I could respond, he turned, saw the "girls" section, and said, "Oh there they are!" With such joy, he bounded over to the toddler girls section and picked out a red sundress. He looked at me and said, "Mommy, can I have this, please?" His eyes looked longing, sad. He showed no interest in the other clothes, but this look was a complete different look - he wanted this so badly it hurt. I responded, "Baby, it's your money. You pick out what you want!" He picked out a whole outfit. As soon as he came home, he stripped and put the clothes on himself. I've never seen such happiness ooze out of this kid. </div>
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That night, I, calmly but fearfully, asked Waylon, "Are you a boy or a girl?" Waylon said, "I'm a boy!" I thought, "phew". But the next day, Waylon said, "Mommy, I'm a boy and a girl." Being two-spirited, I totally got that. "Ok!" I said. He fought us a bit on not wearing the dress to school, but I told him that he was playing at school, so he needed shorts. We bought some neutral types of clothing, bright colors, but could be seen as possibly not feminine. Although, Waylon was always seen as feminine by others. Most of the time people called him a girl in public - not knowing him. Waylon never corrected them. He just smiled.<br />
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One day, Waylon asked to wear his underwear that had princesses on it that he had picked out. These were, of course, "girls" underwear. I thought that since they were hidden under his clothes, it would be ok. I was wrong. He came home that day and said, "I can't wear panties to school anymore." My heart immediately dropped. I hated that word (like REALLY hate that word), so that message did not come from us. He wouldn't talk about it, but wore boys underwear, and began to wear boys clothes as well. A few days later, he finally told me what happened. He went to the bathroom, and another child saw his underwear. They said, "You are wearing girls' panties! You are going to get in trouble!" and ran out to tell the whole class and teachers. The teacher stopped the child and said that it was ok what Waylon was wearing, but the damage was done. Waylon cried hysterically and was withdrawn the rest of the week. When I spoke to the teacher about it at school, Waylon looked at me, with a little quivering lip. He started to become sad, tearful, and kept withdrawing at school and at home.<br />
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About a week after the event at school, Waylon came to me, so sad. He couldn't look me in the eyes. He said, "Mommy, I'm not a girl and a boy anymore. I'm just a boy." He sobbed. He still couldn't look me in the eyes. I could feel the pain in his heart. "I'm just a boy." I picked his chin up to look me in the eyes. I put my hand on his heart. "Waylon, you be who you are in your heart. Don't let anyone in this world tell you who you are, even your mommy and daddy. Whatever is in your heart - a boy, a girl, or a boy and a girl, we love you. You be who you are. Do you understand?" He stopped crying and hugged me. "I'm a girl and a boy." He said softly. I told him I loved him no matter what he was. </div>
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For the next few months, Waylon dressed masculine at school, but on the weekends, he chose skirts and dresses. He began to hate going to school, and was so happy every weekend. I called a specialist that I knew for a gender assessment. I recognized the signs of discomfort with gender, and thinking it was gender non-conforming felt an assessment would help the school with knowing what they should do. We couldn't keep going with this boy at school, girl on the weekends. It was slowly killing Waylon's spirit and sparkle...and that broke my heart. The only happiness I saw was on the weekends, when he was dressed in a feminine way.<br />
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On Wilson's birthday celebration, Waylon wore a dress. I had been very absent from posting pictures on social media, but it was time. I posted our first picture of Waylon, very obviously in a dress, on facebook. It was one of the harder moments of my life. I was coming out for me, for Waylon, and opening ourselves up to people on my network - some of whom post anti-LGBTQ sentiments and others who specifically post things about transgender not being a real experience. This picture said everything to me. There was Waylon - somewhere between a girl and a boy, crossing this bridge on his journey. And there I was, way behind them, trying to catch up.</div>
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On my way home from work one night, I got a message from the Doctor who assessed Waylon: Waylon qualified for Gender Dysphoria (the DSM-5 category that describes trans persons). "How did I feel about that?" the doctor asked me. I sat reading the message in my driveway. And I cried. Gender dysphoria. So many emotions at the same time. Did I miss that? Did I not see that? I specialize in it! How could I miss that? Trans? Could Waylon be trans? And then all of those things I tell parents to not consider in their thoughts, came rushing in. Was it me? Was it my genes? Did I do something in my pregnancy? Did my gender (which isn't completely female) influence him in some way? No, I'm sure he'd grow out of it. Or he'd come out as gay. I couldn't say it out loud. If he was trans, I was accepting that he would walk the most difficult path in this life that I could even imagine. How would I tell our parents? How would I tell my friends? I was overwhelmed by a million emotions at once.</div>
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Waylon continued to present male, until the Doctor spoke to our school on ways to support a child like Waylon. Waylon's teacher, Ms. Latrice, wrote us this note. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6crU9IQadw05dkvihoDwYBcHjqJOo-DCxiY4qWGmxmO8TybPN5iGWhX1ydw-JWcKUNwFQ2Js-XlYMzGakqVucirzoDN_V39aCJm8VaHc9tRG5TzCdF2RcJkk5UYxuYN-Ed21vEPAIh1E/s1600/IMG_3350.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6crU9IQadw05dkvihoDwYBcHjqJOo-DCxiY4qWGmxmO8TybPN5iGWhX1ydw-JWcKUNwFQ2Js-XlYMzGakqVucirzoDN_V39aCJm8VaHc9tRG5TzCdF2RcJkk5UYxuYN-Ed21vEPAIh1E/s400/IMG_3350.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I cried. I held the letter and then I told Waylon that Ms. Latrice and Ms. Mary said he could wear whatever he wanted to school. He looked at me, excitedly. "I wear skirts," Waylon said decidedly. The next day Mike brought Waylon clothes and Waylon quickly put his hand up. "No, daddy. I wear skirts. Ms. Latrice said I could wear skirts." Mike and I looked at each other. I said, "Ok honey, but we just need to talk first." He started to cry. "I really want to wear a skirt." I said, "Yes, honey you can, but I want to talk to you first." I asked Waylon what he would do if someone said something about his skirt. He said, "I would say...Thank you!" We all laughed. That's a pretty good response! "What if someone tells you that skirts are for girls and you are a boy?" He said, "I will say - Thank you! But skirts are for Waylie." I thought, wow, he's more ready than me. I told him that Ms. Latrice was his safe person. If anyone hurt him or his feelings, to go to Ms. Latrice. He said ok and he happily went to school - for the first time. No arguments, no crying or whining. He was excited, happy. He danced through the house. And he made me play the "dancing skirt song", which of course is Abba's Dancing Queen.</div>
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And it didn't end there. His teacher sent me this message. Waylon was finally feeling what it was like to be authentic. I recognized that feeling. When I am authentic, I am at peace, happy, not angry, not defensive. I am. The way that God - or the Universe - intended me to be. </div>
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That night, Waylon said, "I don't want to wear boy clothes ever again." Over the course of the next week, we went shopping, got a new wardrobe, since the only clothes on Waylon's menu are skirts and dresses, apparently. That same week, Waylon came to me. "Mommy, I'm really a girl. Waylon's always a girl." My heart dropped again. "Not a boy and a girl," I said? "No, mama. I'm a girl. I'm daughter. And sister. Girl."</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waylon packed a bag with extra clothes for the preschool (extra clothes for accidents). Way removed all of the boy clothes and put in the girl clothes. Waylon did this independently and wouldn't let go of the bag all morning.</td></tr>
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That day is burned in my brain. Because it was the first time I really saw HER. It didn't matter my years of training, my specialties, my degrees. I didn't see HER for over four years. I saw Waylon the way that I categorized "him", and the way society did because of his body parts. Being in the queer community, literally <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Affirmative-Counseling-LGBTQI-People-Ginicola/dp/1556203551" target="_blank">writing the book on it</a>, did not prepare me for the emotions I have experienced. I have guilt. I have fear and anxiety. I have pain. I think the dumbest thoughts: You have high estrogen - did that do it? If I like dressing her now, am I supporting it too much? If I didn't let her wear the princess dresses, would she have felt differently? And then my rational voice comes in: You are not responsible for your hormones, and neither is she. You are happy that she is happy - that is what a good parent does. You dressed her as a boy for most of her life; she found ways to dress up before the princess dresses - she stole heels and wigs and scarves, and made her own outfits. You TRIED to make her conform to being less feminine, and all that got her was sadness, withdrawn behavior, and pain. She loves to go to school, is more affectionate, more communicative, more confident, and most of all, happy.<br />
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We have come out to my parents, my friends, some of my students. And I've had my heart raw open the whole time. My father said something that I won't ever forget. He always has that way about him. He said, "Misty, God gave you this child for a reason. All you can do is love and protect Waylon." And that stuck with me for so many reasons. God, or the Universe, however you see it, gave me Waylon. And what is that meaning? I spent my whole life thus far, speaking for those who society deems less valuable. I speak to race issues, affectional orientation, indigenous issues, immigration, gender and gender identity, disability, sensory processing, etc. By giving me this child, God is saying, "You aren't done yet. You will take this more seriously and put your whole heart into this if I give you a trans child." And it's true. I will never stop working for a better world now. My baby's safety and happiness depend on it. </div>
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In the past, I would have easily built up a wall. If you don't like me, get lost! No, forget it, I'll leave you. Buh-Bye! I would have done worse than that - I would have called them ignorant, uneducated, hateful, and stupid. I completely missed that I was returning anger and fear with anger and fear.</div>
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But I can't do that here - on this issue with Waylon. You see, I am not there with her 24/7. I cannot protect her from all the negativity and bullying that she will face. Trans children are bullied, abused, neglected, and often attempt to take their own lives. Ninety percent of trans persons from rejecting families attempt to kill themselves at least once in their lives. But, even when they are from accepting households, forty-five percent of all trans people attempt to kill themselves at least once in their life. That means my influence matters, but so does yours. Your attitudes about gender literally can save my child's life - taking the time to question why gender matters so much, what is being challenged by children like Waylon, and why it makes you so angry or afraid, can save my child's life. Please. I am begging you. Do this work. For me, for my baby. Take time. Ask questions. But, please, challenge yourself, as I am doing as well. This baby, this life, is worth that challenge.</div>
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So here I am. A pile of emotion. I can't predict the future and what Waylie will feel or how this will change. Mike and I are taking Waylie's lead. I am open to whatever happens for Waylon. I am open to accepting this difficult path as ours. I am opening my heart to those who have deeply hurt me in the past. I am praying that God will help others see what I see. Waylon is loving. Waylon is smart and sweet and amazing. Waylon is a gift. She is opening my eyes to my own gendered attitudes, the way I have imprisoned myself in categories, the way I have blocked off others with walls. She approaches life with happiness, with abandon, with no care to what others tell her that she "is." She sees herself. She finds joy in herself. She loves herself. She loves others, as they are, as well.</div>
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In indigenous societies around the world, when a person like Waylon was recognized by the tribes (called two-spirit now in Native tribes, and different labels around the world), the tribe celebrated. You see, a person like Waylon WAS seen as a gift from the Creator. They carry feminine and masculine spirit within their bodies. They see life from a different perspective. They have deep empathy and compassion for others. They were seen as inherently spiritual. After colonization, we reduced these gifts to "freaks". At a recent conference, I got to hear Dr. Anneliese Singh talk about changing our focus as counselors from "affirmation" to "liberation". And that is something my little Waylon has brought me, and I believe, many people around her. Freedom to be who you are, not what you have been told that you are. So, we will celebrate. We are, in fact, planning a celebration for family and friends, an acknowledgement of the blessing that we have been given. </div>
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We are proud of our two-spirit. We are proud of our beautiful daughter. We are blessed by her presence, and await the adventure that we will share as a family, the path that we will travel, as we wish to leave the world better than when we found it.</div>
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-73565193534268204432016-05-14T18:26:00.001-07:002016-05-14T19:55:58.794-07:00Full Professor<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well, it is official! I have just been promoted to full Professor at Southern Connecticut State University. This is the pinnacle achievement of my career as an academic. It is beyond exciting. But as I tend to do, I'm feeling quite existential and nostalgic. As I receive congratulatory messages, which I adore and appreciate, I keep reflecting back at all that brought me to this place. Yes, I worked hard, but there is no way that I would be here without a number of people, guardian angels/spirits, and pure luck that allowed me to reach this major career milestone. I wrote this blog in a totally unfiltered, authentic way to tell my true experiences. Those close to me know this full story; but many do not. In some ways, this is a full "coming out" that I am sharing about my career journey: the good, the bad, and the ugly.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Letter! It's official, ya'll!</td></tr>
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I graduated high school when I was 14 from a home-based accelerated correspondence high school program. I don't consider it a you-were-a-genius kind of program, but rather a stuck-at-home, dear-god-I-am-so-bored, so let-me-finish-up each subject within days of the curriculum's arrival to my house. I finished high school in a year and a half. This experience taught me that I could achieve if I put my mind to something; it also taught me that I could find all the answers I needed by reading the background material, practicing, and believing in myself. I worked hard for my own learning. I will forever be thankful to my mother who believed I could do better with schooling from home.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBN3S2zCMWSlIaIeA00rN5NY6GPJEK2JbFco2AVNYGxhN9p5VhXIYisXJ0f1Ubc7T9LD0BKJoLIWitLzPCkTSekaetEK5Gek-3cN55HJEt03dtyxvQ_aubAC4GekPrzCM2wC-CGYITTJ91/s1600/GINICOLA_00344A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBN3S2zCMWSlIaIeA00rN5NY6GPJEK2JbFco2AVNYGxhN9p5VhXIYisXJ0f1Ubc7T9LD0BKJoLIWitLzPCkTSekaetEK5Gek-3cN55HJEt03dtyxvQ_aubAC4GekPrzCM2wC-CGYITTJ91/s320/GINICOLA_00344A.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My graduation photo. And Yes, I was only 14. <br />
I always looked much older. <br />
What a nightmare for my parents.</td></tr>
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After graduation, I had to wait until I was 16 to go to college or I could bring a parent with me to classes; since parent-in-tow was not exactly a cool college accessory, I decided to wait until I was 16. My parents gave me enough money to pursue any correspondence learning certifications I wanted while I waited. When I asked my father what I should do, he said, "Anything with computers, honey. That's where the world is going." Wise sage that he was! I spent the next year and half gaining two certificates: computer-assisted accounting (I am a pro at taxes and can make a spreadsheet like nobody's business) and a certified fitness instructor (kind of let that one slide a bit...). I also ran a day care center for several local children in order to save up enough money for a car: my beat-up beautiful 1984 Plymouth Horizon that cost me $600.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Age 16. Oh God, the perm. Should have loved my straight hair...</td></tr>
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While I was waiting to go to college, I remember talking to two people about what I should do for a degree; my friend Holly told me the famous Confucius proverb "Do what you love and you will never work a day in your life." I thought a lot about what I was good at and enjoyed - it was really learning about people, talking to them, and helping them to find peace and their way on their path. My brother Steve told me about his love for psychology and directed me to information about it as a profession. When I turned 16, I got my license, got a job to support myself, and registered for our local community college. I will never forget when my dad, who always had issues with reading since he dropped out of school at such a young age to support his family, brought me to school to help me fill out the financial aid forms, attend orientation, and encourage me to go to college. It must have been very uncomfortable for him in that he did not know how to fill out these forms; and a college atmosphere was probably pretty foreign-feeling. I will be forever be grateful to my father for supporting me to start this path and always doing whatever he could to support me while I was doing my best to survive college and working full-time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad always supporting me!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I loved college and learning. I loved the people there. But I was still struggling with my own demons: I had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) as a result of being molested as a child and growing up two-spirited (bisexual) in a very small town didn't help my feelings of normalcy. When I started dating, the impulse to run away from my problems intensified. After a year, I moved away and got married to the first guy that I had dated. Not a bright move, and before the year was over, I understood that clearly. My brother Steve was kind enough to take me in while I went through the divorce, got back on my feet, help me get a new job in the field of developmental disabilities, get back to another community college to finish my Associates' degree, and seek counseling for the PTSD and depression I had at that time. As stupid as I felt for my brief first marriage, having been married made me an "independent" student so I did not have to consider my parents' income and was eligible for more financial aid. Yay for stupid decisions! I worked as hard as I could at work, college, and on my own mental health. I learned Yoga at Corning Community College, which would be with me as a coping strategy continued through today. I began to embrace my differences, including being two-spirited (although I went through a long journey there as well!) and made some lifelong friends (Leah! Davette!) who supported me. I graduated with my Associates' degree at 19 and transitioned out of counseling happy and healthy. I will forever be thankful to Steve for supporting me and helping me to find my happiness again. I became the first in my family to earn a college degree, and I was hungry for more.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTDMVXUZwqdxgx0qRAHQvA3UNmIMqKQDZdugdz-sM-pcFWej_1VN8y-0bsS6XeF3bFiNd38C-sfO_Lo_Z_CYV8aVEfgSk8lFmT6g6nKzruoaiO1PaQ6vobyVejS0vEUDabIl952oPaA1TV/s1600/GINICOLA_00442A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTDMVXUZwqdxgx0qRAHQvA3UNmIMqKQDZdugdz-sM-pcFWej_1VN8y-0bsS6XeF3bFiNd38C-sfO_Lo_Z_CYV8aVEfgSk8lFmT6g6nKzruoaiO1PaQ6vobyVejS0vEUDabIl952oPaA1TV/s320/GINICOLA_00442A.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve and me holding a Pocahontas doll; she needed love too.<br />
We took weirder pictures, believe me.</td></tr>
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Over the next few years, I worked in supervisory and administrative roles in a developmental services agency, went to SUNY Cortland for college, learned a tremendous amount in the fields of psychology and genetics, and continued to find myself and my career goals. I had some great mentors here and was even given a teaching opportunity in an undergraduate teaching assistantship. I also met Alina here, an amazing lifelong friend and person, who became my roommate and cheerleader. I had an amazing supervisor at work (Lori Gallerani), outstanding professors, great friends, and such a positive support system through this time. There were so many professors who meant so much to me, but one in particular, Dr. Judith Ouelette, will always stand out to me. She was a funny, passionate, intelligent professor who made experimental psychology not intimidating, but easy to learn. She also was authentic and an advocate for LGBT rights. She impacted me in so many ways. I would hang out in the Psychology Department, helping new students, advising, and learning about academia in the field of psychology. It took me a few more years, but I graduated at 21 with my Bachelors' degree in psychology with a concentration in psychology of exceptional children. I will forever be thankful to Dr. Ouelette and the other amazing people at SUNY Cortland for sparking my love for academia.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitX3MbCx5FUgjo9QIDCpDIGyRHSJp1uW-8hn7mKG0ZC9wiI2BEAOtXmkNMli7OBJIYnJjBE3WJ9ujoKP9JJyttexNYW_taRJ2t2sRhOGvo1pXThn4Hi5VvwFCKswjupHqPtCLwldy78xIj/s1600/MISTY_00253A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitX3MbCx5FUgjo9QIDCpDIGyRHSJp1uW-8hn7mKG0ZC9wiI2BEAOtXmkNMli7OBJIYnJjBE3WJ9ujoKP9JJyttexNYW_taRJ2t2sRhOGvo1pXThn4Hi5VvwFCKswjupHqPtCLwldy78xIj/s320/MISTY_00253A.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My 21-year old self & Dr. Ouellette</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTh0My5XmrABcTvmtTwqUT97PzeSOI8hf4HR7cGZ2cs_-7bskKK0rtCBRogUCUI0tdMu61MgZcgwupmqcGGA-4yYaH7nInH68fjJcAv3qerJPWpmu2krRH0bD1BKEpQcZqZd69qEAW2r46/s1600/MISTY_00245A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTh0My5XmrABcTvmtTwqUT97PzeSOI8hf4HR7cGZ2cs_-7bskKK0rtCBRogUCUI0tdMu61MgZcgwupmqcGGA-4yYaH7nInH68fjJcAv3qerJPWpmu2krRH0bD1BKEpQcZqZd69qEAW2r46/s320/MISTY_00245A.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did it!</td></tr>
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Unfortunately, I did not have any information on how to apply to doctorate programs; I made many errors. I did not know how to write admission essays, I did not know to look for a specific mentor to match to, I really had no idea what I was doing. Even though I graduated Summa Cum Laude and had a ton of awards, as well as research experience, I did not get into either doctoral program to which I applied. After my second rejection letter, I sat at my kitchen table and cried. I knew I wanted to be a psychologist. But, I had to go to a doctoral program for that. I was also afraid for my student loan repayment to kick in if I didn't go back to school. I moped for a few hours, then jumped online to see which Masters programs in New York were still accepting applications. I ended up applying and being accepted into SUNY New Paltz for my Masters Degree in Psychology. That move was actually one of the most luckiest moves in my career. Not only did I attend an amazing program and meet incredibly interesting fellow students, I met a profoundly impactful mentor, who directly influenced my life and career. I learned a lot about counseling, about myself, and about what I could be capable of achieving. I also made another lifelong friend, Jess, who I will probably be with in my twilight years, rooming in a nursing home together. We share a soul energy that everyone picks up on, asking us if we are sisters or twins, although we legitimately look nothing alike. I loved SUNY New Paltz, the region, the students and faculty; that first year in New Paltz will always register as one of the most happiest times of my life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiuHHqQs4UVCEUkZ2-7bXA20Zx77CAL3ZdFYy5xnak5PZ_zfHloL2bvhYPtAa_lteoSWMm9QpeUXVJlIwRSd-EtWAbUXIBk4qIFsh7JIAIbRV6LhyWf_6s3dECI9KcYRzHPwivZF0_nakU/s1600/MISTY_00346A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiuHHqQs4UVCEUkZ2-7bXA20Zx77CAL3ZdFYy5xnak5PZ_zfHloL2bvhYPtAa_lteoSWMm9QpeUXVJlIwRSd-EtWAbUXIBk4qIFsh7JIAIbRV6LhyWf_6s3dECI9KcYRzHPwivZF0_nakU/s320/MISTY_00346A.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at how rested I was before non-furry kids!</td></tr>
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When it came to applying for doctoral programs, I had spent hundreds of hours learning about the process, what the tricks and secrets were, and what I needed to focus on in my essays and Curriculum Vitae (academic resume). Unfortunately, around this same time, I also got sick with a life-threatening infection and several other complicated health issues. After treatment and surgery, I recovered, but the close call shook me intensely. I did not truly deal with this until years later. When it came time to apply for my doctoral programs, I shared my list with my mentor, Dr. Carol Vazquez. She asked me why there were no Ivy league Universities on my list. I looked at her in shock; I certainly couldn't get into an Ivy! She, in her characteristic fiery way said, "You most certainly can. You are bright, have the grades and other skills to prove it. You WILL apply to Ivys." I went and did my research and came back to Dr. Vazquez defeated; I told her that I liked both Harvard and Yale's program, but I just couldn't afford even the application fees. She looked at me, turned around, and wrote me a check for the application fees on the spot. I broke into tears; her kindness, compassion, and belief in me will be something that I will never forget. To this day, I can't even think about it without getting tears in my eyes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8Lvketf0wa0TeOe2HoyrKCAtvHZH7F7vLy6Y89XDzPtGyqNSlJW13kUwXzS8pL78di9V_vM2v_s3mS1AUG_-CJysKiLFhGcCFGgp4jwukp-O9G0WLni2awvBWV6uk0lB_QqkpM1KnStv/s1600/100_0275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8Lvketf0wa0TeOe2HoyrKCAtvHZH7F7vLy6Y89XDzPtGyqNSlJW13kUwXzS8pL78di9V_vM2v_s3mS1AUG_-CJysKiLFhGcCFGgp4jwukp-O9G0WLni2awvBWV6uk0lB_QqkpM1KnStv/s320/100_0275.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dr. Vazquez and Me!</td></tr>
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I got into every program (15 this time) that I had applied to that year. When I applied to Yale, I was insanely lucky that one professor saw my application, pulled it out of the ginormous pile (over 300 applications for 2 positions), and contacted me. He asked me to provide him with more information. I had prepared a website and learned html (thanks for the help, Michael Grandner!) to put a portfolio of my materials online. I contacted all of my previous mentors at Cortland and New Paltz to send additional letters directly to him. I spoke with him on the phone and did my best to share my interests and talents. For what I was told, when the committee met, he sat down, plopped my file on the table and said, "I'm taking her." I have no doubt in my mind that I would never have gotten into Yale without Edward Zigler. He even called me to tell me himself that I was accepted. I was 24 years old.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihSjeDZJMxwTxdAp0xHzFSFRuVSZjPOLm79q_ndCsY8lnBEF4SzPDhSPdcESiaSDtkh2lMObwc5qpEjHkvCnQIGv6bZLimldui07SvmIIbCHTgbGAiDdgaRwhRWANzfZ-_JpQwaALnYclG/s1600/Laila+and+Misty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihSjeDZJMxwTxdAp0xHzFSFRuVSZjPOLm79q_ndCsY8lnBEF4SzPDhSPdcESiaSDtkh2lMObwc5qpEjHkvCnQIGv6bZLimldui07SvmIIbCHTgbGAiDdgaRwhRWANzfZ-_JpQwaALnYclG/s320/Laila+and+Misty.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first year at Yale. And that is Laila. Yes, she's that old.</td></tr>
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Once I got to Yale, I had to deal with some not-so-great cultural competence in faculty, continued health issues, and a complete change of research area. Luckily, Ed Zigler directed me to work with Matia Finn-Stevenson, who became another amazing mentor to me. I continued to work with Ed and Matia, becoming involved in school-based programming, mental health/ social emotional learning in schools, and program evaluations. I learned an amazing amount in my time there. I was also a teaching assistant for Peter Salovey one semester; his ability
to capture and motivate student learning was nothing short of amazing.
He was a stand up-comic, an actor, and absolute font of knowledge in a way that I
learned could make students enjoy class time. Half way through Yale, I also took time off to deal with the re-emergence of my PTSD symptoms that initially began with the near-death illness. As much as I tried to ignore them, I could not keep those symptoms at bay. Taking a break over the summer allowed me to work hard on my own mental health, and got back on my feet, working through those issues once again. Thanks to some amazing friends (Jessica & Joe Trzaska) and a stay in California (thanks again Michael Grandner!), I was doing much better. I remember Matia sent me an email after that saying, "I know you can do this! I believe in you!" I don't think she knew that I cut it out and pasted it by my desk so that I could look at every day. The day I presented my dissertation defense was also life-altering. I had made it! After it was over and my readers had left, Ed and I sat there just talking for hours. I was his last student; and I had reached a milestone of which I could have never dreamed as a child - I received my Doctoral degree from Yale University. I was 29. I published my dissertation, accepted a post-doctorate
position with the School of the 21st Century, and got married to kind of the most amazing man ever, Mike Ginicola. Yale will
forever be a place that I am incredibly fond of - they gave me the
prestige that comes with Yale, amazing learning and teaching
experiences, and mentors that made me a true academic. I could never repay Ed or Matia for what they provided to me; I know that my career and the people that I help are all possible because of their encouragement and support. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH98Mrwh0VEERfP5bQAQLQekgOtfuMYAEDXlMmVU9tN62m0agAT57DbOHWJGAIfTSgOlmVy-oqkbiHRIaPiM2Yg5cZWmCR7Mzyj28JgWoS1JcsKievXqBd8u10rbmiIq919w02lOcxEEVz/s1600/MISTY_00534A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH98Mrwh0VEERfP5bQAQLQekgOtfuMYAEDXlMmVU9tN62m0agAT57DbOHWJGAIfTSgOlmVy-oqkbiHRIaPiM2Yg5cZWmCR7Mzyj28JgWoS1JcsKievXqBd8u10rbmiIq919w02lOcxEEVz/s320/MISTY_00534A.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ed toasting us at a wedding celebration Matia & 21C threw for Mike & I</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_gKb8BHy1vEJEgyh3HfTPbiTnu7_1Ny3ewbiwKk0UsprsbN-M9JDSvIwLcFPawjN3v7p5BV4JfDCE8s55lc6mwk060FMWOV5g9dzpu5TmCuYQbt0C2ItskMR2C7y5Off4ruV-0W5BQ4JG/s1600/MISTY_00533A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_gKb8BHy1vEJEgyh3HfTPbiTnu7_1Ny3ewbiwKk0UsprsbN-M9JDSvIwLcFPawjN3v7p5BV4JfDCE8s55lc6mwk060FMWOV5g9dzpu5TmCuYQbt0C2ItskMR2C7y5Off4ruV-0W5BQ4JG/s320/MISTY_00533A.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flip Flop, wedges, Misty? Really?!? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At my Yale Graduation, I remember my father saying, "I wished we could
have helped you more." And I looked at him dumbfounded. He had given me
everything. He believed in me always, my parents bailed me out numerous times when I
had no money left after buying books or my car broke down, and above all
else, they taught me how to work hard. I was fighting through tears, but I
was able to tell him just that.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7736D6vANxdYCmBgJCXRaPW6QZOf8LawHhyphenhyphen5O213HXCo_3s2ANCvmWseRmdgjD_TDmx9-7hNCBnyZ9BTg-o8yJmQihIyYoQn9CdSl0o7J8Mc0TnZZUgCzb5aBh-OJh7sFcetzfc_YPq51/s1600/100_0773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7736D6vANxdYCmBgJCXRaPW6QZOf8LawHhyphenhyphen5O213HXCo_3s2ANCvmWseRmdgjD_TDmx9-7hNCBnyZ9BTg-o8yJmQihIyYoQn9CdSl0o7J8Mc0TnZZUgCzb5aBh-OJh7sFcetzfc_YPq51/s320/100_0773.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yale graduation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As I planned for my post-doctorate position in the fall, I realized that I would sincerely miss teaching. I had learned to love it; I could never be happy without being in a classroom. I sent my teaching portfolio to all the local colleges and was starting to get invitations to teach classes. At the time, I just so happened to have a new mentee, Christina Saccoccio, working for me in my Yale lab. She told me she had just started a graduate program in Counseling and School Psychology at Southern Connecticut State University, and that they had an open faculty position. She took my portfolio to the department and I received a call that afternoon. After an interview and a class presentation, I was offered the job. I was ecstatic to receive my first academic job before I turned 30. Christina and I are friends to this day, and again, without her telling me of the position, I would not be where I am today.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQUuwerYcSI_5TYZsOA7QO5ETJjH77WWGtH_5g582Um0N00M3e8FAFBP7P4HCndOZXja5SNLVilFWXZFJtp-ay_wHbMukbszNQ-b-BzoZ19hkhK0RnO4WJHHUz0b2dBXkwZBw_GXuQ2tE/s1600/100_0503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQUuwerYcSI_5TYZsOA7QO5ETJjH77WWGtH_5g582Um0N00M3e8FAFBP7P4HCndOZXja5SNLVilFWXZFJtp-ay_wHbMukbszNQ-b-BzoZ19hkhK0RnO4WJHHUz0b2dBXkwZBw_GXuQ2tE/s320/100_0503.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before starting Academia. So young, tanned, relaxed...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As an Assistant Professor, I realized that people that thought academia was cushy, had no idea what was really required or were not doing it right. I was handed 4 old syllabi in my first semester and told to get my courses ready. I had to research the topics, get the books myself, research the accrediting organizations' requirements, understand student needs and plan 14 weeks of lectures and activities. Each 2.5 hour lecture takes about 10 hours to plan and create. Do the math. Times 4 classes. It wasn't pretty. I also continued my research and service activities. As hard as it was, I adored my students. I found myself settling into an academic identity as a teacher and researcher,
focusing on issues of cultural competence in counseling. As my identity
started to shift, I began to seek the requirements (clinical hours and education) to gain my license as a Professional Counselor
as well. And I had another comrade-in-arms or work wife, depending on the day, Margaret Generali, who started at the same time I was. She is funny, kind, authentic and an amazingly hard worker. We clung to each other like we were on a life raft to survive our first few years.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7fXDsfyHI8TrqulJRUeljYqjvMijSFktzx8_NpsiZ_tyfPdJaWmPD-33gO36U76axHtb3GMf5RBq32CejMWKd3mc15VQhMRLpzsRz3u8XIoQ_HoxqjhYzGv8QLfQjrmpkEzIncckBX0-o/s1600/IMG_0315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7fXDsfyHI8TrqulJRUeljYqjvMijSFktzx8_NpsiZ_tyfPdJaWmPD-33gO36U76axHtb3GMf5RBq32CejMWKd3mc15VQhMRLpzsRz3u8XIoQ_HoxqjhYzGv8QLfQjrmpkEzIncckBX0-o/s320/IMG_0315.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All Professor-like</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was half way through this experience, that I unfortunately experienced sexual harassment. I was so horrified, but after finding out that this was behavior that had persisted in our department and had happened to 4 other women, past and present (that we knew of). Fearing what would happen if it went unchecked and that it had potentially happened to students (which we later learned it had), I went forward with a complaint. This will rank top 5 of the worst experiences in my life. I will forever be grateful for the support of Margaret Generali, Cheri Smith, Louisa Foss and Uchenna Nwachuku during this time. 2 years after going through the complaint, when I went up for tenure and promotion to Associate Professor, the Dean (no longer there) and Chair (no longer there) put the same man on my Department Evaluation Committee. When I spoke up that I thought it was ridiculously unethical, I was told that I should "be over it" and "that everything would be alright". Even after always having the highest level of evaluations every year, having a solid CV, just winning an outstanding teaching award, and leading our programs to successful accreditation, I was given an abysmal evaluation by the Department Evaluation Committee, Chair, and Dean. I felt insane (was this seriously happening???), victimized, and retaliated against. If it weren't for the support of my colleagues, particularly Cheri Smith and Uchenna Nwachuku, my friends and my husband, I'm not sure I would have made it through this. Luckily, the University Committee and Provost saw my work as it truly was and recommended me for both tenure and promotion. Getting that letter in the mail was like a mountain being removed from my shoulders: I cried in relief. Our entire department shifted after this event. The unsupportive people left and our department was left with an amazing group of people, who I call not only my colleagues, but my friends. Although I am incredibly grateful to all of these supportive faculty, I also owe a debt to those unsupportive asshats that made my life hell. It kicked my motivation and energy into super-gear and led me to pursue social justice and advocacy personally, and in practice, service, and research.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Bp-2sSGnu0QxlC-N9PCTUnTZOj7jzQpGndGM0z3EqQopMNOHUlQqLKQ3IWT7mONkxjXX4UWC19DqvkVi1YUTraSG_Y24Ysd-n7HV_gk0Vt436m6-8iopj9xlMxRSRbxEEwEpjuVkVN27/s1600/IMG_0330.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Bp-2sSGnu0QxlC-N9PCTUnTZOj7jzQpGndGM0z3EqQopMNOHUlQqLKQ3IWT7mONkxjXX4UWC19DqvkVi1YUTraSG_Y24Ysd-n7HV_gk0Vt436m6-8iopj9xlMxRSRbxEEwEpjuVkVN27/s320/IMG_0330.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Uchenna at the Tenure & Promotion Celebration</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Hf5v1QBELRxuJi5rBR-RnvRSiQsfDCuiqOC8QmQwGqjkXTaa29761EG-3RtvS3o87hCrMYCLFPgzni3zQF94nU4kaZmpGmfLfNewgfZ8iZBqGjfjBPyWVGsrU28bP5v9587JFWsotC4z/s1600/IMG_0686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Hf5v1QBELRxuJi5rBR-RnvRSiQsfDCuiqOC8QmQwGqjkXTaa29761EG-3RtvS3o87hCrMYCLFPgzni3zQF94nU4kaZmpGmfLfNewgfZ8iZBqGjfjBPyWVGsrU28bP5v9587JFWsotC4z/s400/IMG_0686.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheri Smith, Me, & Louisa Foss-Kelly. <br />
Margaret, why the heck don't we have any pictures together???</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As an Associate professor, I lived at work. My friends and husband became used to me being absent, exhausted, and/or sick, and yet still supported me. I pushed myself to achieve and found that in doing so, had made a real impact on my career, school, university, and the field of counseling. However, my self-care really suffered; no, maybe suffered was not the right term. I never fully developed my self care. From age 14 to age 35, I had never learned to truly take care of myself. I had a wake up-call at 34, I needed to be present for my life and my family and friends; I began making sure that I was there for them in the same way that I was for work. Then, I had a child; and then another within 21 months. To keep producing as an academic, be a good friend and family member, AND to be a good mother, self-care became necessary for my survival. It took me about 3 years and some solid good nights of sleep, but I had finally felt balanced. I began to say no to things, ask for help, plan realistically, and prioritize. I spent a brief stint in counseling again to support these new behaviors, and I finally found a way to care for myself, achieve, and be present for my family and friends. (p.s. there's an app for that!)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzNvWyK9vgoKpLV6Km5TEcitAJprNpEOwPskLp_w9XnfNrVq2diWeA-CQhzEcM5epPLOUsI67fl1ZF08cVH0OlSF00BlKdP2Xj84kRNrbvtmF1dlosjJHe2vpVGKXMY7g0ZDoa-CU9kc2/s1600/IMG_0691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzNvWyK9vgoKpLV6Km5TEcitAJprNpEOwPskLp_w9XnfNrVq2diWeA-CQhzEcM5epPLOUsI67fl1ZF08cVH0OlSF00BlKdP2Xj84kRNrbvtmF1dlosjJHe2vpVGKXMY7g0ZDoa-CU9kc2/s320/IMG_0691.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Learning a new role, much harder than graduating from Yale</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When I applied for promotion to full professor, I got to see my career's work thus far all put together. From my hire in August of 2006 to Fall 2015, I had accumulated a <a href="http://www.southernct.edu/academics/schools/education/departments/counseling/files/documents/MMG%20CV.pdf" target="_blank">30-page Curriculum Vitae</a>. I had taught 97 classes of 16 different courses for a total of 271 credits. When I sent a call out for recommendation letters, I received 23 letters from students and faculty. I pretty much cried reading each one. To hear that you had made a positive impact on someone's life is so humbling. I had been evaluated by over 1,300 students with positive evaluations. I had 36 publications, 80 presentations, and had received 26 small grants. My work had been recognized by the University, local newspapers, CNN, and Fox CT Morning Show. I had served on 54 total committees/positions and, in the fall, still had 22 service assignments. I took 12 college credits for retraining, had gained 3,000 hours of counseling experience, and had 102.5 credits of continuing education. I became licensed as a Professional Counselor. I had 8 professional memberships, served as a consultant and expert witness, and had a private practice. I was proud of my relationships with my sons; I had been able to be close to them, help them with their special needs, and be mentally well. My relationship with my husband continues to be strong; and I am proud that he was also bit by the over-achieving bug and is being recognized with awards on his amazing work as an educator.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiY4U_MyYBD_ZXzfJNOTtBrFClTPFsBHNFR3hySHkdBXrFxC2LZt0IdyUceoaYqq-9nT4KY5fdDZyFpaKuWdloJ350N_jxJnTw1TBgg9ofPM8Mg65mJxtjFATEMmy0y2nmim4P4qO8RCPH/s1600/IMG_4733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiY4U_MyYBD_ZXzfJNOTtBrFClTPFsBHNFR3hySHkdBXrFxC2LZt0IdyUceoaYqq-9nT4KY5fdDZyFpaKuWdloJ350N_jxJnTw1TBgg9ofPM8Mg65mJxtjFATEMmy0y2nmim4P4qO8RCPH/s320/IMG_4733.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What 10 Years of Work Looks Like in Binder Form</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
None of this has been easy, but I am incredibly blessed to be surrounded by amazing, supportive people. I sincerely enjoy the faculty that I work with; they are amazing people. As this process was 1,000 times smoother than applying for my Associate Professor, I began thinking a few months ago about life after promotion to full Professor. I get to choose to do what I wish now. Will I slow down from my break-neck speed? Yes. But I will always pour my heart and soul into my teaching. I will continue to do research on those who need someone to advocate for them. I will continue to be known for multicultural counseling and competence. I will serve in ways that bring quality to my program, department, school, university, state and national field. I will continue my private practice and help children, adolescents, and adults find their path. I will also continue to dedicate my life to compassion, kindness, and increased understanding for those who are the most vulnerable among us.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44U2CZ6ZnPAkFQK_lXDmjoqP3nfUUs-Q4Vs-AAp_9UiHYdVZqjW2EI0R5LTe73p4-ZvgkGmFJJ91QSvebrN2I51dSDf4TNwvubQehCukI3U1ofPKQLZW8LUOZpk2OQuQuKd60VAk4RHFy/s1600/IMG_5795.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44U2CZ6ZnPAkFQK_lXDmjoqP3nfUUs-Q4Vs-AAp_9UiHYdVZqjW2EI0R5LTe73p4-ZvgkGmFJJ91QSvebrN2I51dSDf4TNwvubQehCukI3U1ofPKQLZW8LUOZpk2OQuQuKd60VAk4RHFy/s320/IMG_5795.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Over-Achieving Ginicolas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Looking back where I was 22 years ago when I started my college journey, if one event or person hadn't have been there, I wouldn't be here today. The pain, the joy, the support, the hard work, the long days, the growth, the learning, the mistakes, and the pride are overwhelming to consider. From a weird kid, broken in many ways, in an impoverished rural area to a full professor, living comfortably, happily married with two kids. All I really feel at this moment (in addition to massive relief for getting the official letter), is immense gratitude for the mentors, mentees, faculty, students, family, and friends that carried me to this place. I hope I have impacted your life in a fraction of the way that you have impacted mine.</div>
Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-82105264959897466252016-04-28T14:24:00.002-07:002016-04-28T14:30:07.951-07:00Why Transgender Bathroom Laws Are A Problem<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://www-tc.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/art/progs/3116/Bishops-Council-Chart-b.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">Although this is not my typical parenting post, I am always doing lots of advocacy in the community, on our campus university, and on and off social networking. Recently I responded to a few Facebook posts that supported the Anti-Trans Bathroom Law in North Carolina and was asked to put my response in a shareable format, so here it is! </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">I understand the fear
surrounding this issue - we all want to keep our children safe. </span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"> I'm the mother of two small boys and thinking of someone hurting them in any way is very scary. </span></span>And this fear of
the bathroom predator has certainly been garnered and perpetuated by the political arguments and advertisements on this issue. The message is clearly that our little girls will be preyed upon by predators in the bathroom.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"> </span></span></span></span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">Let's talk about a few important points:</span></span></span></span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">1.
Nothing can stop a man from walking into the women's bathroom or
dressing room before anyone even heard of someone who is transgender. Of
course, if someone looks like a man and is in the women's bathroom,
they are not transgender - This woman <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">below</span>, as an example, is a female trans person. Not exactly the creeper in the plaid shirt hovering over the parentless child in the restroom. The man in those advertisements is clearly not trans; really, the suggestion is that predators will pretend to be trans in order to molest children. So let's take a look at that idea.<br /> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://www.boston.com/lifestyle/blogs/bostonspirit/wenzel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.boston.com/lifestyle/blogs/bostonspirit/wenzel.jpg" height="200" width="159" /> </a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4405/1199/400/8137/perpetrator-graph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4405/1199/400/8137/perpetrator-graph.jpg" height="302" width="320" /></a><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">2.
Fortunately, preying on children in bathrooms is incredibly rare. The reason is that bathrooms are incredibly risky in terms of being discovered, which is why it is rare. They can't control who comes in and when; and, they don't know if the children's parents are there as well. Having
someone specifically pretend to be Trans to prey on someone in a
bathroom has happened only one recorded time - in Canada by someone who
was mentally ill. When a child is abused or molested, unfortunately it
is about 90% likely to be either a family member or an acquaintance. Predators do NOT lurk in bathrooms awaiting the chance to pounce on girls the moment their parents turn their back. More frighteningly, they hide in plain sight. When a child is abused in any form, it is likely their parents (see graph above). When it isn't the parent, it is their partners, neighbors, family members, religious leaders, and acquaintances. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://www.judgeemmett.org/Newsletters/July2011/Alleged_Perpetrator_Relationship.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.judgeemmett.org/Newsletters/July2011/Alleged_Perpetrator_Relationship.png" height="261" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">When you look specifically at sexual abuse, you can see from the graph to the side, that again, it is far more likely to be someone the child knows and trusts (only about 1% is by a stranger). These perpetrators groom children, getting the child and/or their parents to trust them before molesting them. So
for all practical purposes, this law does NOTHING to prevent molestation. Also, remember that this law does not target pedophiles at all. Even if bathroom molestations were a true risk, if the perpetrator was male, they are still allowed to use the male public restroom, putting our boys "at risk" in the way that people believe the young girls are at risk. So, truly, who does this law help or protect? If we really want to keep children safe, we would be doing
more education and support for families - because clearly the child is in the most danger from their direct family or friend of the family. Yes, it would be a lot simpler and easier to understand and protect against if stranger danger was the greatest risk for
sure, but it is clearly not. And even when a stranger does attack a child, the restroom is not an environment that they target. So if it can't protect against molestation, what does the law really do?</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"><br />3. The argument against trans people using the
bathroom basically works like this: </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://wwwcache.wral.com/asset/news/local/2016/04/22/15657528/15657528-1461350705-300x225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://wwwcache.wral.com/asset/news/local/2016/04/22/15657528/15657528-1461350705-300x225.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Pedophiles could pretend to be trans
people; therefore trans people should be put at risk. While a pedophile
pretending to be trans molesting someone is basically at the level of
myth, people who are trans are at a HUGE risk of being abused, bullied,
harassed and attacked. Making someone, like Sarah in the picture to the right, who looks like a female, use the male bathroom, will clearly out her as trans and/or assure that she will be harassed and or attacked. Or maybe you prefer Aydian, pictured below to use the ladies room. Take a wild guess what would happen if Aydian walks into the womens' room in any public restroom.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://www.mtv.co.uk/sites/default/files/styles/vimn_image_embed/public/mtv_uk/articles/2015/04/30/screen_shot_2015-04-30_at_10.49.59.png?itok=RGEUJqmj" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.mtv.co.uk/sites/default/files/styles/vimn_image_embed/public/mtv_uk/articles/2015/04/30/screen_shot_2015-04-30_at_10.49.59.png?itok=RGEUJqmj" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">4. This argument also violates trans
people's rights. Again, the argument goes like this: Pedophiles could
pretend to be trans people; therefore we should take their right away to
use the bathroom that matches their identity. Let's make a similar
argument with a twist. Priests have been found to molest
children before, much more frequently then we ever knew. Therefore, no
priest should ever be allowed around children. In this
situation, priests actually have molested thousands of children,
unlike trans people. So why not hold all of </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://www-tc.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/art/progs/3116/Bishops-Council-Chart-b.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www-tc.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/art/progs/3116/Bishops-Council-Chart-b.png" height="279" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">them accountable for the
actions of those pedophiles, because after all, another pedophile is
VERY likely to use religion to molest children. But we would not ever
make this argument about priests or pastors, because you can't hold
people accountable or punish them for things they've never done. But
this is exactly what the bathroom arguments/laws are doing. Not to mention that the people who actually DO molest children actually get very little to no punishment for doing so, like Dennis Hastert, the politician who admitted to being a serial molester and only received 15 months for paying blackmail money to hide it. The vast majority of rape and molestation cases never go to trial; the treatment of women and children are so poor that most do not even report the crime. Women in some states actually have to pay for their own rape kits. Instead of punishing people for peeing in a room that doesn't match their genitalia, doesn't it make more sense to focus on and reform the laws that allow molesters to get away with the abuse of children? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"><br />5. Another huge
issue is how in the world will they enforce this law? Will they just
approach anyone who looks trans and make a citizen's arrest? Force them
to disrobe? Show your ID to use the bathroom? Imagine someone asking you
to do any of those things. How humiliating that would be. This is not going to just impact trans people, who will more likely be asked to</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"><a href="https://media0.giphy.com/media/3welg65JxrdwQ/200.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://media0.giphy.com/media/3welg65JxrdwQ/200.gif" /></a></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">
show their identification in the bathroom of their birth sex, when they are following the law, it will also impact anyone whose gender is a little different than the norm - this could be due to typical gender variance, sexual/affectional orientation, a hormonal disturbance/ disability, or the person being intersex (having both or ambiguous genitalia, present at birth. We find it rude for strangers to ask too personal questions, but this law allows you to ask anyone that looks a little different what they have between their legs. Think for a moment how that would feel if someone did that to you. Violating? None of their business? Exactly.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">6. If you are against strict gun regulations, it is important to think critically about why you don't support gun restrictions, but do support regulations on toilets. Some of those arguments include: 1) you cannot stop people from doing bad things, 2) that freedom is essential to our rights, 3) big brother should not be regulating everything, 4) laws do not apply to criminals - they will not follow them anyway, so it will only impact law-abiding citizens, and 5) the world isn't perfect and you cannot regulate it to perfection. All of those same arguments can be used against the bathroom law here; and are even more ridiculous since instead of talking about a lethal weapon, we are talking about a potty. One key difference, however, is that if you are in support of this law, it is likely not going to impact you or take away your rights.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://15130-presscdn-0-89.pagely.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/bathroom-gun-485x3311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://15130-presscdn-0-89.pagely.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/bathroom-gun-485x3311.jpg" height="218" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">7.
Finally, it is important to know about what trans people experience.
Having a gender in one's mind and body disconnect is a result of a
mismatch of hormones in the right time during the fetal period. Testosterone and estrogen, and a few other key hormones, are what makes us female or male; and that gender is not binary in the brain, it is on a spectrum from very masculine to very feminine. The secondary sex characteristics, such as facial hair, square jaw, larger facial features, adam's apple, etc., all result from this delicate process.<br /> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">It
results in the person having a brain which appears to be the opposite
sex (actually visible</span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"><a href="http://www.glaad.org/sites/default/files/styles/750px/public/images/2015-02/transgender%20children-coy.jpg?itok=Y1jOBzs2" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.glaad.org/sites/default/files/styles/750px/public/images/2015-02/transgender%20children-coy.jpg?itok=Y1jOBzs2" height="256" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"> on brain scans) and a body which doesn't match. A
similar mismatched gender population is those who are intersexed
(formerly called hermaphrodite) - they are just born with this mismatch
on the outside (they will also be impacted by this law). </span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">There
are many ways that this process can vary from the 'norm' from creating
gender variance, to creating a genetic condition where someone is
genetically male, born a female because their cells did not receive
testosterone, and then turn male in puberty (called <a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-34290981" target="_blank">guevedoces</a>). There
are MULTIPLE conditions like this, teaching us one thing, that gender is
not a neat, uncomplicated process. </span></span>Other
characteristics and disabilities occur during this sensitive period of
development as well, but none do we punish so harshly, for something
that is completely out of the control of the baby.<br /><br />Gender
is so important in our culture; and having a mismatched one will get
you harassed, bullied, and abused. Think of how often little boys are
told to "man up", not like girl things, not show emotions. When someone
does not conform to gender, their life is hell - trans kids are likely
to be suicidal as young children, as young as age 3 - that's how awful
their lives are made. It is further made miserable by the fact that if
they voice their feelings/thoughts, this abuse can come from parents,
teachers and peers who believe that they can change this child. But, no
amount of intervention can change the gender of the brain - in anyone. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://media2.s-nbcnews.com/j/MSNBC/Components/Video/__NEW/n_farrow_trans_150105.video_1067x600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://media2.s-nbcnews.com/j/MSNBC/Components/Video/__NEW/n_farrow_trans_150105.video_1067x600.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"><br />If
these kids are lucky enough to have supportive parents, then they will
undergo a delicate and risky hormonal replacement therapy, if they can
afford it - these are about $1,500 a year and some insurance companies
won't cover it - they will need this for the rest of their life. The
male to female trans youth can get a sex change when they turn 18, if
they can afford it AND after a year of being on the hormones and getting
counseling. These are anywhere from $30,000 to hundreds of thousands of
dollars. They require extensive surgery and intervention. Not everyone
can afford this nor does everyone want this. Sometimes the surgeries can
have negative side effects, like removing the ability to orgasm. Ever.
And they don't very often do the surgery for female to male trans
individuals - it's not very successful. So, a trans person's genitalia
may not always match what their gender is.<br /><br />Then even
if they are successful, if they are not "passable" or are outed in some
way, in most states, they can be fired and kicked out of their rental
properties, with no legal recourse. They are very likely to be harassed
and are at risk for hate crimes. And now we'd like to take their right
to pee in a public bathroom away from them. Because that is what they
are doing - they can't possibly use the other bathroom - they WILL be
harassed because they clearly do not belong in those bathrooms (as in the pictures above).</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">I always ask people to please, please, please <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">take a few minutes to c</span>heck out Riley's story to help them understand these kids. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/j6G1JhggfwI/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/j6G1JhggfwI?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">I completely understand that most people cannot truly understand a transgender experience; I also do not have any idea what it would be like. I have always felt female. I also understand that it is very difficult to understand the complex nature and biology of gender, gender presentation and expression. I also understand that this issue seems to challenge people's religious and gender beliefs in a way that makes people defensive and angry. I would only ask that, no matter what your beliefs, that you think critically about the impact of your stated opinion and support of this law. If you cannot argue with any of the above reasons (particularly the ones about constitutional rights), then you have to admit that your position is purely out of bias, not concern for little girls. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://sixtyminutes.ninemsn.com.au/img/articles/2007/200907_trans_art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://sixtyminutes.ninemsn.com.au/img/articles/2007/200907_trans_art.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">And I would hope that we can also think of little girls like Riley, who was born with what she calls a birth defect that made her suicidal. She just wants to be normal, and has a loving family who fear that someone will hurt her. This law just made that possibility much more likely for a lot of little girls like Riley.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">If we can't possibly have empathy for someone that different than us, then we need to at least acknowledge that each of us should probably treat others in the way that we would want to be treated. If we had a condition that no one understood, we might want the world to be a little more understanding, and certainly not demonize us or make unfair laws targeting us. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">No matter what your beliefs are, thank you for reading this. Light, love, and compassion to you and your loved ones.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-52034800639683146522016-02-19T06:49:00.001-08:002016-02-19T08:43:15.630-08:00Screw You, Coyote...<div data-contents="true">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="b91l6-0-0"><span data-text="true">So, some of you remember my Facebook post earlier this week when I had a coyote cross my path. In Native American lore, that means that I am about to learn an important life lesson but in a "trickster" way. There is no English word that translates this correctly, but essentially think of sarcastic, ironic jerk who teaches you something useful. I've only gotten coyote in readings or in dreams, never as a live animal crossing my path, so I wasn't looking forward to this lesson.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="b91l6-0-0">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="1vq2b-0-0"><span data-text="true">Shortly after, I found out that a friend of mine had been in an accident and was in critical condition (not the lesson). But it got me thinking about mortality and how I could leave my kids any day and no longer be here for them. What do I want to leave them with? Then I had the most busy, stressful week at work, with Wilson a<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">lso </span>being sick and cranky, getting up frequently at night. Yesterday, even though he is better now, I had to leave him at preschool freaking out, screaming, grabbing for me and sobbing. The last two days he has gotten up twice each night and has been equally irritable and cranky. This morning at 5 a.m., we had to literally take him out in the car (so he wouldn't wake up his brother) because he wouldn't stop screaming and losing his mind for no reason (that we could see or he could say). Needless to say, I was not looking forward to taking him to school this morning, since he already told me in the whiniest voice possible "I don't wanna go to school".</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="5oa3s-0-0"><span data-text="true">As I was driving him to school this morning, I saw that I had a long silent call from my friend who was in the accident (who is in a coma so he couldn't have called me). It was just completely silent for 2 minutes, so I assume it was an accidental call from his roommate who has his phone. But it got me thinking again - and I realized I don't want to leave Wilson with the frustration and sadness that we both feel in many situations where he is struggling to transition. I hate it, he hates it, but I got so busy with needing to get to work, that I didn't see any other possibility. And all of a sudden it hit me...We can't control that we have to go to work and he has to go to school. I could teach him my existential way of thinking - you can't control what you need to do/ what happens <i>to</i> you, but you can control how you react, how you respond.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="5oa3s-0-0"><span data-text="true">So after we parked, I opened Wilson's door and lowered my face to his. "Are you listening to me?" "Yes," he said, looking at me seriously. "You have to go to school and I have to go to work. There's nothing we can do about that. But, we can either have fun while we do it OR we can be miserable and angry. What do you want to do?" He said, "I like to be angry." I sighed; oh yes, I know. "Well, we could do fun things, like skip to the door or pretend to be trucks. Or we could be mad. Which one sounds better?" He eagerly said, "I want to have fun." I smiled and said, "Let's say this together: I choose fun!" He smiled and said with me, "I choose fun!" </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My new mantra</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="5oa3s-0-0"><span data-text="true">So we skipped to the door; To be frank it was kind of a hop for me, I'm a little out of practice. We made loud beeping noises as I tapped the numbers on the keypad. I held him upside down in the lobby and we laughed as his hat fell off. He pressed the keys on the computer and after each correct number, I kissed his finger. Then we gave each other high fives. Then we pretended to be trucks on the way to the classroom; I was the tow truck and he was the broken car. Then we sat down at the table for his breakfast and made a new high-five handshake, which Wilson named the "truckie truck"; it was essentially a fist bump that we "vroomed" and then crashed. Astonishingly, this was the quickest and easiest transition he had made in weeks. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="5oa3s-0-0"><span data-text="true">He was giggling and gave me a kiss and said incredibly casually, "Bye, mommy," as I stood up. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span data-offset-key="5oa3s-0-0"><span data-text="true">The teachers told Wilson how proud they were of him and looked at me astonished. 'Had I drugged him?', said the look on their face. I laughed; I said, "We had a conversation this morning about how we had to go to school and work, but we could either have fun while we do it or be miserable. We choose fun." The teacher smiled, looked at me intently and said, <b>"What an important life lesson!" </b></span></span></span></div>
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-21133109231531499892015-12-27T18:35:00.001-08:002015-12-27T18:41:51.866-08:00Siblings: Love and Hate<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've been woefully behind on my blogs, but a question on how to deal with sibling fighting came up today in one of my FB groups, so I thought I would address it from a personal and developmental research level. </div>
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When you have two children, this is how you imagine they will be there for each other: best friends. They'll love each other, protect each other and be BFFs. Beautiful, wonderful love.</div>
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But, just like everything else that has to do with children, it's mostly a myth. Or at least only captures PART of the siblings' complex relationship. It usually looks more like this:</div>
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So, let's start with Awareness of Sibling Issues. Imagine your spouse/partner comes home one day and says, "I've got a big surprise for you! Now, you know I love spending time with you and you've been great. But I think our life will be more full with another wife. It will be great! We can spend time together and you can share all your belongings, and even your room! Won't that be fun?" Now, as tempting as having another full time parent in the house sounds, of course, we would strangle our spouse. But, this is the experience of a child who gets a sibling. They were the center of your world and now...poof. They are not. If you have twins or the siblings were really close in age, they still have to contend with another being around them CONSTANTLY who may be very different in temperament. Think about how many times you get angry at your spouse (probably a lot more after kids...). Think about all the things they do that annoy you. Now imagine you have NO ability to suppress your anger, communicate your anger or even understand those feelings. A child alone willstruggle to communicate, learn social skills, learn to regulate their emotions, and bounce back from negative feelings. Now imagine that times two, with more chances during the day to lose it because you have a built-in annoying sibling who follows you everywhere.</div>
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Onto knowledge: Children during the toddler years and preschool are learning some hugely important physical, cognitive and social-emotional things. In terms of social and emotional skills, children can't really understand the whole sharing thing until about 3 years old. Even then, it's tough. It is NORMAL for children aged 1 to 4 to fight, throw tantrums and generally, just piss each other off. That doesn't mean you let it happen, you should always intervene. Every time you intervene, you have a "teachable moment" - a moment where you are moving them in the direction of being better friends and learning social and emotional skills.</div>
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Finally, the Skills! Here are a few things that can help! </div>
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<li>Never, ever, ever, play the "You better or your sibling will..." You better eat that or I'm going to give that to your sister. If you don't put that away, I'm going to give it to your brother. Although this is super effective in getting your child to comply to something, this increases sibling rivalry. It makes their sibling a competitor, not an ally.</li>
<li>Do play the "My turn, your turn" game. Play something together and take turns. Instead of grabbing, when they want the object, you say "My turn!" Reinforce and praise when they do this well.</li>
<li>Help develop language (if a child has a speech delay, get help right away - this can cause a lot of frustration on their part) and emotion vocabulary. Comment on feelings all the time - how you feel, how characters in books and videos feel - ask questions about feelings. Label the feeling the child has throughout the day. Watch the movie Inside Out. Understanding the emotion is key to regulating emotions. I use a set of dog-themed emotion cards that I made and laminated with Wilson to talk and act out feelings as well. </li>
<li>When my son wanted to take something from his brother, I also taught him the replacement game. I would tell him to go get another toy for his brother to see if he wanted something else. If he dropped the original toy, then Wilson could have it. He got incredibly skilled at sibling toy distraction.</li>
<li>If Wilson refused to share something, the necessary consequences were that the toy was removed. I would give one warning, "We need to share that or the toy goes bye-bye!" </li>
<li>If one of the sibling hits the other, the best strategy that I have found is to separate them immediately and say a single message, "We do not hit." or "Hands to your own body." Then I would attend to the victim of said hitting - hug them and make sure they were ok. Then I would turn to the child who hit, which was usually a sobbing mess because they know they did wrong and believe you are mad at them. I would then hug that child to help them calm down. And then talk to them. Label the emotion - I know you are angry, but we never hit. Sometimes a <a href="http://meaninginparenting.blogspot.com/2014/09/calm-down-time.html" target="_blank">calm down kit</a> can be incredibly helpful as well. </li>
<li>Spend time with each child alone. Make sure each child gets plenty of attention - not just the squeaky wheel (the child good at getting attention). Also make sure they get time with other significant others (the other parent, grandparents) alone too. </li>
<li>Rinse and repeat, be consistent, and let time pass. </li>
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When Waylon was first born, Wilson was AWFUL. He was a struggle alone, but we worried a lot for Waylon because he got beat up a lot. Wilson struggled a lot with his emotional regulation. We did all of the above steps and did a lot of "divide and conquer" - we each would take one child - Waylon was content playing at home, which fit me. Wilson liked to run errands and get out of the house, which fit Mike. At 3 years for Wilson and 19 months for Waylon, they are now really good with each other. In fact, tonight, Wilson moved Waylon's high chair close to him and said, "He's my best friend, mama!" There's no hitting and pushing anymore, although they do still struggle with sharing. But it never incites aggression at all anymore. So, there is hope - it's just responsiveness, consistency and time!</div>
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There are some good books on the topic too:</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Siblings-Without-Rivalry-Children-Together/dp/0393342212/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1451269710&sr=1-1&keywords=siblings+without+rivalry" target="_blank">Siblings Without Rivalry</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Peaceful-Parent-Happy-Siblings-Fighting/dp/0399168451/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1451269747&sr=1-1&keywords=peaceful+parenting+sibling" target="_blank">Peaceful Parent, Happy Siblings</a><br />
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-36468025193718416532015-05-22T13:00:00.000-07:002015-05-22T13:22:07.112-07:00Changing Our Narrative: From Difficult to Sensitive<div style="text-align: justify;">
As Wilson has gotten older and we have added one easy-tempered infant to the mix, the impact of Wilson's difficult temperament on all of us have become more and more apparent. We have found a good way of reacting, but it requires endless patience and ultimate consistency and persistence (something so readily available when you get no sleep and have 2 children under 3). Although it would be very easy just to let him run amok, I know that it will invite future behavioral and emotional problems. So, we cannot be permissive. I also do not choose to be punitive or to use corporal punishment; although there have been times despite my Buddha-esque nature, I have just wanted to shake the crap out of him (Is it wrong to say that shaking him sounds like it would feel so good sometimes???). I know given the research, the brief stint of time-out that we did with him and how things have affected Mike (who has the twin temperament - p.s. there really should have been a disclaimer on our marriage license) that punishment only serves to increase his anxiety and feelings of being overwhelmed, teaches him that violence is a resolution, reinforces a mistrust of us as parents and increases his inner emotionality. So, we have chosen to be responsive. We continually correct, ask him to perform a behavior in the right way, reinforce, discuss, explain, distract, prevent and respond. It's sort of exhausting; I want a drink just thinking about it.<br />
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I have been struggling with not only how to best handle his temperament, but also how to describe it. I have toyed with hot mess, emo, crazytown, shoot me and Oh God, why? But, being a psychologist, I know the power of words. By using the term <i>difficult </i>temperament repeatedly (which I have), I know I am making an impression on myself and Wilson. I feel more and more drained when just thinking about what I have to do when he is "difficult". He is hearing that he is hard to deal with, and while true, he may internalize those messages negatively and lower his self-worth and self-esteem. What I have been struggling with is how to help him on one hand understand that his high needs do not make him a bad person, but on the other realize that he has to be careful with how he impacts himself and others.<br />
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Fifteen to twenty percent of all children fall somewhere on the Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) continuum. Although many of these individuals are introverts (or slow to warm temperament), a substantial amount are from the high needs/ difficult temperament. These children are capable of taking in more information and processing a substantial amount more than others; they notice more on their environment and reflect more on what they see or feel. As a result, they tend to be very intelligent, empathic, conscientious, creative and careful. They are the advisers, strategists and planners. They keep others safe and healthy. In evolutionary terms, we cannot survive without them. If everyone was easy-going, we would all die out as a species. "Oh, hey! Look at that bear! I think I'll go say hello!" You need those individuals who are anxious, pay attention for danger and can see things clearly to survive. Waylon and I, although intelligent and thoughtful, are not the <i>pause to check</i> kind of people. We are about living life in a nonchalant, sometimes messy, manner. We could not survive without Wilson and Mike. But the reverse is also true; HSPs and Non-HSPs need each other to survive and thrive.<br />
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So what is the dark side of being an HSP? Well, it is <i>incredibly </i>easy to get overwhelmed. Because they take in so much through their senses, they cannot multi-task very well, nor can they handle over-stimulation. I remember when Mike and I first lived together and I would greet him at the door to hug him and say hello (honeymoonish behavior - I now grunt at him when he gets home). After a few days, he looked at me and said, "I need a moment! Just give me some space - like 5 minutes when I get home so that I can decompress!! PLEASE!!" "Ok cranky pants - Mums the word!" I said laughing.<br />
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It was my first insight into the fact that Mike experienced his world very differently than I did. Physical and social contact calm me, but I don't notice everything that happens. In fact, I am quite skilled at cutting things out of my periphery (like dishes, laundry and anything else that needs to be done). But for my HSP boys, too much stimulation can lead them to shut down, in which case, you readily see their dark side. They are suddenly stoutly un-empathic, lashing out, angry, irritable, withdrawing and emotional. Not all HSPs are alike; some personalities are more difficult than others. There are multiple types of HSPs and profiles, but let me walk you through Wilson's specific sensitivity profile. </div>
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Let me paint the picture of what <i>sensitivity </i>really means for him. Wilson has what is known as <b>physical intensity</b>. He feels more pain than most children and has incredibly sensitive hearing. When Wilson has a diaper rash, his responses are incredibly heightened. He screams and refuses to walk. He cries so loudly that you think that his leg bones seriously must be shattered. Not kidding. It takes about 30 minutes to change his diaper, slowly cleaning, blowing on the area, reassuring him, hugging him, putting on diaper cream (just as slowly) and arranging the diaper so that it does not rub up against the affected area. Conversely, my easy tempered infant who has my temperament and pain threshold, does not even flinch when he has had a rash. Once he had a bleeding rash and he giggled when I cleaned it. Giggled. Wilson's shirt tag once brushed up against his neck the wrong way. We
spent the next 40 minutes, off and on, blowing on his neck, rubbing it,
scratching it and checking it, AFTER I had removed the tag. This is not
an unusual occurrence. He needs this level of help with many things...on
a daily basis.<br />
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He also experiences <b>emotional intensity</b>. This means that he feels all emotions strongly. He is also very affected by others' moods and feelings. When he is happy, his smile can make you feel pure unfiltered joy. When
he feels frustrated, his anger is palpable. He is hostile and it bursts
out of him like rays of hate-shine. These are not little tantrums; they
are complete breakdowns. You can feel his desperation and sense of being
overwhelmed; he is not being manipulative. He is desperate and in despair. You can see that even
happiness can be over-stimulating at a point and he can breakdown in the
same way.<br />
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Wilson also has a somewhat complex presentation in that he has <b>novelty low threshold</b> and <b>novelty seeking</b>. This means that rather than be overwhelmed and shy away from the environment which can challenge his highly sensitive physical and emotional system, he seeks out novelty. He enjoys new things, learning and engaging with others. His is arguably the most difficult presentation. These types are easily bored and yet easily overwhelmed. They have a narrow window of optimal arousal. They can sometimes be seen as quite self-destructive because they desire to do an incredible amount of activity and yet will become overwhelmed by what you wanted to do and shut down. Awesome sauce!<br />
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Wilson has a <b>high activity level</b>. He needs constant stimulation and is running from morning until bedtime. He has a <b>high intensity of emotional response</b>. He is our true drama king. Whining, hysterical crying and hysterical laughter are commonplace. He has a <b>medium level of rhythmicity</b>. He thrives best on a schedule and is very predictable with things like when he needs sleep. Other times, though, like with his eating, he is incredibly unpredictable. One day, he will eat everything in the cupboard; the next, he seems to be surviving on milk and oxygen. Wilson also has a <b>low level of adaptability</b>. It is very difficult for him to transition, especially to something over which he feels he has no control. We have to give him 30 minute warnings to transitions, get him physically ready, explain it repeatedly, have him repeat us, offer something desired after the transition and MAYBE he will make the transition smoothly. He is also a social <b>approacher</b>, meaning that he seeks out others and novelty, showing little fear. He has a <b>high level of persistence</b> with <b>low distractibility</b>. Once on a task, he will finish it; likewise if he wants to do something, it is incredibly hard to deter him or distract him from it. He has figured out every kind of childproof lock, knows how to open all of the gates, operate the telephone, the remotes and our iPhones...whether we were hoping for some of that or not. <br />
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So that is the problem profile of my little Wilson. A social, excitable almost-preschooler who seeks out exciting events only to be easily overwhelmed by them, both physically and emotionally. So, what are the remnants of being easily overwhelmed? He notices EVERYTHING. Scratches, tears, a new pimple (thanks for that one), subtle differences in others and in his environment. And if it is something that can't be fixed, it<a href="https://www.facebook.com/mistymginicola/videos/10152870520519961/?l=202888927279476334" target="_blank"> bothers him immensely</a>. When he is overwhelmed, he can become anxious and frightened OR hostile and angry. Anxious means he cries that a leaf outside is a dreaded "fuzzy" or bug. He is scared that he may encounter a bug and might refuse to touch something outside. When he is hostile, he will cry, slap, throw himself with the intensity of a total meltdown. He is typically easily consoled (thank you Birth to Three), but he can get to the place of total meltdown quite quickly. He is particularly reactive to his brother who wants to play with his toys that he has neatly lined up. He struggles with sharing his favorite toys (not uncommon for a preschooler, much less a 2-year-old), but his intense reactivity to having a car taken out of the line he has created is always reminiscent of a hysterical crazed lunatic. <br />
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All of this is why the narrative of his <i>difficult</i> temperament has really resonated for me. As a parent, it means being hypervigilant and preventative. It means explaining everything. It means never sitting down. It means having to consider everything in every situation. It means never being able to relax or turn off. In a few words, it just plain sucks. That is true; and it has been my narrative up to this point. But this blog signifies my willingness to let it go. Because Wilson is many other things than just his sensitivity.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBWpfewLpfhMpPE3UcZyKaZF8MoUVwtfHCE2W196S_lKhMpp8YMkHBTfA5Oi_HMVNqyBN40aIdMzWWXhU8iyr9YvJXZjPyzhypO-OKy1Ax8W6HspkqvGUS4U5rf1PCu17qgLKtey2y3jM/s1600/11150377_10153034453369961_2711654890631043216_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBWpfewLpfhMpPE3UcZyKaZF8MoUVwtfHCE2W196S_lKhMpp8YMkHBTfA5Oi_HMVNqyBN40aIdMzWWXhU8iyr9YvJXZjPyzhypO-OKy1Ax8W6HspkqvGUS4U5rf1PCu17qgLKtey2y3jM/s200/11150377_10153034453369961_2711654890631043216_n.jpg" width="150" /></a>Wilson is creative; he loves to solve problems and puzzles. He loves mastering his environment or figuring things out - he is quite the scientist in many ways. He likes to color and to finger paint and to make things with play-doh or putty. He loves feeling different sensations in a focused way and sharing them with others.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi9DZE9ZW2tfhyrf3rTnjlKaJ5GbB92948Idt6V8Fk12d-gGfyDTAgKT-XGOSegx5L7x0oCjXz6dAovFffwbGLPQHRaC-fzI3wsm_Uvha8n6GdueUcZtNPwIV8nlf1R-K8F5uqjY7v9I7N/s1600/11011761_10153002424294961_1901558942449421025_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi9DZE9ZW2tfhyrf3rTnjlKaJ5GbB92948Idt6V8Fk12d-gGfyDTAgKT-XGOSegx5L7x0oCjXz6dAovFffwbGLPQHRaC-fzI3wsm_Uvha8n6GdueUcZtNPwIV8nlf1R-K8F5uqjY7v9I7N/s200/11011761_10153002424294961_1901558942449421025_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
He is intensely social; he wants to talk, to hug, to experience life with others. He loves his mama and daddy, Waylie, Abuela Susi, Abuela Dina, and his 2 Aunt Jess', his Uncle Joe and Aunt Gaby (who I am fairly sure he has a huge crush on). He loves his friend Taryn and his doggies.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEyIQJYy3UmuGNzW06HHg2fwDWJjLHMdrXTHDD4aLOGcuCi72bT3_kfUWMcEyThKuH-j0cYJb4ADFQequK1knlruaQ8q59Srw9R1pUgbS834MYm27bRsNX3QEv-k_RGdZfEr-bipthwKE/s1600/10524355_10152802853354961_637978428788200904_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEyIQJYy3UmuGNzW06HHg2fwDWJjLHMdrXTHDD4aLOGcuCi72bT3_kfUWMcEyThKuH-j0cYJb4ADFQequK1knlruaQ8q59Srw9R1pUgbS834MYm27bRsNX3QEv-k_RGdZfEr-bipthwKE/s200/10524355_10152802853354961_637978428788200904_n.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
He is quite compassionate and caring of his doggie sisters, being very gentle, feeding them and loving them any chance he gets. He loves dressing up, especially his hats and loves how everyone tells him that he is cute.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3XAILRBk-9h4NqrqXULYzEUDDhVgm4uj8664yjnP4WygNFitr5sLhyphenhyphenRHoFEjL8jffeHjtiKOr8Jsp_Tkq0Gi2hphA05yK25nhOr8RhOFoT_NaucDewduJ9BIQNnym3zIl1BAN2egPzhEu/s1600/10429267_10152926262114961_2566136617939227412_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3XAILRBk-9h4NqrqXULYzEUDDhVgm4uj8664yjnP4WygNFitr5sLhyphenhyphenRHoFEjL8jffeHjtiKOr8Jsp_Tkq0Gi2hphA05yK25nhOr8RhOFoT_NaucDewduJ9BIQNnym3zIl1BAN2egPzhEu/s200/10429267_10152926262114961_2566136617939227412_n.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
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He loves mental games, like figuring out his letters and numbers, something he had done all on his own. He loves singing and dancing. He is incredibly skilled physically. He learns things, particularly physical things, quickly and with little illustration.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6Rc8QbKJiUGKDGwQmEp4cQYfkuwe_OJOxDZrs_H_aMX0OljkS9ehWsn_iyDAgQoE4h0om1AyKZBeCllMdyLWxhqwOb30QQ1K0OycmcIA_ZN6Xu2rFI7gNVVxsQXNvwIWMpdYRcQ7-MUC/s1600/11138551_10152995029959961_1491351759065415403_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6Rc8QbKJiUGKDGwQmEp4cQYfkuwe_OJOxDZrs_H_aMX0OljkS9ehWsn_iyDAgQoE4h0om1AyKZBeCllMdyLWxhqwOb30QQ1K0OycmcIA_ZN6Xu2rFI7gNVVxsQXNvwIWMpdYRcQ7-MUC/s200/11138551_10152995029959961_1491351759065415403_n.jpg" width="150" /></a>He has a great sense of humor and makes jokes very often (although at his age they are limited to farting, burping and falling - or wait, is that just a male thing?).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKj-tj0Q3v3vz9Fk4KhqpblBg4mS8EgUDwibJnbyI696JEqgYYLvNL3vDDD2FOcQbIP9c4omU0J-vHSRXTegaZ5qHX5cll9kqpILLVvEuUFsqfgijj9zM_WUH3bXG_GdaDVPGeMN-SDwqb/s1600/5319_10152897800869961_4951872031298563642_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKj-tj0Q3v3vz9Fk4KhqpblBg4mS8EgUDwibJnbyI696JEqgYYLvNL3vDDD2FOcQbIP9c4omU0J-vHSRXTegaZ5qHX5cll9kqpILLVvEuUFsqfgijj9zM_WUH3bXG_GdaDVPGeMN-SDwqb/s200/5319_10152897800869961_4951872031298563642_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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He is very interested in my spirituality, reminding me that Buddha tells us to take a breath, playing with my grounding rocks or lighting candles. He is friendly, sweet and enigmatic. His ability to take a photo is way more photogenic than the rest of our family. And he is full of love.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUB50ouwD4S8F9JM7WIY1AXFUde6j-fzHdMcpw8_ozPxaCFczaR5l0P-mRmppmtU4bEKnqjeErYUncVV9LBQe4z_WbIYuprKCf30C9g8oHcTvoj6s4tA1bXX-jb9Q1w6MBJKnkzyTqTnnc/s1600/11152332_10153061424969961_6431083516534417199_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUB50ouwD4S8F9JM7WIY1AXFUde6j-fzHdMcpw8_ozPxaCFczaR5l0P-mRmppmtU4bEKnqjeErYUncVV9LBQe4z_WbIYuprKCf30C9g8oHcTvoj6s4tA1bXX-jb9Q1w6MBJKnkzyTqTnnc/s200/11152332_10153061424969961_6431083516534417199_n.jpg" width="200" /></a> His hugs and kisses are very much the highlights of my days. And he is also sensitive. Sensitive to physical stimuli which is why he is probably so physically skilled.<br />
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He is emotionally sensitive, which is why he is so affectionate and caring of the dogs and why he loves our affection and hugs. He is active and intense, which will make him a great leader. Someone always willing to go the extra mile and figure out problems to better others. And despite how tired I get, I am proud to be his mama.<br />
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-73611115210670353412015-02-06T13:19:00.003-08:002015-02-06T13:28:19.216-08:00Mommyfessions Part II: The Good, The Bad, The Ugly and The Taboo<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, my mother and I were having a conversation the other day. She said to me, "Oh Good - you get to stay home today because of the snow cancellation! That's nice!" Feeling authentic, I said, "No it's not! It's not nice!!" After having the flu (103 fever for 2 days), sharing tasks with my very sick husband, taking care of a sick 2 year old and a sick 7 month old, all the while working and pumping through it, we got our childcare provider sick AND we were snowed in. I never wanted to go to work so badly in my life. It made me think about what mothers REALLY think and how they really feel. I'm about to keep it 100 here, so be forewarned. These are some of my most taboo mommyfessions.</div>
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<b>I would rather sleep than anything else in this world. </b>Seriously. Chocolate, sex, winning the lottery, getting an award. Meeting a hero. Nothing appeals me to but sleep. I made the awesome decision to get pregnant when Wilson had just turned a year old, so if you calculate the last few months of pregnancy with Wilson where I wasn't sleeping well, it's been about 2 years and 8 months since I had a good night's sleep. It's been over 8 months since I slept more than 4 hours of sleep at a time. I pay childcare providers so that I can sleep. On the VERY rare day that Waylon does sleep for more than 4 hours and even when I could get sleep, I either here phantom crying or my overproduction of breastmilk wakes me up so that I go pump. Sometimes, I daydream about going to bed and just sleeping for a year. THAT is my dirtiest fantasy now: sleeping alone. </div>
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<b>My favorite activity is going to a restaurant to work. By Myself.</b> Over sabbatical, I started doing this and found that it was so amazing. In my twenties, I would have hated going out to eat by myself. Now, it's beautiful. Like an amazing overseas vacation. No one talks to me or asks me for anything. I get waited on. I can go to the bathroom whenever I would like. I can work or check my email without a child lunging for my computer and sending an email that says, "Hi! Just chekcingowhgoiawehgoaehroihrgnhorhgoeiahgoihx98f." It's happened. </div>
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<b>Pumping breastmilk has become my "me time". </b>That's so sad, but true. I exclusively pump and provide milk for both my 2 year old and my 8 month old. It's free, super healthy and very luckily, plentiful. But it's work. So when I pump, I watch Netflix, check Facebook, try to half sleep, read, do something for myself while the little whirring motor rhythmically sucks out my energy. I feel that's fair. If the kids are with me while I pump, they can quietly sit by me, but the minute they start crawling on me or pulling at the tubes (a favorite of Waylon's), I'm screaming for Mike to come get them. Because if I'm going to feed the family, I should get 20 minutes to sort of relax. I pump so much that since Waylon has been born, I have watched all of the seasons of Sons of Anarchy, Medium, Roswell, Crossing Jordan, Law & Order SVU, The Glades, The United States of Tara, Orange is the New Black, Girls, Fringe, The L Word, and am currently finishing Criminal Minds. Thinking of going for Breaking Bad next. That's just so sad.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.southernct.edu/academics/schools/education/departments/counseling/files/images/ginicola.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://www.southernct.edu/academics/schools/education/departments/counseling/files/images/ginicola.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Faculty Picture<br />
Note the happiness.</td></tr>
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<b>I LOVE going to work. </b>Like love it. I can go to the bathroom when I like, am not screamed at, get to feel productive, eat when I would like, sit at my desk being cerebral, write thoughtful and intelligent work and feel successful. I'm home with the kids for most of the week. Let's recap last Tuesday with the boys for an example. I wake up, pump, put bottles away, get breakfast for Wilson (as he screams CEREAL, CEREAL!!! at me), while simultaneously ensuring Waylon isn't falling down the heating register (one of his new pastimes) or trying to hold Waylon at the same time (because once he gets tired, he follows me around pulling on my pant leg and loudly communicating his annoyance for not picking him up). Then I try to get Wilson to play with something quietly while I put Waylon down for his morning nap. He has a great paint with water activity, but if I leave the table, he pours food in the paint water. If I sit at the table, Waylon won't sleep, but will grab at the paint bowl to try to eat it. To which Wilson will either yell "NO WAYLIE!!" or try to slap at him, while I'm wrestling the baby away from the table. So I give him his alphabet apps on his iPhone. He plays those, but it has to be at the highest volume, so Waylon can't sleep then either. I try to get him playing with his trucks, but then Wilson crashes them against walls, together, my foot. Then he runs around manically with his shopping cart, screeching at the top of his voice, falling over, running into cupboards and giggling loudly. Waylon is exhausted, but won't go to sleep, so I am rocking him and he's drinking his bottle while pulling my hair, grasping at my lips or trying to pinch my nose. Sometimes Wilson wants me to hold him WHILE I'm trying to get Waylon to sleep, so I get to try to hold two boys on my lap, while trying to strategically keep them from striking distance from each other. And by the way, it's only 8 a.m. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwLYf3IlRUNiwzP4MkTqyUDROmSmXUXGxxnHNsFwOOxWg98xx_BtfW8cpntZYjzw9pZZBBp8Omsjb_AIhzU3kRfox0KQeCTytGE3MiM50y4Q4bhlSIrM_5HhR3RdeQlXdvK982JcUh_sZ/s1600/IMG_0973.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwLYf3IlRUNiwzP4MkTqyUDROmSmXUXGxxnHNsFwOOxWg98xx_BtfW8cpntZYjzw9pZZBBp8Omsjb_AIhzU3kRfox0KQeCTytGE3MiM50y4Q4bhlSIrM_5HhR3RdeQlXdvK982JcUh_sZ/s1600/IMG_0973.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike babywearing Waylon<br />
while carrying Wilson on<br />
his shoulders while letting <br />
me get some sleep. <br />
Seriously, a superhero.</td></tr>
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<b>I am a neglectful wife. </b>My husband is super man. He goes to work, takes care of bills, is a true co-parent and helps out with the kids whenever needed, gets up early if I need a break from overnight baby duty, is loving and helps out around the house continually. But between pumping over 60 ounces of milk a day, working 3 jobs, corralling a 2 year old, caring for an 8 month old, cosleeping for 8 months with a baby, getting minimal sleep for 2+ years, working hard with consistent intervention strategies to make Wilson an empathic, happy and self-regulated boy, cleaning up after the Wilwind and his tendency to tear his play room apart, taking care of dogs, tending to students' needs, preparing for presentations, writing my book and other publications, checking email, preparing for committees, along with the other 200 things that I am responsible for, I have NOTHING left. I have got an exhausted hug, a kiss and a "how was your day?" while I peer out from the luggage under my eyes and try to stay focused for the answer. I've started getting weekly childcare for my husband and I to have dates or time together because I know that it takes more than a passing hug to keep a marriage whole. And I love him very much. And he can never leave because I would die as a single mother. </div>
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<b>My hero is my childcare provider. </b>Seriously, when she comes in three days a week, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. I can either get sleep, go to work or you know, pee or get a glass of water for myself. Taking care of two active boys is intense and I thank the universe (and her) everyday that I have someone to watch the kids. She loves the kids, they love her, she keeps them busy and SOMEHOW always finds time to do my dishes. Screw Batman. This woman is seriously amazing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih4qpY5K6-98QAjp4p27YRhKgrr6iYkioXHypYayP_jYhyphenhyphenAgqEDC_8R-uksGwyjaI3Fkn4IYWau3OHhn2lizT6uXNP5apbgzZ0-6NWEbz4YQh2z9vHWhgfzGlw9ZfhBUOg7WRuplSa3SQD/s1600/IMG_2687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih4qpY5K6-98QAjp4p27YRhKgrr6iYkioXHypYayP_jYhyphenhyphenAgqEDC_8R-uksGwyjaI3Fkn4IYWau3OHhn2lizT6uXNP5apbgzZ0-6NWEbz4YQh2z9vHWhgfzGlw9ZfhBUOg7WRuplSa3SQD/s1600/IMG_2687.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><b> </b><br />
<b>The little moments with the kids make it almost worth it. </b>The little smiles, hugs, watching them do something amazing, hearing Wilson say something sweet, putting puzzles together, watching them grow, getting a sweet kiss, seeing that you are their world makes you momentarily feel great about being a parent. Then they smack you in the face and the moment is over. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOoq0t3nbFQGoufTEFIPuYRDmqz8G0Yc37_gynEk6JyK3Bh5XYgDSG7sQfEzQYj87ASWPt_gZEXGvtNxVgmC8lfUh1N5P2tfQAt8J3Os-U0r8I0DnFz77jqqb26uENSM4n4vKhbSKvY18/s1600/IMG_2397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOoq0t3nbFQGoufTEFIPuYRDmqz8G0Yc37_gynEk6JyK3Bh5XYgDSG7sQfEzQYj87ASWPt_gZEXGvtNxVgmC8lfUh1N5P2tfQAt8J3Os-U0r8I0DnFz77jqqb26uENSM4n4vKhbSKvY18/s1600/IMG_2397.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><b>I wouldn't have it any other way.</b> Here's the absolute crazy thing. I wouldn't. I love parenting a highly sensitive, high maintenance and demanding Wilson. He teaches me everyday something new and has made me a better counselor/psychologist educator and counselor myself. I understand him and his father in a way that I didn't anticipate after learning about his temperament and his sensitivity to incoming data/information. I love having a baby and seeing how much Waylon is like me. I love sleeping with him at night and the little cuddles he gives me while softly touching my face. I love when Wilson does something sweet like brush my hair or kiss Waylie on the head. I love my teaching, my students, my research, my work at Yale, my committee work, my writing, my publications and presentations, and my counseling work. I miss the kids when I am not with them, but feel so good that I am contributing to my students' lives and all the lives of their clients. I love my husband more and more each day -- and am thankful that he is just as tired as I am, so he doesn't blame me for not putting enough effort into our marriage. He sees my gratitude for him, my giving him self-care time, my love -- and for now, that is enough. I would like more sleep, but I wouldn't want anyone else getting up to comfort my infant sons during the night. Those memories of cuddles, of soft kisses, of cosleeping while holding onto one another will stay with me forever. The boys have made me a better, more thoughtful and mature person in ways I didn't even know could exist. I may be completely and utterly exhausted, but I am a whole person: a mother, a teacher, a researcher, a counselor, spiritual, complete and fulfilled. And I'm betting grown children and retirement will also be pretty fulfilling... at least I'll get more sleep.</div>
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-22796743286125251232014-11-24T12:21:00.001-08:002014-11-24T17:48:39.384-08:00Avoiding Behavioral Problems: Keeping the Tots Busy<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now that Wilson has been significantly more cooperative after the implementation of <a href="http://meaninginparenting.blogspot.com/2014/09/calm-down-time.html" target="_blank">calm down corner</a>, we now have invested in quiet table activities that are sensory-based and can keep Wilson's attention, especially when we need to be doing other things. </div>
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The key to the success of these activities are that they are kept in a separate area from the other toys; we pull down one at a time and work with it for a finite amount of time before we clean it up and move on to something else. When he starts to get upset, I will suggest calming down or playing with a sensory toy and he immediately stops. He also independently asks me to get a toy down if he wants to play with it as well. If your child is younger or has limited verbal abilities, it can help to use pictures of the toys so that they can point or bring you a picture of what they want. </div>
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Along with the readily available calm down box, one of our first toys on our sensory bookshelf is a rice box. Easy to make and super fun for the kids. I took a plastic shoe box and filled it with rice (or couscous if you want to make it feel like sand) and put in a few cups and sea creatures. You can create different colors or make it into a bin for longer play. Either way, you will need an old sheet or blanket to put underneath the play area because it can get messy!</div>
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Our second toy on the shelf is play-doh. It is sensory-based, lots of fun and has interactive toys. I also purchased some safety scissors that he can use to cut the play-doh, since he loves interacting with the play-doh and cutting. It helps keep them focused, stimulates the tactile and visual senses. This is one of Wilson's favorites.</div>
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We also have several sound puzzles. These make loud noises when you put the piece in. These help develop focus, fine motor skills and keep the kids quiet and engaged. Wilson particularly likes the vehicle puzzle, but Melissa & Doug have several versions.</div>
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Another of Wil's favorite sensory toys is putty. It's stretchy and an interesting feeling; it helps focus, ground and keeps interest as it excites the tactile senses. Also, we hide objects (like pennies) in it so that we can dig through it to find them, then hide them again. This is a great calm-down toy as well (helpful when they are feeling over-stimulated, anxious or upset).</div>
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We also have a plastic box full of ultra-washable markers, colored pencils, crayons, safety scissors, a jumbo coloring pad, drawing paper and construction paper for Wilson to use to express his creative side. Another big favorite. </div>
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Paint with water books are fun, non-messy and help access that creative side. We have a few of these along with some preschool paintbrushes. Add water in a small cup and fun time begins!</div>
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Potato heads are also a big hit with Wilson; and they require quiet, focused concentration and play. </div>
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We have two of these skills boards that help keep him engaged and work on fine motor skills. These ones they usually need some help with at first, so it's not a completely independent activity.</div>
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Another activity that he likes is fingerpainting. We have a giant pad, washable fingerpaint colors and a smock to protect his clothes. We pour the paints on a paper plate and cover the table and let him go to town on the paper. He's actually much more cautious and deliberate with this activity than I would have thought. It helps to focus him, stimulate tactile senses and feed his creative side.</div>
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Melissa and Doug (who I love, by the way) have various reusable sticker pads which can help create lots of fun for little ones to create scenes -- and again -- help focus and calm, which is the key for all of these activities.</div>
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Magnetic dress up play helps develop creativity, focus and fine motor skills. I love this set for Wilson; the only thing that could be better is if Melissa and Doug had equally interesting dress up for a girl doll. I was a little miffed that she doesn't get superhero and fireman; she gets pink clothes, ballerina gear and princess dresses. Not cool, but that is another blog altogether...</div>
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Lacing beads are also a great activity. They require fine motor skills, focus, calm and are a great quiet table activity. Wilson loves the challenge of these and keeps going until all the beads are on the string. </div>
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Peg boards are another tool that I got from the Occupational Therapist. They are fun, sensory-based, good learning tools and keep their attention and focus. A nice toy to take for travel as well - if you are planning on dining out, etc.</div>
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Sorting puzzles are helpful, calming, help with fine motor skills and are learning activities at the same time. There are a wide variety of these puzzles available - different varieties of the sorting puzzle are available at many locations -- just remember the key is keeping it special and only played with when requested.</div>
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Kinetic sand kits are amazing. The feeling of kinetic sand is a crazy sensory experience. Then playing with this in an easy, non-messy, creative way is incredibly engaging for little ones (I love these too!).</div>
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This pounding bench is the toddler equivalent to a punching bag. Great for getting out frustration and finding a way to giggle - even when you are feeling mad. </div>
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Wilson LOVES cutting things - probably because as a toddler, he is never allowed to touch knives, but sees us cut things all the time. This kit gives them the opportunity to feel like they are doing a big person activity, while working on fine motor skills. They may need help with this at first as they learn how to hold the wooden knife and push it between the food parts (which are held together by velcro).</div>
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This company has a few kits which are nice to take with you for travel - particularly eating out. I find when we are waiting for our meal, Wilson gets the most agitated, but keep him busy and he's laughing, sweet and engaged.</div>
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These toys, in addition to the calm down kit, have been a lifesaver. These are giving Wilson a positive outlet for all of his energy, help with calming down, a learning tool and a developmentally-based skill-builders! I love the positivity of these sensory methods because you are teaching them how to use external objects to help cope with strong emotions and building self-esteem. I always say that the best adult characteristics (i.e., being independent, knowing what you want, motivated, creative, investigatory, etc.) are the worst toddler characteristics for parents. Keeping a calm down and sensory activity library help you enjoy these toddler characteristics and keep your own sanity as an adult. Important things.<br />
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<i>You can view my Pinterest board on sensory toys here: <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/mginicola/dealing-with-behavior-problems-in-toddlers/">http://www.pinterest.com/mginicola/dealing-with-behavior-problems-in-toddlers/</a></i><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/mginicola/dealing-with-behavior-problems-in-toddlers/" target="_blank"> </a></div>
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-14389882896018717102014-10-14T11:43:00.002-07:002014-10-14T11:46:04.058-07:00Breaking My Silence: CIO<div style="text-align: justify;">
There has been so much discussion lately about cry it out (CIO) as a form of sleep training. Particularly since there have been a few recent studies suggesting it does no harm and it has been a topic of conversation, it has bothered me immensely - both personally and as a developmental psychologist. I usually keep my personal parenting practices on controversial topics to myself, but in a moment of inspiration this morning, I've decided that I'm going to share my personal and then my professional (which does differ) philosophy as a developmental psychologist about it. </div>
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First, I do want to say that there is a difference between cry it out and staying in the room with them to support them - also there is a difference between fussing and crying. So if you leave them to work it out when they are "fussing" that is not CIO. Pure CIO, which I am going to comment on here, is the screaming and cries you hear which initially increase when the child realizes that no one is coming and then they gradually decrease until the cries are extinguished as a behavior. There has been some <a href="http://www.parentingscience.com/Ferber-method.html" target="_blank">research on this topic</a> and a great amount of discourse among psychologists on the topic.</div>
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Personally, I don't use cry it out for three main reasons: </div>
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<li>I don't believe that infants and toddlers cry for no reason. It is scientifically supported that infants cannot manipulate because they don't really have an understanding of separation of themselves from their caregiver (called theory of mind). So, if they are crying, they need something - a hug, food, a diaper change or they are sick. Some kids are incredibly needy at nighttime (I had one of these - he didn't sleep through the night until 1 year old and often got up 4 to 5 times every night - it sucked) leading us to think that something we are doing MUST be wrong. But some kids just suck at sleeping and need a huge amount of support. My second son already sleeps better than my oldest did at a year old. And I have done NOTHING differently.</li>
<li>Only a small portion of world cultures would even entertain the idea of CIO. Coming from a collectivist perspective, this idea of just letting your child cry to teach them something was literally foreign. You immediately respond to a baby's cries because something is wrong. CIO is pretty much an American (and some European countries) phenomenon. It speaks to the cultural ideal of independence which pervades these same countries - other countries are collectivist and interdependent. Coming from my perspective as a collectivist, I always thought it was incredibly weird that we expected babies (who were just inside of us) to be independent sleepers in a cold foreign environment without us almost immediately. Infants have a biological imperative to sleep next to mom for safety, security and attachment. It is reasonable to think that they need to time and support (which may take a year or more) to detach and sleep independently.</li>
<li>My Motto for parenting is "Everything I do teaches them something". It's an annoying reminder to myself that I can't just tell my child what is right; I have to look at what I am doing at all times and what message it sends. One of the largest lessons I want my children to learn from me is empathy - to be sensitive always to the needs of others, be kind and respectful. To me, ignoring cries, under any circumstances, doesn't teach this - it teaches that it is perfectly acceptable to ignore the pain of others in some situations. I personally can't imagine listening to a crying adult and saying, "I think you can
handle this independently; I'm going to leave the room now so you can
self-soothe..." Since empathy is my number one goal for my children, this is something I never want them to hear from my behavior. I sincerely believe the world would be a much better place if everyone had empathy for each other. </li>
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That's my biased personal philosophy. Now here's my professional opinion as a developmental psychologist.<br />
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<li>It is highly doubtful that you can harm your child with a few days of cry it out <u><b>given that they are over 6 months of age (some research suggest a year), have an easy temperament AND that this method does not pervade into the daytime</b></u>. Children are incredibly resilient and outside of biological conditions, only sustained trauma can typically cause developmental harm and delays. Please note that I said easy temperament - you can absolutely harm children with slow to warm or difficult temperaments by not being responsive. Children who are slow to warm need an increased level of support due to an increased inborn anxiety. Ignoring them will INCREASE that anxiety that could reach threshold for a mental health disorder. When a child develops a mental health disorder like anxiety, it is more likely that they will have that disorder their entire life, will have a more severe form of the condition and will need more intensive treatment. A child with a difficult temperament has a decreased or completely lacking ability to self-regulate; this means that they CANNOT self-soothe. Ignoring them will only lead to them becoming more angry and potentially aggressive. Wilson unfortunately fell into that category, making the first 2 years of his life a freaking nightmare of sleep problems. There were some nights that I had to wake Mike up because I wanted to throw him down the stairs. Not kidding. Between the sleep deprivation, stress and difficulty trying to help a child with no self-soothing and sleep issues, I simply couldn't take it sometimes. But that is why it is so important to get support. When I got to that place, I would set him back down, run and get Mike and say, "Tag, you're it. Peace. I'm out."</li>
<li>I don't think that CIO is the best option for baby, but sometimes parents need a relief from the strictures of modern parenting without a community of support. Without the help of family, friends or a co-parent, you may have limited options. If your choice is no sleep and potentially becoming depressed because you have no support, I would say that CIO is a viable option. Because as a depressed caregiver, you are going to do more harm to attachment than CIO could (with an easy tempered baby). As a developmental psychologist, I would suggest <a href="http://www.parentingscience.com/bed-sharing.html" target="_blank">safe co-sleeping first</a>, however; since this usually helps mom sleep better, keeps the responsiveness there and is also used successfully in the vast number of cultures around the world. </li>
<li>It is important that parents understand this is NOT teaching "self-soothing". This is extinguishing a behavior, pure and simple. They learn that crying does not work to bring aid during the night. It does not teach what to do instead, so you could end up with a variety of outcomes - including increased anxiety, behavioral problems, insomnia and other sleep issues OR self-soothing. Easy children typically can self-soothe to begin with, so they just use that as their replacement behavior. So in other words again, temperament matters.</li>
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I think that this is such a controversial issue because in one extreme perspective, it causes harm and is neglectful. In another, it is the responsible way to make your child independent. Personally and professionally, I do not want any parent to feel judged for making a responsible decision about their child - and unfortunately these conversations usually go in that direction. When it comes to the utility of CIO, I would say, as any good psychologist would, that IT DEPENDS. It depends on temperament, your situation and your parenting philosophy. It also sucks to think that we could be doing something that has harmed our child, as the culture is constantly blaming caregivers - particularly mothers - for everything and expecting them to be perfect, leading to increase depression and anxiety among mothers. Honestly, these conversations make me long for the days where there was more daytime and nighttime community and family support for mothers. Which is why, at the end of the day, I always say, I trust that responsible parents make the right decisions for their own children - just follow your instincts!!Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-64764212721350528612014-09-24T20:19:00.001-07:002016-04-26T10:10:57.209-07:00Calm Down TimeSince I spoke about our calm down box in my<a href="http://meaninginparenting.blogspot.com/2014/09/mommyfessions.html" target="_blank"> latest post</a>, I figured I would write a quick post on our calm down box which has been very successful with Wilson thus far. I keep all his special activities in plastic shoe boxes. These used to
hold my epic collection of hot shoes. Now, they hold toddler activities.
Oh, how life has changed...<br />
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We bought a cheap bean bag for him to relax in if he likes during calm down time. It's comfy and meets some of his tactile and auditory sensory needs.<br />
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This book, part of a Toddler Tools series, is amazing. It is rhythmic, fun for kids to look at, describes emotions and cool-down techniques. It is developmentally appropriate and gives parent tips at the end as well. Wilson's favorite part is "One...Two...Three... I'm taking care of me!" I sit with Wilson during calm down time and offer support if he wants it. Usually, he likes me to read this book to him a few times. But sometimes, he looks through it himself and does his breathing on his own.<br />
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<span id="goog_1298829951"></span><span id="goog_1298829952"></span>These puffer balls are great! You can squeeze them, feel them, touch them to your skin. Wilson likes to hold them to his neck and push them together. Also another sensory-based toy that helps refocus.<br />
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This is something even I love to play with - it's called a Tangle Jr. You can pull it, twist it and make different shapes and tangles. This one is a fuzzy one, which adds to the sensory experience.<br />
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I also have a stress ball in the kit to help alleviate frustration and get rid of angry energy. I taught him to "sqqquuuueeeeeeezzzzzze" it emphatically, using his whole body. He loves this, says 'squeeze it' very dramatically and giggles.<br />
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A calm down bottle made with sparklies and glitter glue (I bought mine because I'm not crafty!!) is a nice addition. It provides visual stimulation that visualize calming down. Wilson likes to shake it up, then watch it quietly as the glitter moves slowly.<br />
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I included a few "pop toobs". These are just plastic toys that you can pull apart and push together and they make noise. Gives some attention to the auditory senses and allows their hands to be busy with something. Pushing it together and then pulling it out again seems to be very satisfying for Wilson!<br />
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I put a few pinwheels in this kit. I have him take a deep breath in, then blow on the front of the pinwheel to make it twirl. He loves watching it and is taking important deep breaths meanwhile, which help him calm.<br />
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Some colorful feathers allow him some sensory tactile input, but also can be blown on to practice breathing as well!<br />
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I put some lavender oil on these silk flowers and taught him how to smell the flowers deeply through his nose, then let out a deep sigh. The lavender oil helps relaxation and he is doing deep cleansing breaths without knowing it!<br />
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My pinterest board on my <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/mginicola/calm-down-corner/" target="_blank">Calm Down Corner</a> has links on where I bought everything (very cheaply I might add!). After he is feeling better, we will pick up all the toys and put them back in the box. I keep it out of his reach, but he can ask for it anytime and I always offer it to him when he starts to get upset. It's amazing to watch him start to struggle with his emotions, then quickly run over to calm down time to reset and get control of his emotions: A bonding experience that is empowering for both of us with no power struggles.<br />
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<a data-pin-board-width="400" data-pin-do="embedBoard" data-pin-scale-height="200" data-pin-scale-width="80" href="http://www.pinterest.com/mginicola/calm-down-corner/">Follow Misty's board Calm Down Corner on Pinterest.</a><!-- Please call pinit.js only once per page --><script async="" src="//assets.pinterest.com/js/pinit.js" type="text/javascript"></script>Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-29402802378049916142014-09-24T18:23:00.000-07:002014-09-24T18:34:05.445-07:00Mommyfessions<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, it's time I made some mommy confessions. Some of you know that I've been going through a tough time with Wilson. If you read my blog, you know that I talk about Wilson's "difficult" temperament (sometimes endlessly, I know). We knew from birth that Wilson was a bit different and had higher needs, to say the least. This is him at 4 months old.<br />
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Yes, that is him yelling at a toy. At 4 months old, he was MAD at a toy because it did not conform to his ways. He did not smile a lot during this time; never heard a giggle from him until he was a toddler. He's always had trouble regulating everything: eating, sleeping, his emotions, particularly his anger. It was cute when he was little; not so cute as a toddler.<br />
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Mommyfession #1: I did not enjoy spending time with my son.</h4>
In response to his high needs and difficult temperament, we've been patient, responsive and took a positive, parenting approach. Reinforcement and natural consequences. We swooned every time he did something great; if he was misusing something, he lost it if he didn't correct his behavior. If he did something wrong, we used correction, making him do it over again the right way. It's not that our positive parenting thing was perfect; believe me, we've yelled. We've said "NO!!" and "STOP" more times than we can
count...in a day. But overall, we try using the positive way; instead of saying,
"Don't put your hands there," we would say, "Keep your hands to
yourself, please!" But our positive parenting became more "work" than our jobs. I would be exhausted by the end of the day because we were always "on". We were trying to phrase commands correctly and keep up with his boundless energy and limitless talent for pushing every boundary and finding trouble wherever he could. We were constantly chasing him. We lived in a fully gated prison-like environment because he had outsmarted all of our locks and gates. Mike had to take the handles off of the drawers in the kitchen because he would use them to climb up to get on the counter. He frantically pushed buttons, stole phones and keys, threw things, grabbed plugs, broke things. It never ended. Now, I want to be clear: we NEVER let him get away with anything. We were always right there, stopping him, making him do things over, correcting him, setting boundaries, taking things away. And our frustration of his desires was evident: he had over 20 full-blown tantrums a day. He kicked, he hit. He collapsed on the ground and threw his head onto the floor. He would even punch himself in the head because he got so angry and frustrated. The only way to avoid the misery was to keep him active and moving from activity to activity in a new place.<br />
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When I was pregnant in my third trimester, I just couldn't do this and thus suffered every day with Wilson and his endless emotional deregulation. After the baby, the only way Mike survived was to take him out pretty much all the time. His entire summer was spent running around to parks, the mall, grocery shopping and doing various errands to keep him occupied. But neither of us could watch both kids together for very long. Wilson would not cooperate in the slightest and it was too frustrating. Our days, from start to finish, were exhausting misery. We would
split up our time with Wilson, tagging in the other parent when one
parent frankly wanted to strangle him or have a dissociative fugue and abandon the whole family. <br />
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Don't get me wrong. There were moments of pure joy. Wilson has a great sense of humor, is creative, smart and LOVES electronics, music and water with such pure abandon. We loved him intensely, but over the summer, neither Mike nor I were eager to spend time with Wilson, which of course wracked us with guilt. We did not realize <i>how</i> difficult he actually was until we had Waylon. Way was calm, flexible and social. He slept well, was smiley and giggly. He was affectionate, sweet and loving. Waylon was like a self-cleaning oven that just liked to be held a lot. Wilson was like a oven that caught fire every time you looked at it. We found ourselves loving time with Waylon, less so with Wilson. More guilt.<br />
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When fall started to approach, we enlisted help to remain sane. We knew
we needed a village to raise this kid, so we have a babysitter who takes
him out for a few hours every morning and then comes back so that I give him his
lunch and then put him down for a nap. Then we spent the nights together
once Mike got home so we did not have to juggle Wilson and our newborn.
But after 10 minutes at home in the afternoon, I would be looking at the clock to see when nap time was. More guilt.<br />
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Mommyfession #2: I had nothing left in my toolbelt. </h4>
I used all of my considerable toolbelt to help him learn to regulate his emotions and behavior. I have worked with children with special needs (autism, emotional disturbance, intellectual disability), massive behavioral disorders and mental health issues. <u><b>I have an amazing toolbelt.</b></u> I consult with parents on all sorts of problems for all different types of children at various ages. Successfully. But improvement with Wilson was slow and incremental. One step forward, then two steps back. Something would start to work, then stop. We did see progress though: his temper tantrums moved from being 30 minutes long to less than a minute. He stopped hitting, biting, pinching - all lovely things to go through as a parent. But in the end, he still had over 20 tantrums a day - over-reacting or breaking down at the slightest frustration.<br />
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I don't use corporal punishment, nor do I philosophically agree with punishment, based on years of research and what matched my own personality and style. Even so, we were so desperate we did dabble in time-out. Not only did it not work for him, he
escalated. It amounted to 45 minutes of me holding him while he was
screaming, crying hysterically and sweating profusely. There is <a href="http://blogs.babycenter.com/mom_stories/whats-wrong-with-time-outs-0924-2014/" target="_blank">some good research</a> on why this does not work for some kids; apparently mine was one.<br />
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I have always believed in a scaffolding approach, which helped resolve his eating and sleeping issues. Basically, we looked at what he was able to do at that moment. For example, he could not for the life of him, put himself to sleep. So I would rock him until he was asleep, which usually took 30 minutes. Then the next night, 28 minutes, then 26 minutes and so on. We finally got down to 2 minutes and he began liking to lay down by himself. Then I cut out the rocking and laid down by him for 10 minutes. Then 8 minutes, etc. Until he didn't need us anymore. So scaffolding believes in your child's needs (that they are real and sincere), meets them where they are at, and slowly detracts support as they become more independent. It is INCREDIBLY hard work, but it is a real investment. When it pays off, it is huge. Wilson now goes to bed happily at 7:30 p.m. after a book and being tucked in and gets up at 7 a.m. He often wakes up once - hungry or thirsty - in the middle of the night so we bring him up a bottle and hand it to him. He takes it and goes right back down in his bed. He typically takes 3 hour naps and goes down the same way. He rivals any other 2-year-old for how cooperative he is at bedtime and how much of a good sleeper he is now.<br />
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But, I had no idea how to do this approach with teaching him to self-regulate his emotions. I tried taking breaths, taking space, massage, support, etc. He still got frustrated and angry at the drop of a hat. He could not calm down when angry; and he lost all of his ability to speak and use his words. It was never that he was trying to be manipulative or trying to be a
pain. I could see the pain in his eyes as he lost his words when he
wanted something. How his "tantrums" were hurting him too. He was in so
much pain and would hurt himself rather than us. I was sad for him. And
felt horrible that I, as a Yale-trained developmental psychologist was
out of ideas.<br />
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Mommyfession #3: I needed help. </h4>
Since I'm in the field and was at a loss myself, it was time to get help. Connecticut is a great state for this - they have the <a href="http://www.ctunitedway.org/cdi.html" target="_blank">child development 211 system</a> and <a href="http://www.birth23.org/" target="_blank">birth to three</a>. I called and made an appointment for an assessment as he turned 2 years old. I think it is always hard for parents to realize that they need help or their child is not "normal"; but honestly, the earlier you can do the intervention, the better. And you are not alone. Every child needs something - whether it's something normative like being shy or having lower self-esteem; or something like a learning disability, a mental health issue, Autism or speech issues. These things are not a reflection on you as a parent; I watched my baby have these issues within months of his birth. Temperament is stronger than you can imagine.<br />
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So, birth to three came out for a FREE (!) assessment. Wilson was assessed on several areas of development. His physical abilities were on par for his age; his verbal abilities were significantly higher. He did not have any Autistic symptoms. He was above 85% of his peers in expressive language and almost 99% of his peers in receptive language (really need to watch what I say around him now...). But his self-regulation, particularly his emotional regulation, was 3 Standard Deviations BELOW the mean for kids his age. Even if you don't know exactly what that means, it sounds bad and it is bad. I'm not sure he could get any lower. As hard as that was to hear, it was a relief. It was NOT just us - there was a problem. When they selected a therapist for Wilson, I was relieved that they picked an Occupational Therapist, not a Behaviorist. Because if someone gave me a behavior plan, I might smack them myself.<br />
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But happily, they gave us Miss Elaine. She came once a week for one hour. She watched Wilson and then brought multiple ideas on how to get his language moving when he is frustrated. She described it as his brain was short-circuiting (emotion part of the brain blocking his cognitive and language centers) when he was frustrated. She pointed out how he lost his language and would shut down. I had seen it before, but was unsure of what was happening. She helped us focus on sensory activities that could keep him engaged and focused, particularly when we needed some time or space to get things done. She also revealed a scaffolding approach that I had not thought of: we introduce low levels of frustration and help him keep his words and extend his patience. So we began playing "your turn, my turn" where to take his turn with something he had to either say it or sign it. We also play with some toys (like puzzles, etc.) with him and keep all the parts. We give him two choices on what he wants and then wait for him to use his words to get the piece. We began to see some immediate improvement, but still saw that quick frustration.<br />
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So after one visit, I bought the very cheap sensory toys from amazon that she had tried out with him and worked well. We have a sensory box (rice with ocean animals in it) that we put over a sheet and he can play and feel the rice and use cups to scoop it. We have a calm down box that has several sensory toys in it, along with a calm down book. I bought Mr. and Mrs. Potato head since he loved those. I also bought some art supplies (jumbo coloring book and a writing pad). And we have several learning games on our iPad. On my own I did some research and I bought props that help us teach him deep breathing: a feather, a pinwheel and a silk flower which has lavender oil on it. <br />
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One morning shortly after starting to see Elaine I noticed that Wilson did not have a tantrum. He was helpful, easy to engage. He helped me cook breakfast and happily ate it. That night, I revealed the new toys to him and we separated them out into boxes. He loved his calm down book - made me read it three times and repeated the great saying "1..2..3.. I'm taking care of me.." and then took a deep breath. He tested out everything and helped clean up things easily. Then he did something that changed everything for me. He took three of the sensory balls that I had gotten him and squooshed them into his neck and said, "Mommy...happy! Happy, happy!" Mike and I have often talked about the lack of happiness in Wilson; it's not that he can't be funny - he is. He can laugh and does. But he is so serious and frustrated most of the time, that happiness isn't something he really does. But he was right, for the first time he was able to use his words to communicate his emotions and he was - happy.<br />
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The help we got for Wilson is working. He's have almost no tantrums every day, using his calm down corner, learning how to use his words or communicate when he is frustrated, listening and behaving well. He communicates displeasure with a "ohhhh nooooo" now and moves on. He is happy and we can easily manage both kids now when one parent is on their own. He uses his sensory toys often and can sit and focus on the ricebox, play-doh, putty or art for long periods of time. He will ask for his calm down box and take deep breaths as he looks through the contents. </div>
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But it changed more than Wilson. I began feeling like an effective parent again. I enjoyed spending time with him. He was flourishing and so were we. I loved our play times, practicing breathing and yoga. I loved seeing how he grows. His language improved. He is showing more empathy every day. With just a little outside, non-biased help, we were able to see that he had some sensory needs that we weren't meeting - that we didn't know how. </div>
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We've still got a long way to go, but I know we'll make it. I know lots of parents end up getting help for their kids and feel embarrassed about it. But in the end, early intervention helps and avoids later problems. So rather than pretend our children and parenting are perfect, I think we should all 'fess up and support each other. And most importantly, we must learn how to meet the needs of our children in a way that helps build their self esteem; we must learn to accept and enjoy the unique individuals that they are.<br />
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-63269309887035690712014-08-27T14:28:00.001-07:002014-08-27T17:29:25.143-07:00Breastfeeding is Natural and Beautiful... Or Not.<div style="text-align: justify;">
So it's been over 3 months postpartum from Waylon and I'm almost resolved with my initial breastfeeding troubles. So, how, you ask, could this experience be worse than with Wilson, who never latched, looked at my boob like a monster that wanted to eat him, where I had undersupply, had to pump every 2 hours to get my supply up to 20/25 ounces a day and had a case of mastitis along with a blood blister on the nipple (something which should not be possible, I think)? Even given that, I exclusively pumped for a year, until I got pregnant with Waylon. How could it be worse? Well buckle up; I'm about to take you on my natural and beautiful breastfeeding journey with Waylon.</div>
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During pregnancy, I felt hopeful! Instead of a size L bra (I kid you not) like last time, I was a double J. Almost immediately after having Waylon, he latched beautifully. We spent 3 days in breastfeeding bliss, he latched, I was producing colustrum and transitional milk well and I finally got to feel the oxytocin and feeling of utter (ha!) love burst from breastfeeding my baby (rather than the mechanical pump, which does not feel as good). It was beautiful... those 3 days. The following are a timeline of events following these three days of bliss. <br />
<ul>
<li>Waylon kept latching...every hour. My nipples were so sore that I had a dream that I sprouted a third nipple...and I was happy. Seriously. I woke up sad that it wasn't true.</li>
<li>On Night 4, Waylon started crying at the breast. I gave him expressed milk in a dropper and he still acted upset. I finally broke down and gave him the milk in a bottle and he gobbled it up. At 2 a.m. I woke up Mike to get some back-up formula because he was acting super hungry. Mike was thrilled at the early-hour request, but ran to the 24-hour CVS and brought back some formula. </li>
<li>My milk came in. A lot of milk. Like 60 ounces a day, cow-on-the-dairy-farm amount. I begrudgingly got out my trusty old breast pump since Waylon was not latching. We also had to buy a stand alone freezer just to house the inordinate amounts of milk I was making. Last time, I had too little milk. This time too much. I was the Goldi-tits of breastfeeding.</li>
<li>Went to the renown <a href="http://www.breastfeedingresources.com/" target="_blank">Breastfeeding Resources</a>
(Dr. Smillie's office), they said Waylon's latch was great, but my one
nipple was too big for him and he had bruised it. In case you were wondering, yes a bruise on the nipple hurts. And although he was an average weight, he was acting like he was underweight, which they
expected to stop in a few weeks.</li>
<li>On Doctor's instructions, I took mint and sage teas to lower my production. Didn't even make a dent. It continued to increase. I had to take Sudafed for several days to get my production down to 50 ounces a day. </li>
<li>I pumped 5 times a day and having grabbed my pump bag from a year before, I did not think about the flange size (the part that connects to your nipple). The year before I had switched to a smaller size after my milk supply and subsequent bra size had gone down significantly. I forgot that I originally needed a larger size and began using a size which was inappropriate for me. Apparently, this matters. </li>
<li>On one side, I had a bruised nipple. On the other side, from the too-small flange, I had what began to look like a zombie nipple. the skin was coming off, but had not fully detached. So every time I breastfed or pumped, it detached a little, then began healing during the down time. Each time was excruciatingly painful, so I showed it to Mike to get his input. He made an incredible horrified face and said, "I'm pretty sure you should talk to someone about that." Oh, the romance after having a baby.</li>
<li>So, I consulted my trusty friends in my Yoga Mommies Facebook Group and began to employ everything that was suggested. I used cabbage, lanolin, coconut oil, saltwater rinses, air drying with breastmilk. Out of pure pity, my BFF bought me soothie pads that are put in the refrigerator. Finally, the skin fell off. To reveal pure zombie nipple. It looked like I had taken a cheese grater to it. Not kidding. Oh, the beauty of breastfeeding.</li>
<li>The next night I started getting a fever and chills - along with a painful feeling in my right breast. I knew what it was immediately. Mas-freaking-titis. Mastitis is a bacterial infection that can occur when milk stays in the breast too long OR if it has access to the inner breast - say like through a zombie nipple.</li>
<li>So, back to Breastfeeding Resources I went. It's always good when the doctor slightly shrieks upon seeing a body part of yours and says, "Oh my god. That hurts me to look at!" I immediately started antibiotics and went home with instructions to NOT breastfeed as it would be too painful, but I should keep pumping as much as I could AND got the correct flange as the doctor had figured it out. </li>
<li>My fever and chills went away and I was finally feeling better. Then on Day 5 of antibiotics, I decided to go with Mike and Wilson to the children's museum. I was so happy to be out - I wore a spiffy new bra (that was a little tight) and babywore Waylon the whole time. At one point, he slipped from the middle and had his head on my left breast. Not a big deal. But when I took him off, I could feel a hardness in my breast and my fever was starting to come back. Seriously, universe???</li>
<li>I called Breastfeeding Resources and they changed my prescription to a new antibiotic and I struggled with full-blown mastitis again, but this time in the left breast. I had plugged ducts that would not open. It was like having a large rock in my chest, accompanied with the feeling of having a plugged sink with the water on full speed as well. HORRIBLE. Apparently, too tight of a bra or the baby's head on my chest for that long could have done it. Awesome Sauce.</li>
<li>Every pump was a manic attempt to get those plugs to break. I would apply hot compresses to get the milk flowing, then a cold one to lower inflammation. I was bent over a pump, massaging madly, squeezing, whimpering in pain...You know... experiencing the beauty of breastfeeding. </li>
<li>Fever finally broke, plugs finally resolved and I began feeling better...for a few days. Then all of a sudden my right breast began getting hard. I wanted to punch something. How could this happen???? My doctor put me on a second antibiotic and assessed me to make sure I didn't need to be hospitalized. I also had the bacteria in my milk cultured - we later discovered it was an antibiotic-resistant strain that was incredibly rare. As if you don't have enough TMI on me, apparently the infection was so bad that all that came out was a small amount of thick yellow milk. Needless to say, after having it cultured, I dumped the rest. And Retched. BEAUTIFUL BREASTFEEDING. </li>
<li>I continued to try every remedy under the sun, including chiropractic care - I have an awesome <a href="http://www.drpaterna.com/" target="_blank">chiropractor</a> who came in on his day off to give me an adjustment to help. I went in for an ultrasound to make sure I didn't have an abscess (which I didn't) and then went home to rinse and repeat the pills, pumping and assorted cures.</li>
<li>The plugs in my right breast would not budge... for five days. Please picture that awful pumping experience four times a day for five days. I finally went back to Breastfeeding Resources (who knew me so well that they texted me, called in to check and had a file the size of Mt. Everest on me) and they tried to get the plugs out themselves. Now, having another women "milk" you is embarrassing enough, but honestly if it worked, I wouldn't care. It didn't. She told me that the plugged ducts would resolve on their own and probably close, lowering my supply in that side. I was down to 35 ounces a day, which was more than enough to feed Waylon, so I didn't worry too much. </li>
<li>She also asked if she could take a picture of my nipple for publication purposes. Yay! My necrotic nipple will be famous. Awesome. So pretty. She told me to buy a <a href="http://www.hibiclens.com/retail" target="_blank">hibiclens soap</a> and wash it twice a day.</li>
<li>The hibiclens stuff is amazing - cleared up and healed my nipple very quickly. I did get some more ducts expressing and my supply was going up again. Everything seemed to be better as my supply came back to about 50 ounces a day and I was starting to breastfeed Waylon again.</li>
<li>Waylon has a unique (ahem) way of eating. On the breast or on the bottle. He latches. Looks at you. Unlatches. Looks at you. Latches. (repeat that 10 times). Then waits five minutes. Then drinks two ounces. Seriously. At the breast, that is seriously annoying and seriously painful. I began to consider exclusive pumping again. I loved when he latched, but the weird latching was hurting my nipple. I still wasn't feeding on the left side because it was STILL bruised (and I was postpartum 2 months at this point). </li>
<li>Got two blood blisters from pumping. Both healed quickly. So fun! </li>
<li>I noticed on my left nipple that it was turning white. Oh, good! More beauty! Breastfeeding Resources diagnosed a yeast infection and prescribed an ointment. Luckily, Waylon did not have it or we would have passed it back and forth. Back to no breastfeeding.</li>
<li>I continued to pump, but after the yeast infection resolved, I felt more pain. Nipples turned a bright shade of pink, pumped out some blood (soooo natural), found more white on my nipples and it kept getting worse. It was so painful that nothing could touch me - even through my shirt without making me want to punch something. I had to bite my hand every time I started pumping. I went BACK!! to Breastfeeding Resources and they diagnosed that both of my nipples had eczema. Oh Universe, you little joker! Thanks so much. Now I put steroid cream on both of my nipples at every pump and FINALLY they began to improve. </li>
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Which brings us to today. I am still on the steroid cream, having little pain. I joked with Mike that a story like this belongs to the superhero comic mythology. You go through such tragedy and pain to develop a superhuman ability. My superhero name will undoubtedly be Iron Nipples, the woman whose nipples can cut through steel and deflect weapons! Oh, and feed her babies.<br />
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So why keep breastfeeding/pumping you ask? You aren't alone - my husband, my mother, my friends - everyone questioned my sanity with continuing to breastfeed and pump through this. But the bottom line was I was not going to let ANYTHING stop me from experiencing breastfeeding and providing breastmilk for my baby. I saw with Wilson how healthy it was and that it has protected him from having to take any medications (breastmilk and garlic drops for beginning ear infections; breastmilk and coconut oil for eczema was all he has needed). I have heard that each drop of breastmilk contains millions of white blood cells in it. I see how whenever one of the kids or I has a scratch, I can put it on it and it is gone the next day or two. The healing ability is amazing. Oh, and I am losing weight like gangbusters. Can't hate that.<br />
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Let me be clear: I totally respect anyone's decision to do whatever feeding they want for their baby, including not breastfeeding for whatever reason. For me, I just wanted to provide breastmilk for as long as I could. There are a few things in life that I set my mind to - surviving graduate school, writing my dissertation, becoming a psychologist and counselor, escaping poverty, becoming a professor, writing several research reports, getting through a 50 hour labor... These things weren't to try to one up on someone else or compete or to show my skills. This was about wanting something for myself or my family and doing everything I could to achieve it. <br />
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And so far, I have. Waylon is 100% breastfed. I decided to use the extra milk I was making (since I have over 1200 ounces stocked in a FULL freezer) to feed my toddler when he wanted his bottle before bed. They are both super happy and thriving; I am producing lots - all things for which I feel very lucky and blessed.<br />
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I don't mean to scare anyone with this story either. Just to tell you that you need lots of support when you breastfeed - emotional, physical, psychological. Making the decision to breastfeed is a sacrifice that many of us gladly make for our little ones (and it does help to prevent breast cancer for us, so there's that).<br />
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But, is it natural for women? Is it beautiful for everyone? I call bullshit on that...and I have the iron nipples to prove it.</div>
Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-20462176107526290582014-08-26T09:55:00.000-07:002014-08-26T09:57:01.456-07:00What I Decided to Do with My Placenta...and Why<div style="text-align: justify;">
So....Placentas. With Wilson, I didn't look at it or even really give it a second thought. But, as my due date approached for Waylon's birth, I had heard a lot about Placental Encapsulation and given that I KNEW what the first few months with a newborn were going to be like (i.e. awfully terrible), I decided to look into it. I have to be honest: from the beginning, it grossed me out - even thinking about it as an organ made me want to heave. But, I first considered it for its stated impact on Postpartum Depression. I had PPD with my first son; the transition to motherhood coupled with a difficult tempered baby was not an easy one. It was only moderate PPD which resolved with support and counseling, but having had it before and now having 2 boys under the age of 2, made me rethink some of my options. </div>
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So I first checked out the research. There are not a lot of good empirical studies, but there are <a href="http://www.placentawise.com/research-studies-supporting-placenta-encapsulation/" target="_blank">some</a>. They indicate that consuming the placenta postpartum increases lactation production, pain relief, speeds up recovery, increases bonding, boosts energy, stimulates the immune system and replenishes iron. Um, great! Those would be all the things that make the "fourth trimester" awful - you are fatigued, feeling like you should be more bonded with your baby, stressed out, struggling with breastfeeding, feeling crappy and probably anemic. Although the studies are few in quantity, it is important to remember that clinical trials can cost millions of dollars; and what company (particularly pharmaceutical companies who usually fund trials) would be interested in funding a study like this - where patients make their own medicine and you can't profit from it? </div>
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So, the lack of research is not surprising; but the preliminary studies are promising. So I decided to take a case study approach: I then asked other women who had done it if they would do it again. It was a resounding YES. Some swore by it and some stated that maybe it was a placebo effect, but either way, they said it was a lifesaver AND that it did all the things that the research said it would. </div>
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I looked at the <a href="http://www.placentanetwork.com/placenta-history/" target="_blank">history</a> of placental encapsulation and found that it had its roots in Chinese medicine, with its utility first published in 1578: not exactly what you would call a fad as I initially thought it was. It was used sporadically in Europe during the 1700s and then brought back into use in the 1980s by an American midwife. </div>
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So, some good research, good word of mouth and a history. Even so, I kept thinking....but ew. EW. I know most animals always consume their placenta after birth, but I don't feel the need to copy my dogs in their efforts of licking their butts or eating some rather disgusting things. So the ick factor really still pervaded despite it being a natural phenomenon.</div>
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As it got closer to Waylon's D-Day, I realized that even though I was hoping for a positive, perfect outcome, what if? What if it wasn't? What if many, numerous crappy things happened as they did when I had Wilson? I remember being anxious, depressed, wanting to kill my partner, questioning my decision to have children, hating the universe and crying ALOT. It was not what I had pictured in any way, shape or form.</div>
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<img src="http://www.unfoldinglotus.com/uploads/3/8/6/0/3860510/1370918676.jpg" height="200" id="irc_mi" style="margin-top: 16px;" width="149" /></div>
So, I researched some companies, but finally went with <a href="http://birthpartnersdoulas.com/classes-counseling/" target="_blank">Birth Partners</a>, who I have used for my doulas (both first and second births); and they are pretty much the best out there for lots of reasons. You sign a contract, get a form from your doctor maintaining that you do not have any diseases and await the birth. When we had Waylon, my midwife set aside his placenta and cord and Mike took it home to our fridge. More ick factor. I looked at it once. It was huge, gross and even though I loved it for keeping my baby alive, I couldn't imagine ingesting it. Dawn from Birth Partners came on day 3 postpartum and prepared the placenta, dehydrated it for 8 hours, then came back the next day to grind it and put it in capsules. When she first got there, she asked me if I wanted some raw placenta for shakes. I made her repeat that several times before I said, "Oh God, No!" with an audible retching sound. Before that, she gave me the "umbilical keepsake" and a placental print. Now, I'm pretty granola, but I promptly threw out the keepsake (dried bow of umbilical cord) with another retch and although a placental print (pressing the placenta onto a piece of paper so you can see the outline) sounds equally gross, it was kind of pretty - they look like a tree, which is a great metaphor for creating life. By the way, that's not my placenta in the picture, but that is what they look like. I have no desire to share pictures of my own beefy appendage. <br />
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So, I got 250 capsules out of my placenta and was instructed to 1) take 1 or 2 a day as needed, and 2) do not take it when you have an active infection (it increases immune system dramatically and can make your fever higher than needed, apparently). So on day 5, I took my first dose.<br />
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So here is what I noticed immediately.<br />
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<li>My mood was excellent - at all times. When I felt a little down or anxious, I took a second one and felt better within hours. Within the first week, I experienced breastfeeding problems, a shredded (not exaggerating) nipple and in a few weeks, an antibiotic-resistant strain of mastitis that took 3 weeks to resolve. I never felt depressed, nor hopeless. My doctors even commented on it, given the situation it would have been normal for me to feel down. But, my mood was incredibly stable.</li>
<li>I did not have to take any pain pills once I was home despite having a second degree tear. The healing was MUCH faster and I barely did any intervention. Even when I had the shredded nipple (actually it looked like I took a cheese grater to it - breastfeeding is awesome), I only took a small amount of ibuprofen a few times a day. Once I had the mastitis and could not take the capsules, I saw a big difference with my pain tolerance. Even after the mastitis resolved, I still had pain, but when I took the capsules in the morning, I never needed any pain meds.</li>
<li>My skin was great - people commented on how quickly I was recovering.</li>
<li>I lost all of the baby weight in 1 week, then another 20 pounds in the first 2 months. To be clear, I lost all of my baby weight quickly with Wilson too, so that may not be an effect, but I continue to lose weight this time, so I'm not complaining. </li>
<li>I was not as fatigued with Wilson's newborn period, nor even when I was pregnant. I was taking care of Waylon through the night by myself (Mike was on Wilson duty) and I felt fine even after getting very interrupted sleep throughout the day.</li>
<li>I could definitely feel the bonding influence - I would find myself feeling such love and wanting to just baby-gaze after taking one. The hormones were definitely palpable and helpful in all ways. I did not argue with Mike (an hourly occurrence with Wilson's birth) and was able to be present for Wilson, my impatient and fiery toddler as well.</li>
<li>My lactation production was, ahem, boosted. With Wilson, after pumping 2 hours around the clock for a week, I finally got up to about 25 ounces a day. This time, out of the gate (as soon as my milk came in), I was pumping 60 ounces in ADDITION to Waylon breastfeeding. My mastitis was not a result of the over-production, but we did end up lowering it a little to make things easier (with Sudafed). I now make 50 ounces a day, which provides all of the milk for Waylon and my toddler, plus I have over 1200 ounces in the freezer. </li>
</ul>
So is my experience a good case study? I could see a difference from the days I took them and did not. However, one could argue that given this was my second birth, I could have had an easier time anyway. And that could be. However, I would argue that having a newborn with a difficult toddler would make it WORSE than the postpartum period with my first child. Either way, my experience is just one to add to the numerous others that have experienced positive effects.<br />
<br />
I wanted to share this because I wanted my story to be out there for moms considering it themselves. I am incredibly grateful for the input for the moms who convinced me to do it. And, I continue to still (at 3 months postpartum) use at least one a day to continue feeling great. I have not had any symptoms of depression or any other difficulty (besides the breast issues caused by the unfortunate antibiotic-resistant mastitis - which I would even argue should have ended me up in the hospital, but I was able to fight it off). My verdict: Yes, it's gross, Yes, it seems strange, Yes, it was undoubtedly worth it. </div>
Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-51410635477524846482014-07-28T19:22:00.001-07:002014-07-28T19:29:45.502-07:00Waylon's Birth Story<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's been almost two months, but it's
really taken me that long to process this experience; my birth
experience with Wilson was almost the complete opposite than Waylon's - I
can honestly say the experiences were so different that I wasn't at all
prepared for the labor and birth of my second son.<br />
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After a month of prodromal labor, where some days I had early labor contractions every 15 minutes, with my pelvis feeling like it was splitting in two, with my hip and lower back going out every time I moved, heartburn, reactive high blood pressure, generally just feeling fatigued and was carrying a giant parasite inside of me, I was pretty much ready for labor to start any minute. </div>
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On May 28th, my day started with Mike and I stressed out; he was sick, Wilson was miserable and cranky and I couldn't move much. I put my hospital bag and a list of the things that still needed to go into my hospital bag on the counter for Mike...just in case. I went to the chiropractor so that I could walk straight again; then I went to my midwife's appointment. Elise sat down and said, "So, how are you doing?" I looked at her and, literally, burst into tears. She immediately came over and gave me a huge hug. I was so exhausted from contractions and the general exhaustion of the third trimester; the day before, Waylon wasn't moving much, causing me great anxiety on top of being already so tired. We talked about our options and she told me that she would send me to Yale to check on baby movement, fluid and my blood pressure, which was really high again. I walked out to my car (well, waddled) and called Mike, telling him that it was likely I would be induced today given the high blood pressure. I then called my doula, Hannah, and cried on the phone as I told her the news.</div>
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I got to Yale for all the testing, got settled in and attempted to accept the likelihood that I would be most likely induced that day, something I really did not want to happen. And then my blood pressure was fine, fluid check was good and they thought that I would not be induced. My midwife said, "let me check your BP one more time." And it was 170/90. Oops. So induction it is. I called Mike, told him to get our hospital bag, let the sitters and our friends know and get prepared to be a daddy to two sons.<br />
<br />
My doula, Hannah, and Mike met me at the hospital. The nurse made sure my IV was comfortably placed and that I had everything I needed. I was still in early labor around 6 p.m. when they started the Pitocin (oh, Pitocin, how I hate you). For the next seven hours, I stayed in early labor as the contractions became more intense. Even with the higher Pitocin intensity, I was able to stay calm, focus on my shaman ability to visualize and detach from the pain and was doing great (despite the contractions being about 1 to 2 minutes apart). I asked to be checked again because I felt I wasn't making much progress (and because being in early labor for a month is a little tiring). I asked for the Benadryl medication that helps you sleep/ kills the pain if I hadn't progressed. And after checking me at 1 a.m., big shocker, I had gone from 3 cm to 4 cm. My midwife asked if it was ok to break my water and I, hoping that this would move things along, said yes.<br />
<br />
Well, it certainly did move things along. The medication did not make me sleep nor did it touch the pain. I went from having intense early labor contractions to 1) ACTIVE labor, 2) TRANSITIONAL labor, and 3) PUSHING contractions ALL at the same time. The contractions were on top of each other, with almost no break in between. It was like being hit by a freight train. The nurse told me to try not to push through the contractions and I just looked at her like she was stupid. NOT push? I had no choice!!!! But they gave my some breathing exercises I should do and it seemed to work at least a little bit.<br />
<br />
To be clear, I went from a spiritual guru calmly handling each surge to a crazed lunatic screaming like a banshee for a freaking epidural. After about 40 minutes, I was adamant for an epidural. I had been growling like a beast through the contractions, squeezing the crap out of everything/everyone that was near me, crying/hyperventilating (doula was helpful here, reminding me to stay calm and breathe) and collapsing when I had about 30 seconds to breathe in between. I wanted to run screaming from the room, the hospital, my body, my life. Tear the kid out, I didn't care - it was the most intense pain I had ever felt in my life and felt nothing like my 50-hour labor with Wilson (which, if you were wondering, was pretty bad). My midwife asked to check me again and she found that I had gone from 4 cm to 7 cm in less than 45 minutes. She looked at me empathically and said, "That's so much progress, Misty! Does this change how you feel about the epidural?" And I looked at her and said, "NOPE!" Please to stab me in the back with a giant needle full of crazy drugs that kill my bottom half. I'm dying.<br />
<br />
She turned to the computer to order the epidural and I asked Mike to help me to the bathroom. He helped me into the room where I kept saying that I felt I needed to poop. Yep, poop. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes trying not to push and then I stood up. Only to sit back down because it felt like I still had to go to the bathroom. Then, suddenly remembering a random episode of <i>16 and Pregnant</i> (yes I watch and love this show as it makes me always feel completely prepared as a parent in comparison), I realized that this sensation wasn't about going to the bathroom, it was the baby!!! I screamed out, "THE BABY IS COMING NOW!!!!!" My midwife came running in and slid under me like she was sliding into home base. She reassured me that she was there and yelled for the nurse. I grabbed on to Mike who was kneeling down trying to help me up. I remember him saying, "baby, what, what?" I suddenly realized that I was digging my nails into his arms and biting his shirt. I remember thinking, "Oh, well, he'll live," and with two pushes, I pushed Waylon out into the arms of our midwife.<br />
<br />
Let's review: 50 hours of active labor for Wilson -- 55 minutes for Waylon. And believe it or not, the 50 hours was easier than those intense nutzo 55 minutes. But in the end, I had my little nugget: a healthy 7 pounds 9 ounces, 20.5 inches-long, perfect little boy. But, boy would I love to have an uneventful birth story. Oh well, I guess I'll always have material for the blog.<br />
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Photo by <a href="http://lauraelysephotography.com/" target="_blank">Laura Elyse Photography</a></div>
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-67839605156807506082014-05-20T23:08:00.002-07:002014-05-20T23:30:39.136-07:00Prodromal Drama<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So for the last four weeks or so, I have been experiencing "prodromal labor". Also known as early labor or false labor, it is essentially, early labor contractions that are, I can attest to, quite real, but go nowhere. Meaning that they vary from uncomfortable to intense; and although they can aid in labor progress (dilation and thinning of the cervix), it's not real labor and ends up stopping, only to come back again the next day or even within a few hours. Needless to say, weeks of on and off contractions can really make it difficult to do work, care for a toddler, clean the house, oh... do anything.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As I googled prodromal labor for the 50th time trying to find an answer to why I am experiencing this in a feeble attempt at feeling slightly informed or in control, I learned a few things. These contractions can be useful in getting a baby in position; one theory is that the contractions serve to push the baby into the correct position. And indeed, they did lessen when Waylon appeared to change positions. Another theory is that they are linked to second-time and later mothers as the uterus is more sensitive to oxytocin and "knows" what to do. But the most compelling theory I read was in a OB's blog, who noted that anecdotally, he saw this kind of labor in mothers whose babies appeared ready to be born, but whose mothers were not psychologically or emotionally ready. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Understatement of the year, that theory. Although my common sense and my extensive college education would make it very clear how babies are born, I was not thinking that I would get pregnant right away. It took me 3 years to get pregnant with Wilson; it was literally hard work and we totally lost sight of the fact that that it only takes one sexual encounter to lead to pregnancy: we became those teenagers on 16 and pregnant believing stupid things (minus the ridiculously active fertility). Our lesson with Wilson was getting pregnant was difficult - a serious undertaking. When we decided to start trying again, my mother warned me that "it happens easier the second time around", so even though we were <i>trying</i> the first month, we skipped my ovulation time. Hey, practice makes perfect; and we were both a little gun-shy after having a difficult infant and toddler. But, this baby was ready to be conceived - my ovulation moved up a full week and a half and I got pregnant right out of the gate. This meant that instead of my beautiful calculations of having a 3 year old in preschool and an infant, I would now have two children under the age of 2. Awesome sauce.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, I started off, not being too ready. Then, when the contractions started, one of the first thoughts that came into my mind was how much work I had left to do. This was literally my <i>To Do List</i> when prodromal labor started about a month ago:</span></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Buy and Install Stairway Gate</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Buy 2 white noise makers</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Secure Nursery Furniture with Dresser Straps</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Do spring cleaning </s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Finish Waylon’s Nursery</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Birth Plan</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Buy Deck Gate</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Bring baby stuff down from attic</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>
Pack Hospital Bag</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Organize house</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Finish paying doula</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Send Postpartum Placenta Paperwork </s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Call insurance – re: doula & pre-certification for
Yale hospital</s></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>/ send in Yale paperwork</s></span>
</li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Newborn photos contract</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Reschedule Thursdays to Wednesdays for Appointments</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Take Mike’s Car In for Brakes</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Take My Car In for Service </s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Return Carter’s</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Get Diaper Changer from Basement</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Clean & Organize Office</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Copy Course Content to Psychopharm Class for August</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Organize Portfolio Paperwork into one area</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>GSA Schedule for 2014-2015</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Submit Teaching Book Proposal</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>GSA Student Mentors & Orientation</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Get in all Paperwork for Licensure</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Multicultural Study</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s> IRB</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s> Create
Online Survey</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>CES Journal Reviewing</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Graduate Institute Course for Fall</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>DSM-5 Presentation for UCONN in August </s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Finish Multicultural Article</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Gender Role Study</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s> IRB</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s> Create
Online Survey</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s> Submit
RA Paperwork</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>CT-ALGBTIC</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>CCA Multicultural Committee<br />
CACES Resources and Goal Setting</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Set Diversity Committee Events for Next Year</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Change Baby Signs Business Name & Do Taxes</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>LGBQ & Religion Study</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s> Finish
Interviews</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s> Do
Thematic Analyses</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Finish all Technology Committee Tasks</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Finish Report for President’s Commission</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>CACREP Mid Cycle Report</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>CACREP Evaluation Report & Other Compliance Tasks </s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>LGBTQ+ Book Proposal</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Finish Grading for ALL Classes</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Religion & Counselor Ed Article</s></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><s>Finish Mutt-i-grees Publication</s></span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Please note that one item on this list could be an immense task - like writing a 50 page report for the President's Commission or grading multiple papers and finals for 4 graduate level courses. Also, note that shit is crossed out. I actually DID everything on my list for home and work. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">However, that was not my only worry or anxiety when I started having contractions. My next thought was, "Oh God, Oh God, we are all hot messes, how can we add another one???" Let me explain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My husband is normally detail oriented, anal, organized and perfectionistic. Fatherhood and parenting a difficult-tempered child took some of that out of him, but knowing that another baby was coming has made him a serious hot mess. He now was forgetful, distracted, half-listened to our conversations, broke things and lost things (like our toddler's shoes down the highway when he placed them on the car and then forgot to actually put them on when he got him in the carseat). Every morning he grated his ignition forgetting that he had already started the carstarter when he put the key in; and every night he desperately tried to get some gaming time in (while dodging flying objects from our toddler lodging random complaints of this activity which did not include him), full well knowing that any personal time he currently has is coming to an screeching halt as soon as Waylon appears. If you know Mike, you know that distraction and mistakes are NOT like him at all. Let's just say, I'm not used to being the stable one. He is anxious and anal; he usually, annoyingly, remembers everything that needs to be done and does it perfectly. But not, now; he's a hot, hot mess.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijNMNz1JW_1S6x5izIu3Jz-Xm3ZmWwiXQDLIZ7Di9B_qWWHQTFNamwD3rlCa50Fp-ZDDyVvOjbTRzv70fUwnx9EbpWTpkPYXQu7bpyyezZvRj7oVCLjYxB7_kXBu2Q41GbORKGd1SMnTCy/s1600/IMG_0280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijNMNz1JW_1S6x5izIu3Jz-Xm3ZmWwiXQDLIZ7Di9B_qWWHQTFNamwD3rlCa50Fp-ZDDyVvOjbTRzv70fUwnx9EbpWTpkPYXQu7bpyyezZvRj7oVCLjYxB7_kXBu2Q41GbORKGd1SMnTCy/s1600/IMG_0280.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My son is a hotter mess. He is needy, demanding, high-maintenance - oh, and a toddler. He grabs at everything, eats a huge amount, still gets up at night, has emotional regulation issues up the wazoo, has NOT quite mastered being gentle and needs our 100% full attention when he is awake. Wilson is stubborn and does things at his own pace. For example, he decided that he would like to use the potty. That was great and for 3 weeks, he had few mistakes and used the potty a lot. Then he decided, "eh, that was over-rated." And now, he hasn't used the potty in 2 weeks. Getting him to sit on it against his will would so not be worth it, as we have learned you don't <i>force</i> a difficult tempered child to do anything if you value your sanity. Wilson has a cold right now, so he's miserable, wiping his nose and face on everything in sight: me, Mike's pants as he's about to go to work, the dogs, the couch and the floor. He whines constantly and has no fear of repetition of his favorite things: every day we have to play Beyonce's Who Runs the World (Girls) and Katy Perry's Darkhorse repeatedly. Seriously. Back to Back, over and over. He asks for it in this pathetic whiny voice "Grrrrrllllsss...." and then "Keeeeeettttty". Although his tantrums have gotten better, he still throws himself on the floor dramatically, as I said in a previous blog, akin to a Spanish soap opera. We've done everything we can think of in preparing him for a little brother, but how my little hot mess will actually do with a new brother is a little scary to think about.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then there's me. I may seem that I have my ducks in a row - mostly because somehow I do maintain productivity at work, but really I'm a bigger hot mess. I'm HORRIBLE with money and finances; and while I maintain focus at work, I leave laundry piles in the bedroom, dishes in the sink, trash 2 feet from the actual trash in the kitchen as I'm horribly distracted at home. With Wilson, I found a way to mostly balance work and home - something I was very proud of - but couldn't figure how to balance anything else - like a social life, eating healthy, spiritual needs or working out. I consider myself a very resilient person, but weird shit happens to me all the time. Like a 50-hour labor with Wilson. Random illnesses that no other person has heard of. I got the swine flu when it was on the decline. I have vaccine reactions. I have a genetic condition called hypermobile joints, meaning I'm mostly double-jointed and injure myself when I sleep and especially when I'm pregnant and have the hormone Relaxin, which further relaxes my ligaments and joints (i.e., I literally throw a hip out every night when I sleep). I have prodromal labor. I also think a lot about how I had Postpartum Depression after I had Wilson. How am I going to survive a toddler AND a newborn with my sanity intact? Being in the third trimester, I'm the biggest hot mess of all: I sometimes can barely move (which my toddler takes full advantage of), have indigestion, insomnia, random hip-out, issues rolling over, distractability, forgetfulness, crave bucketloads of sweets, drink gallons of water a day and feel like something in between a teapot and a cooked turkey. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, are we ready? No. But, without the definitive illusion that you have when you believe you are "ready" for your first child, no one could ever be really ready for a second child. You know what it will be like at first - the lack of sleep, the loss of identity, the things you weren't expecting, the difficulties you face healing from childbirth, all the things you cannot control... But, as I sit here tonight, I also reflect on all the things we can accomplish as a family and individually. Mike's sanity will return, he really is an epic father and his love for Wilson will soon be his love for Waylon as well. Wilson will be an excellent big brother - he wants to help, he loves babies and he really is the sweetest boy I've ever known. And I'll figure it out - just like I found a way to balance things with Wilson, I'll figure out my life again with 2 children. And together, we love each other and are capable of great things - I mean, look at that list - we did all that in 3 weeks, as hot messes with me having contractions. And we do have help - our close friends Jess and Joe, some awesome childcare help and family members who are willing to come to help us transition (thanks, Mom!). </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, I'm making it official. Universe, Waylon, body: I'M READY. That's right, bring it on. Labor, birth, fourth trimester, mother of multiple children. LET'S DO IT. Aaaaaannnnnd here comes a contraction. </span></div>
Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-79014692198718575702014-05-16T18:10:00.002-07:002014-05-16T18:31:11.532-07:00Parenting a Difficult-Tempered Toddler...<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, as many of you already know, my son has difficult temperament. I've talked multiple times about what this is like when he was an infant. But, as crazy as it seems, he's not a baby anymore; he's a few months shy of being 2 years old and is full force into toddler mode. </div>
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Parenting a toddler, under the best circumstances, is not for the faint of heart. It's exhausting and simply put, brutal. They move too fast, have limited emotional and social skills and are all about testing boundaries. And that's when they have easy temperaments...</div>
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So I've had people tell me before that they hate the phrase "difficult temperament" because it seems to cast a negative cloud on the child. I've also had people tell me that they didn't quite understand what difficult temperament was and how it couldn't easily be modified. And I do get how it's not easy to picture or to understand when you have never had a difficult tempered child before. I am a developmental psychologist and I did not fully understand before having Wilson. So I always say the same thing, "Come over for a day and you'll get it." </div>
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Because this is what a day looks like: Wilson wakes up at 6 a.m., smiling and talking. Mike gets him up and attempts to get him changed and dressed in between him lunging at the lotion/butt paste, frantically pushing buttons on the stereo when you are throwing out his diaper, running towards and attempting to open the closet, throwing his pillow, dancing and giggling. He comes downstairs, drinks his juice and gets some breakfast - well at least a little before throwing the rest to the dogs or racing towards the trash (as we scream NO!) to throw it haphazardly in the general direction of the trash, causing us to clean up a mess. While our backs are turned, he is opening the snack drawer (neatly and easily opening the child lock) to get more food with which to eat/ throw to the dogs/ throw out. The next few hours or so he races around, as we remind him to be nice to the dogs, not to injure himself, not to grab things he can't have, stop opening the dishwasher to stand on the door and push the buttons on the toaster oven, don't throw that, be gentle, get out of the silverware drawer, stop trying to open the door, where did you get that fork?, get off the table, don't kick the dog, stop throwing your food, get out of the dishwasher again, where's your juice cup?, stop hanging on the baby gate, don't climb the banister, don't stand on that, get out of the fridge... it goes on. And it's endless. ALL DAY LONG. This in a house which is so well gated and child-proofed it could function as a maximum security toddler prison. Our chairs are bungeed together because he was taking them out and pushing them through the house in order to reach outlets, light switches, ipads and computers an anything else he shouldn't have. Gates protect the television area with over a 2 foot clearance from the gate because he uses tools to jab at the buttons on the television, cable box and receiver. The dog food and water is behind our office gate (which has a similar clearance) and which he lodges his daily complaints by throwing things at us when we sit there without him for 5 seconds. There are baby locks everywhere and every door knob has a baby proof covering. If a door or a lock is insecure for 5 seconds, he shows up immediately, like he has a telepathic connection to it, and raids it. He breaks something literally everyday: a toy, one of our possessions, part of the house... Sometimes all of the "no!'s", boundary setting and mommy/daddy blocking get to him and he collapses into a heap on the floor, lip-quiver and all. He whines pretty much all day long, crying frequently even over things like "my toy won't do what I want it to", where he yells at his toy, cries, throws it and falls in a dramatic spanish-soap-opera-esque heap on the floor. The mental and physical effort that it takes to keep this kid alive, be responsive, be empathic, teach him patiently and peacefully is more than I have expended getting a doctoral degree and tenure as an Associate Professor combined.</div>
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When it is time for his nap, I seriously rejoice. Seriously. It's one of my favorite parts of the day. After the initial whining, getting his bottle ready (as he attempts to grab everything in the fridge), walk up the stairs where he stops to try to pull things out of the trash, get at the recycling, fall off the stairs, then suddenly run into the bathroom and attempt to lock me out, test every gate upstairs, run away giggling as I try to corral him into his bedroom, whining as I change his diaper, pushing the buttons frantically on his white noise machine until I pick him up and sit in the rocking chair, where pure bliss occurs. He snuggles in quietly with me and his blanket, drinks his bottle and goes to sleep. I lay him in his crib and he sleeps for 2 to 3 hours. I shower, go to the bathroom, sometimes sleep, do work and sometimes just sit in a chair comatose. Oh and by the way, that was just the first part of the day, which was just 3 hours. We then have the afternoon to contend with. He requires constant attention (just to survive), is a complete drama queen, is only capable of playing alone for a maximum of 10 minutes (and that's if you are lucky), has no emotional regulation skills and a seemingly endless supply of energy and motivation.<br />
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So yes, I think difficult is a great term for that temperament. Or maybe 'freaking horrific', 'horrendously exhausting' or 'perfect-birth-control-because-you-will-never-want-to-procreate-again' (yes, we did have a moment of insanity and now we will be adding another to our brood - God help us). Any of those would work. And in terms of changing his behavior? Believe it or not, we have made HUGE strides. We went through a biting phase, a pinching phase, an extreme tantrum phase - as challenging as he is, he improves almost every day. We are working now on throwing and hitting, which is slowly but surely improving. We are consistent with him, always responsive, we calmly say no, we also have yelled when we feel appropriate, we keep boundaries and always intervene. What we've learned by parenting a difficult toddler is less about what we need to do (because we know what we are supposed to do), but more about how to support each other to stay positive and sane and to remember the absolutely amazing thing about difficult children and Wilson, in particular.<br />
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See, the reason 'difficult' children are difficult is because they are very sensitive. He, like all difficult-tempered children, need routine. He has to maintain a very rigid schedule at home because if we deviate in <i>any</i> way, he won't nap, he is cranky and cannot regulate for the rest of the day. Wilson is detail-oriented and sensitive, physically and emotionally. He is affectionate and loving, hugging his stuffed animals, coming to lay his head on my leg when he is having a rough time coping, and gently lays his head on the dogs when he pets them. Wilson is very bright - beyond his chronological age. He is contemplative, has an impeccable memory, focuses intently on things and figures things out that are far beyond on his year and a half-life. He is persistent; he knows what he wants and he is insistent about achieving that goal. He is incredibly social; he loves other children and is incredibly astute in that he realizes he needs to be reserved around people that do not know him well (he acts like an angel with most other people for a few weeks at least). He has a strong personality and is completely authentic with his emotions, expressing them to the fullest. He loves music, which helps him be in the moment, stay calm and feel joy. He has his favorite things, of which he never tires and easily communicates that he is happy to experience them OVER AND OVER. Despite being potentially the crappiest infant sleeper ever, he is now a good sleeper, still getting up once a night a few times a week; but he sleeps from 6:30 p.m. to 6 a.m. and puts himself to sleep after his bottle and a snuggle. He is starting to communicate better and he desperately wants to do what adults do, meaning he loves to help with throwing things out, cleaning the house, vacuuming, washing dishes, putting things back where they belong and re-locking the safety latches he has outsmarted.<br />
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Bottom line: the same things that make these children annoying toddlers will make them successful and amazing adults. And that's the challenge: you don't want to crush their spirit or make them feel shame for being who they are - even when it is annoying, frustrating and exhausting. You want them to be who they are and follow social boundaries and learn emotional skills to further develop their resiliency and strength. But it's freaking hard. And that is why I am writing this blog tonight; after a long day where he broke a kitchen drawer, almost stabbed me with a fork, tried to kick the dogs multiple times, threw food at dinner (causing him to have to leave the table), hit me for taking away things he wanted but could not have, spilled water all over the floor, and that is in addition to the normal high maintenance needs throughout the day, I want all those parents who parent this rare (less than 5% of children) child who befuddles others and makes you question your own patience, sanity and parenting ability. You are not alone. And I do hear that it gets better.<br />
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I have read consistent accounts in the research that difficult-tempered children turn a huge corner around age 3, making the consistent, supportive approach worth all of that time and energy. And to that, my husband and I, after putting him to bed, hug each other, hanging onto each other for physical and emotional support, sigh and say, "Is he almost 3 yet?" It's a very good thing that he is cute.<br />
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-75299877150901911762014-04-17T19:21:00.003-07:002014-04-17T19:26:04.681-07:00So...That Sucked.<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, I have been pregnant before. Gone through the third trimester before too. I've also had the stomach flu. Not this norovirus knock-you-on-your-ass-and-make-you-weep strain, but I've had the stomach flu. But what I've never had, before this last week, was having the stomach flu WHILE being in the third trimester of a pregnancy. Let me count the ways in which this experience might be the single worst experience of my adult life.</div>
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First, in your third trimester, you are ginormous. It hurts to move. Seriously, when you want to roll over in bed, you need to hold your belly, take a deep breath and heft yourself over to the other side. Your back hurts because your pelvis is spreading preparing for the "miracle" of birth - namely a baby head being pushed through that small opening in your pelvic bone. The sides of your stomach hurt as the round ligaments are stretching beyond what is comfortable. Now add onto all of this - the aches and pains of the flu. A fever, muscle soreness, stomach cramps and an overwhelming need to get to the bathroom ASAP multiple times a day does not correspond well with the third trimester belly-heft and slow-waddle.</div>
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Second, throwing up is never fun. Morning sickness was crappy with both of my pregnancies. But throwing up violently with a giant belly and an inside baby kicking the crap out of my stomach was kind of horrible. And then guess what? When you throw up in the third trimester, you get labor contractions as your reward! Yep! Labor contractions. And if you aren't careful, you go into full-blown labor, leading me to the next point.</div>
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Third, you don't want to eat or drink when you have the flu. That's not a possibility when you are pregnant. You HAVE to drink even if you are throwing it up right away OR you need to go to the hospital to get an IV because it can obviously harm the baby and/or cause early labor. Fun! So if you are not waddling to the bathroom, hefting yourself on the floor in front of the toilet, fighting labor contractions, fighting a fever and muscle pains along with your achin' pelvis, you are shoving water down yourself while praying that you don't throw up again (which you know you are going to...). </div>
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Fourth, there are some medications that you can take that do make the flu somewhat bearable. But, not while your preggo. No pink stuff, no ibuprofen, no Imodium, no Tamiflu, no NOTHING. LAME.</div>
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Finally, your body does this other really cool thing when you are pregnant - it increases the hormone Relaxin so that (as the name indicates) all of your ligaments relax and loosen preparing it for that beautiful, horrific miracle of birth. Cool fact: throwing up violently is as jarring to your body as participating in intense sports! And, particularly with the addition of Relaxin, can cause similar injuries! So as I was throwing up for the 8th time one night, I sprained the tiny muscles in between my ribs, making it hard to breathe without stabbing pains, engage any of my stomach and chest muscles, pick up my toddler or just plain live. </div>
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So thanks Norovirus. You have now made me less fearful of going into labor for the second time because labor (not even my first 50-hour labor) could not be as bad as these last 5 days with the stomach virus while being 35 weeks pregnant. </div>
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And Universe, please don't take that last statement as a challenge. </div>
Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-5314154234064762452014-02-14T11:40:00.000-08:002014-02-14T11:40:03.781-08:00Happy Valentine's Day, My Loves!<div style="text-align: justify;">
To my big Valentine, Mike: When I met you about 10 years ago, I knew there was something special about you. And I had no idea how much my life was going to change! We had 8 years of pretty much pure bliss. Then we had kids. While I believe that our bliss will someday return (maybe after retirement?), watching you step up as a father and a husband has made me so proud of you and more in love with you each year. You always try so hard to be the best and most thoughtful father and husband; when you struggle or stumble, you are always the first to apologize, try even harder and let me know how much you love us. We don't have much family support here in town, but because we have each other, I know that we can get through anything.</div>
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To my little Valentine, Wilson: I see how sweet you are, even when you are feeling upset or sick. I love your kisses and hugs; I love how you want to be big and try to help out with everything that I do. Even when you are feeling pretty cranky and you see mommy or daddy take a few deep breaths, we always love you. Life is about to change pretty significantly for you, which will be difficult for all of us; but we want you to know that we believe you came to us for a reason and that our hearts are big enough for you and your little brother.</div>
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To my smallest Valentine: You are still in mommy's belly, but I hope that in a few months when you enter the world, you know that you will always be surrounded with love. Fair warning: we are a pretty crazy family and we are not perfect (or even close), but we will always love, respect and cherish you.</div>
Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-42264973732513114432014-02-10T15:34:00.003-08:002014-02-10T15:35:44.222-08:00Second Verse, Not the Same As The First...<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had heard that every pregnancy was different; and that the second pregnancy was very different than the first, but I really was not sure how until I experienced it. So here I am, in my 6 month of pregnancy; and I have to say, it is a lot different.</div>
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<li>Time is moving quicker. I'm in no hurry for numero dos to be born. Although I am sure I will feel differently near the end of the third trimester, right now I'd be happy if he stayed there until Wilson was 18 years old. But, time feels like it is flying. It feels like I just found out I was pregnant and now I am 1 week away from being in my third trimester. With Wilson, time moved so slow because I was conscious of every minute and so looking forward to the birth; which brings me to number 2.</li>
<li>I'm so not looking forward to the birth. It's not the labor I fear; rather it's the devastating change in life that is now lovingly coined the fourth trimester. Where sleep is gone; your identity is gone; you look at your partner with resentment and disgust; your life changes entirely and it takes a good year for you to get your bearings. Which brings me to number 3.</li>
<li>I have no disillusionment this time around. With my first pregnancy, I couldn't wait. I couldn't wait until I was out of the first trimester. I couldn't wait until I felt the baby. I couldn't wait until the baby reached viability. I couldn't wait until my first contraction started. I couldn't wait until I met my son. This pregnancy, I absolutely can wait. Because with every milestone you reach comes a new challenge, a new ordeal and a new obstacle. I am happy to stay pregnant now, even though being pregnant sucks too. When I was pregnant with Wilson, I remember thinking how happy I would be when this baby came out and I got my body back. What I didn't realize, is that you don't really get your body back; along with that loss comes your sleep, time, energy, leisure and toilet time (I remember the days of peeing alone). And even though I'm not afraid of it, I'm not eager for labor. </li>
<li>The first time around, I was PETRIFIED of labor. I wanted to believe that it would not be painful and that I could have an easy labor. After 50 hours of induced active labor in the hospital and 5 hours of pushing, I have no illusions about labor. But, I also know I can survive it - even when it is long and arduous. My midwives swear to me that this baby will, in comparison, just fall out, which would be fabulous. But, if not, I'm prepared. Not eager for it; but prepared. </li>
<li>My first pregnancy, I slept. ALOT. The first trimester was a blur of sleeping on the couch, throwing up and going back to sleep. I napped frequently and was still exhausted. In my second pregnancy, rest and relaxation is a bit more difficult to attain with a toddler. "I love you, Wilson, but mommy can't move or she'll throw up." Wilson looks at me with disapproval, whines, then runs and smacks the refrigerator. "Oh, I guess I do have to feed you." Of course, that happens every half an hour, as he either wants to eat snacks, meals, a bottle, or his sippy cup. And that doesn't include the time that he wants to be held, snuggle, play, lead me around by the hand to ask for things he can't have or just to feel connected to me, which believe me I want to...just not while I'm having morning (er...all-day sickness). On Friday, I laid on the couch and said, "Wilson, mommy is getting sick. Can you take it easy on mommy today?" He looked at me, patted my head, laughed and then climbed up on me and sat on my head. Yep. </li>
<li>I have an inside baby and an outside baby. And they don't communicate. Sometimes Wilson will push on my belly and Wayland will kick him back. But because of his age, Wilson is oblivious to the presence of Wayland. And besides for potentially recognizing Wilson's whines, screams and giggles, I think it's safe to assume that Wayland is not that sure of who makes all those cute and yet annoying noises. Meaning that I can't explain to Wayland why I forgot to eat lunch yesterday (because Wilson didn't feel well and due to being busy and fatigue, I simply forgot). And I can't explain to Wilson why mommy's belly keeps getting huge, she's tired all the time and why for the first 5 months, throwing up became a normal pastime in the Ginicola house. I know that he is wondering though...I gave him a little flashlight yesterday and the first thing he did was turn it on, pull up my shirt and push it against my belly. I told him that he couldn't see Wayland that way, but he kept trying anyway. </li>
<li>You get bigger....faster. I already look like I'm about 8 months pregnant and I'm only 6 months. When I was 2 months pregnant, I looked like I was 4 months. It's not pretty and I hope it slows down soon or I'll just be one giant belly and two huge boobs by full term.</li>
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Well, at least there's hope! I'm saving out hope that this theme continues and Wayland, unlike Wilson, will be easy-tempered, sleepy and chill. Please, Universe. Give me chill.<br />
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-56191308798203431162013-11-26T10:41:00.003-08:002013-11-26T10:44:46.621-08:00It's Another Boy! It's Another Boy. Two Boys. <div style="text-align: justify;">
So I found out yesterday that we are expecting another boy. I was obviously prepared for this possibility, but Mike and I did expect that our second would be a girl, just because this pregnancy has been so different from Wilson's. But our reaction and the reaction of others close to us has me thinking about what it means to have two children of the same gender. </div>
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I'm not a particularly gender-focused person, so the gender/sex doesn't really matter to either Mike or I. However, we REALLY want an easy baby. And boys are usually a bit harder as infants and toddlers. Research (and our own limited experience with Wilson) shows that they cry more, have more issues with sleeping, are more prone to disorders and disabilities, are more emotional and have fewer innate social and emotional skills than girls as infants. So when we found out, we were both a little worried - WE CAN'T TAKE ANOTHER DIFFICULT CHILD. We will quit this gig, have a dissociative fugue, and send the kids to their grandparents to live. But, if this little boy is healthy, happy, is a better sleeper than his brother, has an easy temperament and maybe slightly physically resembles his poor mother that had to survive his pregnancy and labor, I would be pretty happy. </div>
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But there is something to not having both a girl and a boy to round off your experience as a parent. I see this in our own feelings, in people's pity faces ("Oh....another boy?") and people's requests that we keep trying for that girl. Did we not try hard enough this time? I blame Mike and his strong y chromosome sperm. "Stay back!" My egg should have cried, "It's time for a girl!" And what happens when we TRY again and it's another boy?? Suicide? </div>
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I once joked that we could never have any males in our house (we had 3 female dogs and 2 female cats). We had attempted to bring in male animals who always got sent back to the shelter because they were obnoxious and tried to maim/kill/hump to death our existing animals. So, I jokingly said, "Well, I guess the only way another male is going to get in this house is through my womb!" Ha-ha, so funny.</div>
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But there are some definite advantages for us to having a second son: </div>
<ul>
<li>We will now specialize in all boys. We will be masters at dodging pee during diaper changes, rough and tumble play, turning everything into a weapon, boy toys and boy clothes.</li>
<li>Boys get cooler stuff. Their toys, their nursery decor, everything is cooler. You can be a rock star, cool dude, have trucks, sports, dinosaurs and strong imagery on your clothes and toys. Girls get princesses and pastel. </li>
<li>Wilson will have a baby brother who is very close in age. They can play together, bond, protect each other and have a potentially better relationship as adolescents (unless they like the same girl...).</li>
<li>Two words describing their potential adolescence versus the teenage years with girls: LESS DRAMA.</li>
<li>Instead of having the ever-popular mother-daughter stressful teenage years where I hear that they hate me repeatedly, I will be loved, respected and serve as the model to which every potential partner of my sons must live up to... </li>
<li>As one of Mike's friends politely put it, "When you have a girl, you have to worry about all the other boys out there. Now instead of a million penises to worry about, you only have one to worry about." Well two now. </li>
<li>My parents already have 3 granddaughters, so I am fully giving them the male experience.</li>
<li>If I were a queen, my king and the royal family would be so proud. </li>
<li>Well, it is a man's world. So my children (particularly if they keep coming out whiter than sour cream) will not face a great deal of adversity on their gender, as women do. And I can teach them to respect and celebrate women, as well as to advocate for others from different demographics who have none of the privileges as they do. I clearly have the background to do this and plenty of Joss Whedon television series and movies to share with them. </li>
<li>I won't have to buy new clothes! And most of the girl clothes out there make me want to gag anyway. Who puts eyelashes and high heels on a giraffe shirt? She would have to deal with over-sexualization, conflicting messages about beauty and a culture that belittles her and her accomplishments. </li>
</ul>
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But in a way, I was looking forward to helping to shape a girl and guide her, as I have done, through this tumultuous culture and life. I have learned so much about being a strong woman, I want to share it with a future progeny who will live it and can benefit. </div>
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But as I considered all of these things, I realized that my assumptions about my boy in-utero is faulty. My initial assumptions relied on the suppositions that he will be a masculine, heterosexual, gender-conforming, stereotypical male, similar in temperament to his big brother. As much as I am educated and have experienced gender non-conformity first hand, I have to remind myself to not assume that about this child. He could be anything and anyone: the potential is limitless. My own two brothers could not be any different; And while my oldest brother preferred to hang out with my father, my other brother preferred my mother, helping her cook, shop and clean. So, I still may have a little buddy yet.</div>
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Culture dictates to males to be insensitive, heteronormative and "masculine". Even though Wilson is certainly gender-conforming, he is extremely sensitive and loving, defying culture's expectation of what a tough, strong boy looks like - particularly when he sees a furry stuffed animal and smushes it against his face to love it, sometimes falling on it (although sometimes he humps it too...). I have no idea what our second son will be like, but I do know this: I will love him no matter what he is like, help him understand and navigate our world and culture and help him become the person that he truly authentically is and wants to be. And I know this world will have two more amazing men to contribute to it.</div>
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And I can always later "try" again for a girl, although that would be a third child, beyond our cognitive, financial and emotional capabilities and would necessitate that Mike touch me again, which if he reads this sentence, will be highly unlikely.<br />
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-4550560770010344522013-11-18T09:34:00.002-08:002013-11-18T09:34:12.236-08:00It gets better...But it's still freaking hard.<div style="text-align: justify;">
This last weekend I led a workshop where I showed a clip of Sara Gilbert talking about coming out. She highlighted the fact that being gay does get better, but she talked about how it still scares her to come out or talk about her life with new people or groups. We processed as a group that it was an important message because, as is the case with many issues (e.g., being ill, grieving a loss) even though it does really get better and you want to stay positive, you still need permission to be sad sometimes. To grieve and to process that sometimes your current situation is still hard.</div>
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As I was up for the second time (at midnight) last night rocking a teething, growth-spurting Wilson back to sleep, the parallels of this conversation to parenting hit me. It does get better. Wilson is usually only getting up once during the night; his tantrums are almost completely gone; he is talking and signing and communicating well; and his amount of independent play has certainly increased. But, as yesterday proved to me: parenting a toddler is still really freaking hard.</div>
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I was up with Wilson the night before for a few hours, finally calling in Mike (the closer) to get him back to sleep when I realized he just wasn't going down. We gave him some ibuprofen on the sneaking suspicion that he was teething again. He hasn't mastered the sign or word for "hurt" yet, so it is still a guessing game. He went back to sleep (I was up from 12 to 2:30 a.m.) and I finally got back to sleep around 3 a.m.; just to get woken by the dogs at 4:30 a.m. who frantically alerted me to the dangerous cat in the yard. Being out of energy and patience, I shushed them, quickly ran and lowered the shades, gave them my best I-am-so-in-charge-of-you-bitches posture and stance and verbally threatened their lives if they woke up the baby. That seemed to work and then I finally got back to sleep only to be woken again when Wilson got up for good at 5:15 a.m. I slowly picked myself up off the couch, stared at the baby monitor in disbelief and watched him blithely taking his teething protectors off the crib edges and toss them around the room. I thought, well maybe he'll still go back to sleep. That's when he began jumping on the crib like a trampoline and I spoke a hushed swear word under my breath. I slowly trudged up the stairs, bottle in hand and fed, hugged and entertained him until 6 a.m., when I passed him off to Mike like a hot potato and passed out in bed for 4 more hours. </div>
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Unfortunately, Wilson was equally cranky when I awoke, having given Mike a run for his money all morning: clingy, whiny and needy. Mike's hair was sticking up and he had the recognizable, exhausted "help me for the love of God, look on his face". Wilson turned his full attention to me when he saw me, targeting me for his neediness until his nap at 11:30 a.m. He went down quickly, but woke up an hour later. My blessed partner-in-misery (Mike) let me stay laid down as I realized I was getting a migraine in addition to the awesome events in our wonderful morning. He gave Wilson some meds and rocked him back to sleep so that he slept for two more hours. </div>
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Upon awakening, I decided to check his teeth for progress. On his first side, his molar was red, swollen and clearly about to push through. As I shifted my gel-coated finger to the other side, it was clamped down on by a new molar that apparently had come through during the night. And when I say clamped, I mean it should have been accompanied by Jaws theme music. Mike frantically got some ointment for my finger and after my shriek of pain, Wilson started crying, clearly not intentionally trying to hurt me. Still, I feel as if "NO BITE" should be our new family theme song (perhaps to the tune of Jaws).</div>
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He played a little, led us around by pulling on our hands/clothes/faces, chased the dogs, then wanted to go upstairs to take a bath. I told him it wasn't time yet and he laid his head down on my lap in frustration. He rolled over, pawing his mouth, which should have served as a warning sign, but in my migraine stupor, it didn't look very threatening. Then he buried his head into my thigh and bit me, hard enough to break the skin. I yelled our "NO BITE" motto as Mike came racing around the corner, ointment in hand, with that familiar helpless concerned look on his face. Wilson dissolved into tears again, running to Mike and then back to me with his non-verbal apologies and seeming desire to make sure that I still loved him. After a few minutes, it was time for his bath, so we plodded up the stairs. We got to the top and he ran around checking all of the gates for flaws and then finally proceeding into the bathroom where he began rabidly pulling out the toilet paper and assorted goodies from the drawers.</div>
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And that's when it all hit me. I sat down on the top stair and just began crying hysterically. Apparently it was silent enough not to draw Wilson's attention from his current bathroom-focused tornado, but I just hit a mental wall.</div>
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I'm 13 weeks pregnant and some days I can't keep down water. My house is a disaster and I desperately want to clean and organize it, but have no energy or time to do so. I teach four graduate level courses with over 100 students in them cumulatively, making grading a weekly nightmare and something that I'm perpetually trying to get done. I have 3 active research projects and have not been able to give them much attention this semester. I have over 15 committee assignments at work and over 5 of them are chair or leadership roles. I just did 3 training presentations in a 3-week period. I supervise a fellowship student and mentor countless others. I am finishing up my counseling hours for licensure as a Professional Counselor. I am parenting a difficult-tempered toddler, who despite his sweetness and affection, is harder than any other tasks in my life combined. He drinks his formula voraciously, but is the pickiest eater on the planet. Every meal is a crap-shoot, with me employing dancing, singing and other distraction techniques just to get some food in his face. Half of it always goes to the dogs regardless of my dancing and singing skills. He has disturbed sleep, having a very difficult time falling and staying asleep, moving frequently in bed and clearly having a hard time managing teething and growth spurt pain. He has hella-limited skills with managing his emotions and frustration. He is very smart, which is positive; except that he has managed to outwit most of the child safety locks in the house, figuring them out quickly then causing mass destruction to whatever he can open. My mind shifts from my current anxieties to how-in-the-heck I will survive without family support in town, with dwindling finances and with TWO KIDS. </div>
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Will Wilson be better by next June? Will I get my sabbatical proposal approved so that I have off for 7 months after the baby is born? Will Mike and I manage to stay close and not kill each other with the birth of a new baby? Will Wilson try to eat/smother/return the baby? Will my house ever be organized again? Will I ever find work-life balance? Will this baby have a better temperament (please for the love-of-everything-holy)? Will I make it through this parenting gig sane?</div>
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At 11 p.m. when I had to get up with Wilson again, plodding up the stairs carrying camilia (a holistic teething pain-reliever) and a full bottle, I picked him up into my arms and then snuggled in the rocking chair. He pulled the bottle from his mouth and made a kissing noise, leaning up to kiss my face, then stroke it with his hand, softly saying "mom-mom". He put the bottle back in his mouth and then softly rubbed my already-protruding belly before easily falling back to sleep. Although he got up two more times, Mike got up with him once, his Abuela (his wonderful babysitter Susi) told me she should come to watch him all day today, my best friend Jess and I are going to lunch, and my colleague and close friend Cheri texted me first thing in the morning telling me she is coming from Tuesday to Thursday to help with Wilson and give me a break. The social and tangible support gave me the hope I was so desperately needing.</div>
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Because that is the thing that when you are struggling as a parent, you need more than anything. Words of encouragement and support. Help with your child. A hug. Time away. A little kiss and touch from your child reminding you why you do this gig in the first place. I wonder how many moms and dads out there suffer silently. Grin inauthentically when people ask them how they are doing. Telling others that they adore everything about parenting, that their little one is the apple of their eye and their purpose for living. I know that many parents, especially moms, do not want to ask or accept help because it means we can't do it on our own. But that's the thing. NO ONE EVER DID THIS MUCH BALANCING IN PARENTING ON THEIR OWN EVER. </div>
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When you were a stay-at-home-mom in previous generations, it was much more common that you lived close to your family, you had constant support, a close community, continual hands to take the baby, words of encouragement and some much-needed-breaks. Your role was that of mother, partner and family member. With the much-needed advent of feminism, we, as women, are able to break out of that mold. But, many of us still choose to be mothers. And with that choice comes the traditional expectations of being an energetic, involved, caring and competent mother and most often, primary caregiver. We feel the cultural expectations that we can still take care of our houses, children and partners with ease. Yet, we also have careers, reasons for existing that do not involve breastfeeding and wiping butts all day. But with both roles, we now have a new challenge. Go to work and work on par with males, who don't have swollen breasts and morning sickness; and who, although these expectations are shifting, do not have such internal anxieties and pressures surrounding being SuperMom. SuperMom: she goes to work, exceeding everyone's expectations and getting that well-deserved raise, only to come home, clean the house, cook dinner and help with homework. She's everything to everyone. Except, unfortunately, just like Superman (although it would be really cool if he was real!), she is a myth. Instead, we feel like we are failing at every role, keep apologizing to everyone and sit on our stairs crying hysterically after a particularly bad day. But we still don't feel like we can let people see this side of us; No, we still have to be SuperMom and be everything to everyone. I talk about this all the time with so many mothers I know - it is almost a universal feeling for both working and stay-at-home moms; we are overwhelmed, disillusioned and feel like we are always disappointing someone.</div>
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This doesn't mean that parenting is this hard for everyone. Some babies really are easy, many parents have ongoing family support that they need to make their adjustment easier, and others have fewer roles that help them to not be spread too thin. Still others were not naïve enough to think it was a good idea to get pregnant right away after having a difficult-tempered child who just turned a year old... But no matter the level of difficulty you are experiencing, sometimes you just have to pause, say "this parenting stuff is hard", give yourself permission to be sad (or to cry hysterically), recognize your limits, let go of the parenting myths and get some much-needed and much-deserved help.</div>
Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-47096805081399929532013-11-02T09:18:00.000-07:002013-11-02T09:22:53.761-07:00Once More With Feeling?<div style="text-align: justify;">
So right about now I am feeling INSANE. Diagnosably so. For some reason we told each other that trying to have a second baby earlier rather than later would be smart. We had good reasons. It will be nice for Wilson to have a sibling. We can get it out of the way. It will be easier the second time around. It is likely to take us awhile to get pregnant. I mean, it took us 3 and a half years to get pregnant with Wilson. Even if you cut that in half, it's over a year. Wilson would already be two and almost in preschool by the time the baby was born.</div>
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So our first month, we thought we would play it a little safe. We skipped my like-clockwork ovulation cycle. But I had a funny feeling. Even though my ovulation cycle is ALWAYS on day 17, it decided to come a full 10 days earlier. Almost immediately, I felt something happening. Having been pregnant before, I recognized those familiar cramps, the stretching of my stomach ligaments and an increased thirst. I told Mike that I wasn't sure, but if I wasn't pregnant, I was suddenly getting fatter, so I needed to go back to the gym either way. We laughed. Ha ha - so funny.<br />
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Later that week, I noticed myself rubbing my stomach ligament, something I only do when I'm pregnant. The month before, I had dreamt of a little girl talking to me and telling me she was ready to come to us. In my dream, I hugged her and said yes. Oops. At this point, my intuition was screaming it, but with Wilson, I remembered so many times that I was wrong; it was just wishful thinking. I decided to stop and get an early pregnancy test when I was 1 day late. I had to get a Birthday card for Mike, so thought - eh, might as well. I read the instructions to see that I didn't need to wait until morning, so I again thought - eh, might as well. I followed the instructions and held the little stick in my hand after putting the cap back on. And there it was. Hmmm, I thought - is that the baseline? Nope, that is the pregnant line, coming up stronger and quicker than the baseline, which showed up about 20 seconds later. A second test confirmed it. Very pregnant. <br />
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That excitement turned to a bit of anxiety as I revealed the news to Mike in his birthday card - it read, "For your birthday, I promise not to ask you to do anything...Except to go bring up my maternity clothes from the basement. Once more with feeling, daddy?" He read it, then read it again, and then one more time. He looked at me with a smirk. "Seriously?" he said. There was a reaction somewhere between excitement and nausea. I felt it too. Because, now, baby number 2 is real. I still had to show him the stick. He said, "Well that line is so much lighter though." I had to show him the diagram that revealed that light line was the baseline. "Oh, crap," he said. The ridiculously thick and dark line was screaming "Oh, you are sooooo pregnant."<br />
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Then the other realizations came flooding in:<br />
<ul>
<li>We have to pay our insurance deductible before June...</li>
<li>Wilson will be around 21 months when this baby is born...</li>
<li>Mike won't be out of work yet and has to plan his Field Day while I am puffy and ready to pop...</li>
<li>Wilson, with his unique needs, already feels like having triplets... </li>
<li>I have to get the house ready...</li>
<li>We need another nursery...</li>
<li>Hope they both want to go to SCSU for college...</li>
<li>How am I going to take care of Wilson and be pregnant? The first trimester with him all I could do was lay on the couch, mumble, vomit and put my head back down again...</li>
<li>Will my blood pressure be an issue again? Will I need to be induced?</li>
<li>Please, for the love of god, let this one be of easy temperament...And maybe look a little like me??</li>
<li>Will Wilson still be so needy?</li>
<li>Will he try to beat this baby up?</li>
<li>Oh, the poor dogs... </li>
</ul>
So the first trimester is coming to an end in a few weeks and I did make it. I would sometimes lay on the floor while Wilson was playing; beg him to let me sleep in the mornings on the couch, praying that he would want to snuggle like he did when he was small (no-go) and go to bed at 7 p.m. like I was 80 years old. I almost threw up on my students in class...multiple times. I almost threw up on Wilson. I've thrown up in my car, every time of day and actually had to be on bedrest for a few days because I couldn't keep anything down. All the while, Wilson was teething 4 molars (that have popped through now), 2 front teeth (also through) and 2 canines (those suckers are still poking him) within 4 weeks. BUT, we made it.<br />
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I'm pretty worried about what life will be like when this little one makes their entrance. But, one thing I have learned is that with the support of my awesome husband, my family and friends, I can make it through anything. So, despite our reticence, anxiety, slight shock, fear, nausea and dwindling money supply, here we go: once more, with feeling.<br />
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...And seriously universe, throw me a bone here. BABY WITH AN EASY TEMPERAMENT. I beg you.<br />
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-27617055881793666432013-10-25T07:47:00.002-07:002013-10-25T07:47:28.841-07:00My husband, partner and best friend...<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know that a lot of times dads get a bad rap: they don't have to be pregnant, breastfeed or deliver babies, tend to be the non-primary caregiver, get more easily frustrated with the kiddos, fail to understand what it is like to be home all day with children and sometimes say things that make us moms want to kill them (e.g., What dooo you do all day?). </div>
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But as I am here laying in bed sick this morning, I could not help but reflect on everything that Mike does - that make him an epic father and husband. Even though Mike has always had a well-oiled, ridiculously regimented wake-up schedule before he goes to work, he altered it so that he can get up early with Wilson allowing me to sleep a few more precious hours before he has to leave. He gets up in the morning, changes and feeds Wilson, getting him dressed and often making more homemade formula (since my son drinks it like he's a frat boy, and rather than formula, we've replaced it with gin and juice). He gets dressed very quickly, coming to give me a goodbye kiss, only waking me up at the last possible moment, so I can spend the most time sleeping. He works all day as a Physical Education teacher, running around with elementary school students - seeing all 600 of them in a week. And somehow, unlike me with my PE teacher, he manages to make most of them enjoy it. He is always doing new fun things (a real-life replica of Angry Birds and Plants vs. Zombies, Dancing, etc.), helps with the PTA and does extra things like work on Cultural events for the school. He comes immediately home after work, often bringing me a treat or flowers. I try very hard not to throw Wilson at him the moment he comes home (most of the time I am good at that!), but Wilson often attacks him for a big hug as soon as he hears the door open. After a busy and exhausting day, I often haven't had time to do the dishes - and Mike seeing them, will often, without me ever having to ask, clean them up. He will often take Wilson for a walk so that I can get some rest after being full-time mommy all day, he helps me feed and bathe him; and when I'm not feeling well (like these last few days), he will put him to bed. Knowing I didn't feel well last night, he rubbed my shoulders, kissed me on the temple and asked me how I was feeling. Then he went to bed early, so he could get up early and start this whole process over again. Probably the most amazing thing about Mike is that he worries that he doesn't do enough or that he should never feel cranky. He worries about building a relationship with Wilson that is strong and reads parenting books and magazines late at night that I sometimes veto for freaking him out too much.</div>
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I know I am not alone; because of the new family dynamics, men are really stepping up and helping out around the house, with the kids and balancing their masculine roles with more nurturing and feminine ones. They aren't afraid to babywear, gush over their babies, enjoy snuggling and want to be more engaged with their children. Just like women who are balancing multiple roles in this new culture and generation, they are trying to settle into a new role in which they were not prepared, did not see modeling for and often feel like they are unsure of how well they are doing in it. They have worries, anxieties, fears about their gender role and how they are as a parent; except they were not socialized with the emotional and verbal skills (or the freedom to do so without mockery) to express their feelings. </div>
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So my reflection for today: I'm incredibly lucky to have Mike as a partner, to have him as the father to my son. I have every confidence that Wilson will grow up knowing what it means to be a good man and a good dad because he gets to see it everyday.</div>
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695635694559043265.post-14814662079740572872013-10-22T08:38:00.001-07:002013-10-22T08:52:57.307-07:00Toddlers: Cute, Cuddly, Little Jerks<div style="text-align: justify;">
This past week, Mike and I were exhausted from Wilson's teething drama and accompanying miserable mood, not feeling well and laid near catatonic on the couch after putting him to bed. Mike lifted his head slightly to say to me, "Honey, I love Wilson more than life himself. But is it just me or is he a little jerk sometimes?" I sighed, "Yep. Yep, he certainly is." Although it sounds awful to say out loud, there is no other way to describe his behavior.<br />
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It's not that he is not sweet a lot of the time. He has the best smiles, he loves to hug and cuddle, he has an epic sense of humor, his laughs are contagious and he has become, in every sense of the word, my life. But, like the Force in Star Wars, he has a dark side. </div>
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He bites, he pinches, he screams at the highest pitch possible even though he knows it shreds our ears, he laughs at you when you get hurt, he tries to hit the dogs and pull their tails, he likes to bang things together, rip pages out of books, steal my keys, bash things against the wall, make a ridiculous amount of noise, slam doors, play in the garbage, stomp his feet in anger, collapse screaming when he doesn't get his way, pick my shirt up to poke my belly fat and laugh maniacally, check to see how firm I am feeling about that "no" I just shouted, pull all the clothes out of the hamper, slap my face and pull my hair. And that was just today.<br />
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Yes, he is teething and miserable. Yes, he is challenged by his difficult temperament. Yes, he looks confused, frustrated and sincerely upset most of the time. He's not intentionally being a jerk. But it's hard to remember that when he leans down to bite me in the boob. </div>
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Is Wilson some freak toddler jerk of nature? Here's the worst part that most parents do not dare speak of their toddlers. THEY ARE ALL LIKE THIS. Once in awhile you get one that is calm, naturally empathic, sweet and kind. You won the freaking lottery. The rest act like a tiny drunk, slightly crazy uncle that you don't ever want to visit you. When I take Wilson to MyGym to play with other kids his age, it is clear that all of his little toddler friends are little jerks. They hate sharing, try to smack each other whenever possible; even when they are interested in each other, they poke each other in the face or pull each other's hair. There's a sweet-looking little girl that likes to throw other toddlers from her path if they are in her way of enjoying a toy she feels is hers. These children are selfish, mean and completely happy to grab a toy from any unsuspecting friend. The embarrassed parents do their best to keep other children safe from their own toddler's wrath when things do not go their way; you just tiredly nod in gratitude when they caught their own toddler's hand before it made contact with your toddler's face. These children are walking Freudian IDs; they have no reference for others' feelings because they haven't learned to do so yet.</div>
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Some don't ever learn this. I know many adults, albeit they do not actively participate in assault as readily as a toddler, that cannot handle their temper, have issues being empathic to others, are not kind nor compassionate. They trouble other people, hurt feelings and fail at personal relationships. And despite all of my training and education, it was during the moment that Mike and I lay near comatose on our couch, that I realized it: with the exception of children with special needs/mental health diagnoses, it was their parents that failed them and allowed them to grow up to be adult jerks.</div>
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This sucks. You have so much pressure as a parent. Add on top of that if that you fail, your kid is "that kid" - the kid that is mean, a bully, that hits others and has no understanding of respect. And hence is the hardest thing I have learned so far about parenting a toddler. Toddlers do not come with innate social and emotional skills. They do not understand how to treat others; they only know what they feel and what they want. They understand their own feelings of frustration, anger, intrigue, sadness, pain. Empathy is not within their comprehension since they barely understand that other people are separate from them. <i>"Oh you tripped on my toy and almost fell on your head? That was hilarious because it did not hurt me! But not allowing me to play in the toilet makes me feel frustrated and upset. How could you, Mom? How could you?!!"</i><br />
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It is <u><i>our</i></u> job as parents to not only teach them how to act, but to MODEL how to act. We show them every day with our behavior what is appropriate, how to not be selfish, how to be kind and compassionate. It's not enough that we say "no" and provide guidance; we HAVE to model patience with them, even when they are frustrating us.</div>
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But this is so hard when you are dealing with a miniature frat boy. Try staying calm and compassionate when they throw their hands in their poop while you are changing their diaper. Or when they rip off the place-mat on the table, breaking a glass when you are all barefoot and have three dogs. Or rip your earrings out of your ears. Try calmly applying discipline when you get bitten on the butt, slapped in the face or have your hair pulled. Some days, I just focus on living moment to moment. I take a lot of deep breaths. I count the minutes before Mike gets home from school, thank God that Susi is coming over, pray that he sleeps longer in the mornings and hope that his teeth come in so he is less miserable before he learns how to wield weaponry. </div>
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More than that I pray and hope that I can be strong. Strong enough to teach him how to be a good person, not with my words, but with my actions. No matter how obnoxious he is and no matter how I need to discipline him, I want him to see me being calm, patient, loving, kind and compassionate and always acting with his best interest at heart. I want him to be a good person, to think of others and to be successful in his life and to find true happiness, while always showing respect for himself, his family, his friends and his environment.<br />
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And more than anything, I want him to be a good father someday to a completely obnoxious toddler so he can call me and say, "How the heck did you not kill me?" And I will calmly say, "Sweetie, it was harder than escaping poverty, recovering from depression, graduating from Yale, going through a 50-hour labor, staying calm while being interviewed on live television and time managing 4 jobs, a marriage and a baby PUT TOGETHER. But if your father and I could do it, so can you."<br />
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Dr. Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14930128971531442029noreply@blogger.com1