Tag Archives: motherhood; toddlers;

Miscellaneous toddlerisms – 3

Super Princess!

D, running around the room with her arms stretched out in front of her: “I’m Super Princess! If any of my toys fall into the water, I’ll save them!”
In her spare time, Super Princess also subverts gender stereotypes 🙂

Baby city

D while watching an episode of Peppa Pig called ‘Babysitting’: “But amma, they haven’t gone to Baby city yet!”

Bubbles

D decides to loudly comment on our (balding but otherwise somewhat hairy) driver’s appearance while in the car today.
D: Amma! This driver uncle has no hair in the front!
Me (darting a nervous look at him): Yes, yes baby. Different people have different hairstyles, right?
D nods and pipes down. I heave a sigh of relief.
(A few minutes later)
D (thoughtfully as she sips from her bottle): Amma! All the hair on his arms…
Me (breaking in desperately): D, drink your water!
D: But Amma! All the hair…
Me (louder): Just drink your water, D.
D (determinedly): But Amma, all the hairs on his arms look like bubbles!

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How to (not) use band-aids, toddler-style

1. Demand band-aid for non-existent boo-boo. The operative word here is ‘non-existent’. The vociferousness with which a toddler demands a band-aid is inversely proportional to the actual need for the band-aid. Tiny bumps, barely-there scratches, invisible ant bites… and your toddler will clutch at the (supposedly) injured limb and pitifully ask for her Dora/Hello-Kitty/Princess band-aid. “I need it amma!” she’ll cry, “please, please, please!”

Of course, you give in because you can’t take the whining, and because these band-aids are just a more expensive version of stickers at the end of the day. At least  she uses the band-aids just one at a time; with stickers, an entire entire sheet is dispensed with in 4.3 seconds flat.

So you put on the band-aid, and there is peace and quiet as the child admires it and declares she is much, much better. You may even receive a hug for being such a wonderful ‘band-aid doctor’, and if your kid’s into Doc McStuffins, a rendition of the ‘I feel better’ song. She’s happy, you’re feeling pretty pleased and all iz well… for about 5 seconds. Then your toddler will…

2.  Demand to have the band-aid removed. Why? Why, if you love these band-aids so much, do you need to get them off so fast? Wouldn’t you want your pretty Hello Kitty band-aid to stay on for longer? You whined and whined for 15 minutes to have it put on, and now you can’t keep in on longer than 5 secs? What is the point?

So, anyway, you give in again, because this is not a battle worth fighting. This is a band-aid she didn’t even need in the first place, so why bother arguing about how long she should keep it on? Of all the random, un-winnable arguments one gets into with a strong willed toddler during the course of the day, this falls under the ‘whatever- I don’t care’ category. Yes, the stupid Princess band-aids were expensive, but, you know, whatever.

Then, of course, your toddler will…

3.  Want it off but be scared of it hurting. The worst part of this stage is the realisation of how pointless the entire exercise was. Let’s do a brief review: you’re taking off the band-aid of a child who didn’t need it in the first place, but got it on after nagging you to death for it, only to want to take it off 5 seconds later. Only, now she doesn’t want to take it off. Well, she wants to take it off, but she’s scared on taking it off, so she doesn’t want you to take it off. If you catch my drift.

So you remind your toddler of how you took it off just the other day, and of how you were so good at it because you’re the best band-aid doctor ever! It won’t hurt at all, you promise, it’ll be over in seconds. She says nooooo! So you get impatient and say, fine keep it on. To which she says, nooooo! So you finally take matters in your own hands and ruthlessly rip it off. Ouch! That wasn’t so bad, was it? Only 20 minutes of your life you’ll never get back.

Now let’s fast forward ahead to a day or two later when your toddler will….

4. Refuse to put on the band-aid when it’s actually needed: So your baby has fallen and hurt her knee pretty bad. Or she needed a blood test and has sobbed her way through the whole procedure. You remember how much she loves her Hello Kitty/Dora/Princess band-aid and offer it to her as an incentive to stop crying. As a way to make her happy. Anything to bring a smile on her face. And yay! For once, the darned cartoon character band-aids are actually needed! They’re going to serve a purpose beyond cluttering the house and lying about here and there.

Caught up in the moment, you forget two important things. A) Your child does not like to put the band-aid over an actual injury. Those she likes to leave open, so she can pick at them and make them bleed B) You’ve forgotten what will transpire once you actually get it on.

5 a. Return to Step 2You’ve gotten the band-aid on at actual injury!!! Score one for the Mommy team! Hurray! Or, you know, not. Because we now go straight back to No. 2, bypassing the joy and 5 seconds of peace and quiet at the end of Step 1 altogether. Because your toddler wants the band-aid to be removed. Now.

But it’s worse this time. Because she actually kinda needs it. You want her to keep it on for a bit. This is not an argument that falls into the ‘whatever, suit yourself’ category. You make deals. You offer incentives to keep it on. You remind her you’re the band-aid doctor.

Of course, two minutes later, you cave and agree to take it off. Only… she doesn’t want you to take it off. But she also does. And this time it actually hurts her for real when you do. And she cries and cries and looks pitiful.

5 b. Return to Step 1: So after all that drama surrounding removing the band-aid, you’d think they’d be off the favourites list, right? Wrong. Because the next time she sees Princess/Hello Kitty/Dora band-aids anywhere in the house or the store, she will demand that you put it on for her,  on the invisible boo-boo on her elbow, right now. Because: “I really need it, amma! Please, please, please!”

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Tough Toddler Question Session

D: Amma, where do dinosaurs live?
Me: They’re not alive anymore, baby. They’re gone.
D: But where have they gone?
Me (stumped): Uhm…
D: Have they gone to a hot beach?
Me: No, no, baby, they’re not on a beach. They’re… they’re not anywhere on Earth.
D: Then where are they?
Me (completely at a loss): Uhmm… (Suddenly struck by inspiration) They’ve become fossils! You remember those dinosaur bones and fossils we saw? That is where they are… they’ve become bones and fossils in the ground.
D (thoughtfully): Ohh.
Me: *feeling pleased with myself*
D (after a few moments): But how did they become fossils, amma?
Me (heart sinking): Uhmm… (hyperventilating because I’m heading into dark territory) that happens when… when they… when they’re not alive any more.
D: What does alived mean, amma?
Me (totally out of my depth now): Uhm… it’s when you can walk and run and talk and everything.
D (thoughtfully): Oh. Is teddy biddy alived?
Me (relieved to have a question I can actually answer): No, darling. See how he can’t talk or move by himself?
D (hugging teddy): I think teddy is better than being alived. He’s better for hugging because he’s cuddly!
Me: *phew* Yes baby, he is!

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Five things that happen when you go out without your toddler

1. You re-discover the joy of walking in long, adult-sized strides without having a pint-sized person’s pace slowing you down every step of the way. And you can actually stop and look at whatever you want to! Clothes! Interesting people! Books! You even get to look at yourself in the occasional mirror and realise to your horror that you forgot completely to comb your hair before you left home.

2. You can walk past toy-stores or shelves filled with colourful trinkets or candy without dread striking your heart and without having to engage in a passionate, 15 minute argument with a three year old as to the merits of the fluorescent pink toy camel she really, really wants. Of course, you end up hovering around the store indecisively anyway, torn between wanting to pick up a little something for the kid, and not wanting to add any more to the already enormous pile of junk in your home…

3. You can walk down the street without having to stop to point out and discuss in depth the double-decker buses, cute pets, pretty flowers, and irregularly shaped reflections and shadows you pass along the way. Unfortunately, you find yourself noticing them anyway and longing to point them out to someone.

4. You can unthinkingly jab lift buttons without having to worry about a little person having a meltdown and yelling, “Nooooo! Meeee! I want to press!” You can also actually make the choice of whether you want to take the lift or the stairs, and do either in complete zoned out silence without having to make eye contact or conversation with another person for a change.

5. You come home and get the world’s most wonderful welcome from a little person who makes you feel like the centre of their universe. Perfect ending to the perfect outing! Though maybe you should have picked up that pink camel for her after all…

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Toddler Talk: A letter to my toddler

Today, after a very long time, you had tears in your eyes when I dropped you off at preschool. You didn’t even throw a tantrum, just clung to me with huge tears rolling down your cheek. It broke my heart. I’d watched another mom dealing with the same thing just the other day. I saw her face as she walked away after her toddler was taken inside crying, and I knew she was hurting. It was probably worse for her, because I know she goes to work, and wouldn’t be back until later in the evening to pick her child up. I know those tears will linger in her mind, even as she deals with the tasks of her work day.

I want to tell you, though, that I understand. Today, somehow, I didn’t get frazzled or worked up that you were crying. Instead, my mind flashed back some 20-odd years, and I remembered how I felt as a small child, watching my mother drop me off and leave. Suddenly, school or wherever you are at that time feels like an alien territory because it’s bereft of the person who is the centre of your existence. I get it. In fact, I remembered that I hated that feeling so much that I never wanted my parents to drop me in school. I always preferred to go by bus, filled with my noisy friends, because that way, I would be directly plunged into the school day and not have to ‘part’ with my parents at the gate.

I also want to tell you how much I wish that you didn’t have to feel these difficult emotions. I wish I could protect you from all of it. There are so many more you’ll have to deal with as you get older… hurt, betrayal, bitter disappointments, intense fear, pain, anger you won’t know how to handle. I wish I could protect you the way I did when you were inside me. But I can’t. You live in this world, and you have to deal with its vagaries, its realities, and yes, its cruelties. I’ll do my very best to give you the tools to deal with the things to come, and when that’s not enough, I want you to know that you can always come to me to talk or rant or cry or even just hug.

Right now, you’re somewhere on the cusp between babyhood and childhood. Sometimes you look and talk so much like a ‘big girl’, I forget you’re still just little more than a baby. Then on days like this or on nights when you throw a tantrum over nothing, I remember it again. I realise that you’re a little person dealing with big emotions, stuff that even adults struggle with. I’ve lived in this world 30-odd years and I still have emotional blow-outs when I’m exhausted or facing a problem I haven’t dealt with before. How can I expect you to handle things perfectly on little over three years of lived experience? It might seem irrational to me that you’re crying over being without me for a couple of hours, but I will try and remember it feels like a big deal to you. I won’t say, “Don’t be silly!” or “Big girls don’t cry!” or “It’s just for a few hours!” I’ll try and understand, and I’ll give you a hug and a kiss and wipe your tears.

But I’ll still muster up a cheerful smile and wave and walk away. I’ll do that because I believe you have the ability to cope with whatever you’re feeling. I’ll do it because I know we can always talk about it at night, like that time you told me you were having a ‘funny feeling’ and we realised that you were feeling scared of that strangely shaped shadow in the bedroom. I’ll do it because as much as I wish I could just hold you in my arms and shield you against everything difficult and painful, I know that I can’t. I’ll do it because I love you, and am doing the best I can for you, the best way I know how.

I just wanted you to know that.

Love,

Amma

‘Toddler Talk’ is a weekly column published in The Hindu Metroplus. This article originally appeared here titled ‘To baby, with love’.  

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Toddler Talk: Mess Management, Toddler-Style

Messy, that’s me

How having a toddler around has actually made me less messy

I have an admission to make – I’m a messy, messy person. When I’ve gotten ready to go out for the evening, all available surfaces in my room are covered in clothes and make-up, and wardrobe doors hang wide open. My living room looks like a hurricane hit it, and my dining table is used more as a storage unit than as a place for a sit down meal. Don’t get me wrong; I do keep things hygienic, but I’ve always lived a deeply cluttered existence.

Notice that I’m not blaming my toddler. In fact, having an active, inquisitive child around has actually made me better. Yes, you read that right. In the last couple of years, I’ve learnt the hard way that if you leave your stuff lying around, your toddler will take it upon herself to investigate said stuff. And all toddler investigations come with the following disclaimer: “The toddler is not responsible for any damage to your belongings. If you left it within arm’s reach, it’s fair game.”

It took me a while, but I finally figured out that laziness – which is really at the root cause of most messiness – is not an option when there’s a toddler in your life. You know something needs to be put away but you ignore it anyway and go back on Facebook… Well, your toddler is going to make you pay.

-That pretty dress/dupatta that you love? Yes, the one lying on the floor of the bedroom. You’d better pick it up, otherwise it’s going to be painted on, decorated with play-dough, or even pooped on (true story).

– That coffee cup / cereal bowl that you’ve left perched precariously by the sofa? You’d better put in the sink, or it’ll end up on the floor, in smithereens. And the remaining coffee/milk will adorn both your sofa and your toddler.

– That brand new electronic gadget you’ve left lying in the study? Yes, the beautiful Samsung tablet / iPhone / DSLR camera you spent most of the month’s salary on. You really, really should put it away, because it’ll be jab-jab-jabbed, poked and prodded until, according to your toddler, “it’s not working!” anymore.

– That bottle of juice that’s on the dining table, the one that you know you didn’t close the lid of properly? Yes, turn right back, close the lid tight, and put it away. Because you know it’ll be tipped over and you’ll be sloshing about in a river of juice before you know it. And guess who’ll be the first to slip, fall, and sob that her foot’s hurt? That’s right. The toddler who tipped it over in the first place.

– That stack of boxes/files/books in the corner? The one you’ve been planning to put away for a month? Well, put it away already! Because it looks incredibly like a a) castle b) tower c) tree or d) mountain to your toddler, and simply must be climbed. We all know how that’s going to end, don’t we?

-Those small toy parts you see scattered all over the floor? Yes, the ones you’re pretending don’t exist. They’re either going to impale your foot, or end up in your toddler’s mouth, in which case you’ll dash across the room horror to get it out, and impale your foot anyway.

– That box of earrings you left on your dressing table? Next to your expensive new lipstick and bright red nail polish? Yeah. Good luck getting the nail polish off your earrings and the lipstick off your toddler’s face, and all of it off your floor.

After a few such episodes, moms develop a sixth sense. Take it from me and don’t ignore that little voice which says, “Put away the tube of cream!” Your room will be neater for it, and more importantly, you won’t have to spend the evening scrubbing face cream off your kitchen counters …

TIPS:

  1. If it can break, it shouldn’t be anywhere within a toddler’s reach.
  2. If you care about it, keep it off the floor or couch and in the cupboard.
  3. If it can spill, keep a lid on it. If it’s hot, sharp or heavy, keep it way up high.

 

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Toddler Talk: Confusion Central

Too many parenting choices making you crazy? You have company

Sometimes, at the end of another day of toddler parenting, I’m emotionally and mentally exhausted. And it isn’t my daughter’s fault. On these days, the trouble is all in my own head, the result of over-thinking, over-analysing, and over-worrying every little parenting choice or decision I have to make. It’s like having a half a dozen or so hyperactive squirrels running round and round in circles within the confines of my brain. Let me tell you, it’s not fun.

The worst part is knowing that I’m solely responsible for all the confusion. This generation of yuppie parents are uniquely gifted in this regard. We have too many options. We read too much – too many different perspectives in too many parenting books and news articles and websites. We sit on the fence between the traditional and the modern (Western?), flip-flopping awkwardly between the two. We obsess about the right choices to make, terrified of making the wrong ones.

For instance, do you do the traditional mottai (tonsure) or not? For the record, I didn’t. But then I wonder often if I should. One squirrel in my brain squeaks that the older folks have it right. Maybe the hair the child is born with should be removed for her well-being. Then the other squirrel pipes up – nonsense! The rest of the world manages just fine without turning kids bald in the first few years of their lives.

Squirrel 1: But there’s a reason why we have this tradition, isn’t there?

Squirrel 2: But the baby curls! So pretty!

You see? Round and round in circles.

Let’s talk about that other rite of passage… piercing your baby’s delicate, petal-like earlobes when she’s just an infant (holes! In those tiny, tiny lobes!). What’s the best time to do it? What’s the best way? Gun-shot or the traditional method? What about infection (oh my god, oh my god!)? Do you trust a jewellery shop to do it or go to a doctor? Squirrels, lots and lots of them.

It’s not just the traditional stuff. Vaccines are a huge part of it. As if the first year of parenting wasn’t hard enough already, you need to go every few minutes (or so it seems) and watch the doctor stick a big needle in your baby while you stand by helplessly and the child sobs as though the world is ending. Not to mention the fussing, and the mild fevers and rashes that follow. It’s all for the good of the child, though, isn’t it? Unfortunately, there’s always the internet to shatter your peace. ‘Vaccines are evil!’ shouts one site, ‘Conspiracy by Big Pharma!’ shouts another. Your doctor looks beyond exasperated when you ask her yet again if the vaccine is really, really needed, but you can’t help yourself. Whom do you trust? The world tells you – no one. Then what to do? Squirrels! Squirrels everywhere!

The choice of school, of course, is another one that makes us turn grey (or fat, depending on your stress-eating habits). Traditional schools or alternative? Big or small? AC or non-AC, basic?

It keeps adding up. And it’s all the worse because every person you meet seems set to judge you instantly. Should you teach your child only her mother tongue or more of the English she going to need in school? Either way, you’re going to hear “She doesn’t understand English?” or “Tamizh theriyada?” The list is endless… food choices (processed or natural? Maggie or ragi?), vitamins and tonics (evil or necessary?), disciplining (there are about 15 million books, articles and blogs written on this one topic alone, and about 15 million opinions more), and so on.

It would be easier, of course, if we just did what our mothers and grandmothers did before us, follow blindly in their footsteps. But that’s out of the question. We’re too ‘enlightened’. So we worry. We muddle. We confuse. And the squirrels in the brain go round and round, round and round, round and round…

TIPS:

  1. No helpful suggestions on this one. Too squirreled out.
  2. You’re on your own. You don’t know whom to trust. What right? What’s wrong?
  3. Panic attack? Join the club. Here, have a cup of camomile tea.

‘Toddler Talk’ is a lighthearted weekly column that appears in The Hindu MetroPlus

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