What to Expect- The Toddler Years

Throughout my pregnancy, the book 'What to expect, when you're expecting' was my bible. After my horrific child birthing experiencing, I was angry. They lied. Childbirth was nothing like the book had told me to 'expect'. When the baby's head is 'crowning', it isn't simply a 'burning sensation'. It feels like your lady bits are being attacked by a chainsaw, coated in sulphuric acid.

Nevertheless, in the weeks following Max's birth, I carried 'What to expect- The first year', everywhere I went. Max was about 8 days old, when I threw the book at the wall. Because that book lied as well. Newborns don't feed every 2-4hours, they (well mine) want to be sucking your nipples until they're bleeding and cracked 24/7. Even from birth, Max had his own unique way of doing things and life was nothing like I 'expected'.

I was shopping the other day and I stumbled across this-



Given my previous experiences with the 'what to expect' crowd, I assume this book is full of complete and utter sh*t. I was tempted to flick through it a little, but the illustrations alone made me nauseous. I'm certainly no expert on toddlers and the oldest toddler I know is 28 months, so the extent of my knowledge ends there. Nonetheless, I think I could impart a little bit of realism into the whole 'what to expect' bizzo.

Note: Please remember, this is all intended in good humour and is by no means a replacement to scientifically proven parenting advice (that's what Attachment Parenting is right?). Besides, you might get lucky and have a toddler as placid as the ones adorning the cover of the book- just (a) don't gloat about it and (b) don't give them a matching 'bowl' haircut.

When you have a toddler, you can expect......

• To find the most random of crap, in the most random of places. There'll be egg flips in your bed, shoes in your bathtub and Mr Potato Head in your toilet. None of this will seem strange to you.

• To find yourself saying things, which are utterly ridiculous but again, don't seem strange to you. Examples include, but are not limited to the following-

1. Why is the dog covered in noodles?
2. Do not throw that helicopter at the....*smash*, *yelp* dog.
3. For the love of Jebus, will you STOP harrassing the dog?
4. Things that go in the rubbish bin, stay in the rubbish bin. Except for shoes. Why are my shoes in the rubbish bin?
5. Please stop trying to eat my shoe.
6. Mummy is not Mr Potato Head.
7. Yes it's a car. Yes it's a car. Yes it's a car. Yes it's a car. Yes it's a car. Brrrrrrooom. Yes it's a car.
8. We don't eat dead bugs. Actually, we don't eat any bugs, alive or otherwise. For the love of cheesecake, spit that bug outta your mouth.
9. The toilet bowl is not a swimming pool.
10. The ipad has gone to sleep now. Nigh nigh ipad. In fact, everything has gone to sleep, nigh nigh train, nigh nigh hot wheels and nigh nigh to every annoying toy I'd secretly love to throw in the bin.
11. It's a wall. Not a canvas.
12. We don't hit people across the head with the remote control.
13. Mummy doesn't need you to repeatedly ram the fridge door on her head.
14. Stop sticking crayons down mummy's bra.
15. Please don't rub Mr Monkey on your doodle

• To abandon every parenting/discipline/educational strategy you had carefully planned out. Unless you have a textbook child, you'll spend most of your day flying by the seat of your pants. You might as well flush your disciplinary plans down the toilet, alongside the hairbrush, toast and random bits of fluff you find there. For example

1. My friend was successfully using time-out with her Master 2. Until the little fella decided he actually liked being in time-out and started deliberately hitting her repeatedly, so he'd get sent there.
2. My own son, who is bemused by my firm voice, giggles at my stern voice and laughs maniacally at my 'mummy's lost her shiz' voice. I have absolutely no control over him. Any type of reaction is a win in his books, and there's only so long I can maintain a poker face, whilst he's lobbing things at my head (The other day I was hit in the eye by a toy pineapple. Seriously. A flying pineapple)

• Extreme variances in mood. Toddlers are like land mines, you tip toe around them all day, trying to avoid anything which might trigger a full blown meltdown. Nonetheless, they will still loose their sh*t, with monotonous regularity. Sometimes, you won't even know why. You'll spend a large portion of your day, feeling like this.....

And then they'll look at you, all like this.....

And then you'll feel, all like this.....

• Mummy will always cop the entire repertoire of vile toddler behaviour. This is because they love you more than anyone else, in a sense it's a compliment, but you will find yourself wondering if your child actually hates you. In most instances, your toddler will pull out their halo for everyone else and then don the devil horns for you. Naturally, people will assume it's their superior way of interacting with your child that causes this response. It's not. We call those people 'douche bags'.

• Every single night, you'll stand by their bed watching them sleep and wonder if you could possibly love them any more than you already do. Then you'll wake up the next day and discover (a) that you totally love them even more than you did yesterday, and (b) there's a dinosaur in your undies drawer.

Goodbye Jess

There have been two people, who have been particularly influential in Max's rehab journey- Andrew (Neuro-Developmental Therapist) and Jess (Physiotherapist). I've written about Andrew a few times, most recently, here, but it's been a long time since I've written about Jess since the day they met. It's been something I've intended to do for a long time, but haven't- until now. Yesterday, I got a phone call from Jess, telling me she had a new job and that she was leaving. I felt sick and really hope, she couldn't hear me choking up over the telephone. Last night, I lay in bed wondering how on earth I could say goodbye and thank someone who'd given us so much?

In the days, weeks and months after Max's stroke, I obsessively read everything I could, about brain injury rehabilitation. I learnt, that early intervention was crucial for optimal recovery, particularly in the first 3 years of a childs life. Max was assessed for inpatient rehab, but wasn't accepted. On discharge, we had to wait 6 weeks before we had an assessment with the out-patient rehab team and it was there, we were told, they would see him again "once he was more delayed". I was pretty pissy about the whole situation and wrote this post Can anyone help?.  I was inundated with responses, it took me months to follow up on every suggestion. Eventually, I received an email from someone who told me about an Allied Health service called 'SPOT for kids', specifically for kids with brain injuries. This is how we came to meet Jess.

For months, I worked extra shifts to meet the cost of having a private physiotherapist and we've since been granted funding for it. Max absolutely adored Jess, everytime they were together, it melted my heart. He would snuggle into her and give her kisses, which is something he never did with any other therapist. Jess was everything the other physio's weren't- proactive. We worked well together to actively prevent future problems, rather than wait for them to develop.



This is my favourite photo of Jess and Max. You can see how much they adore one another.


Jess taught him 'protective reflexes' (ie putting both arms out when you fall) from infancy. Subsequently, he's avoided the bruises and black eyes which many 'hemi-kids' sustain. She taught us, the importance of falling (safely) when he was learning to sit/stand/walk independently. She explained, falling 'teaches' the muscles about where they need to start working and developing. She also showed him the safest ways of falling! She gave us comprehensive programs, which focused on his overall gross motor development. We did lots of stretches and passive movement to prevent his muscles from getting too tight. She taught Max how to make the transitions from lying to sitting and then from sitting to standing. One afternoon, I went through the 'sitting to standing' transition with Max and unleashed a monster! For days/weeks, he was obsessed with learning to stand up. I'd sit on the floor for hours, repeatedly showing him the transitions and being his human climbing frame. It took awhile, but he eventually mastered it.

With Jess' help, and a LOT of hard work, Max went against the odds and met every major milestone spot on time. He walked at around 13 months, when we'd be told to expect a significant delay. I'm 100% sure, none of it would've been possible, if not for Jess.

In hindsight, I now see, I was in a very dark place for most of the first year following Max's stroke. I was loathe to admit how much I was grieving, when I was so grateful my son was still alive. I had so many moments of wanting to scream about the injustices of life and sometimes I still do. Life was never as rosy as I painted it, everyone thought I was so strong and I could never admit how truly sad I was.

Before Jess, we had no other therapists, it was just me. Little ol' me who took a rapid crash course in child physical development and brain injuries. I put a lot of pressure on myself to keep him moving forward, I felt alone and frightened. I almost always felt like I wasn't doing enough.

From a metaphorical perspective, Jess held my hand and guided me through the darkness. She listened, she validated, and she never made me feel like the neurotic mother I knew I was. She never seemed to mind, my random emails, sent at random times about whatever concern had crept into my mind. She genuinely cared about Max, she always remembered his birthday and went out of her way to drop off a Christmas present she had bought him. For that period of time, she was the closest thing I had to a friend. She reduced the pressure I was feeling, and she gave me hope.



I wish he was looking at the camera here!





I'm not someone who cries, but there are tears streaming down my cheeks as I struggle to finish this post. I want to wish Jess all the best in her new job, I want to give back to her, what she has given to us. I want to say thank you, even though I know it isn't enough. How can you say goodbye to someone, when you can't even find the words to tell them how much brighter they've made your universe?




Thank you Jess. You taught us both to walk.

"because I knew you, I have been changed for good"
                 
('For Good', written by Steven Schwartz for the musical Wicked)