SUPER DADDY

Apparently Superman isn't wearing a cape - but his baby. At least that is what I was invited to promote on Facebook recently. And it wasn't the first post that praised Daddies who wear their babies. Despite the fact that I dislike the saying "wearing a baby" especially in relation to "showing off" and "being super Daddy" - because that's what those posts implement if you ask me - I don't think that any child would say that their Daddy is great, cool or wonderful because he has "worn" them as a baby.

Instead my Dad sat me on his lap in the car when he drove me to the creche in the village we were living back then.
What else he did I don't know but probably not too much. That's the impression I get from the stories my Mom and Dad tell me. And well, since they got divorced when I was only 2 years old I can't really rely on any of their stories because they are mixed with their feelings about their own relationship at this time. But I can tell you that:

My Dad didn't spend regular weekends with us but he was there for our birthdays and Christmas. During winter and summer holidays we spend weeks at his parents' - our grandparents'- house in the countryside and he came and visited us there quite often.

From what I remember he cared for our education and later kept asking how things went in school. He was there when I finished High school and supported me throughout my studies - despite his opinion that women don't need to study at all. Yes - he has his views on life and I have mine. Many of them differ but we know that, we talk about them and we respect them.

When I split up with a boyfriend he asked me if I wanted to talk about it.

When he calls me he knows within a minute how I feel and even says things like: "I hear you are not in a good mood. Do you want to tell me or shall we talk later?" I am 34 and it still surprises me how well he knows me.

When I was a student I regularly went to visit my Dad and stayed with him for a night or two. It wasn't rare that we'd spend the night talking up until 1 or 2 a.m. And by talking I don't mean the weather. He told me about our past. About his divorce from my Mom. How he felt back then and what went wrong. He told me his feelings about my brother's sudden death and about everything I am doing. He talks about his parents and their relationship. And I know that I can tell him everything. He knew when I was in therapy and he knew that it would do me good.

When I was little my Dad took my brother and me to football matches or other sports events. I always thought he did that for my brother. But I enjoyed it too and later when my brother was dead he still took me. At some point I realized that he loved to go to sports events and enjoyed it that I joined him.

I was the only one supporting his crazy hobby of riding a motor cycle like a maniac until the age of 60. I supported his crazy decision of buying a new one after he crashed his and was flown to hospital where I visited him at the ICU. I won't deny that I was relieved when he sold the machine but I also knew that if he would have died riding it - he would have died doing something he loved.

He loves his grandson and is sad to live that far away so he barely sees him. He does not agree on all parenting decisions we go for but he tells me that, we talk about it and he respects them.

He supports my decision to ditch my Diploma and the job I had and I studied for with (partly) his money. Because he wants me to do something I am happy with.

He has the best sense of humor - one, that sometimes only I understand.

So no, my Dad may not have been the best Dad when I was little. He cheated on my Mom when she was caring for their children. But that is their story. When it comes to what - FOR ME - was a good Dad I wouldn't trade him for the world.

And therefore I don't care if a Dad is carrying his baby in a sling or pushing him in a pram. I wish for every child to have a father that - from birth on - tries to understand him and his feelings. That is a person to look up and talk to. Talk about the good and the difficult things in life. One to laugh with but one to be quiet with too. One to share joys with. And concern. One that knows his child. Even if that means getting to know him again and again over time.

OK. LET'S GO!

The other day Leander was playing with his cars on the floor while I was lying on the sofa. He came over and said: 'Mama, come, wanna show something.' I was tired and couldn't think of what he could possibly show me that I couldn't see from the sofa myself. I told him that I am tired but he insisted: 'Mamaaaa! Come! Wanna show something!' for at least three more times until I got really curious and slowly rolled myself from the sofa down to the floor where we then sat down next to his cars.

Well. What he wanted to show me was that he had parked them all. In line. I could see that. I already watched him do it and saw the result from the sofa. But for him it was really important that I got up, came close and most importantly: shared his joy! And so I did. I looked at him and smiled and said: "Yeah, you parked them all in line." and he nodded and said: "Yeah!"
It was something he had done like a million times before. But he was excited about it NOW. His eyes wide open, sparkling. And he told me that the police car did not fit in that one spot but instead he put it over there! And the more I let his excitement overcome me the more I got really excited myself. He ran away and found a tractor that he needed to park too. And then I needed to help him rearrange the whole parking situation. And we continued parking the cars for a while. Sometimes he told me what I did wrong but mainly we had the same idea of how the cars should be arranged. And more: I had fun. I actually felt some satisfaction in this game. His game. I was where he was and he enjoyed me being there. Not just around but right down there on the floor IN his game. The two of us in one universe.

Two weeks ago I attended a course in which we experimented with Hengstenberg toys and climbing materials for children. But it wasn't just about climbing and playing. It was a lot about going back to our own awareness and how we have become so goal orientated. That we always wonder: "What is that for? What am I supposed to do with it? What is it good for ?"
Heinrich Jacoby, a German educator on sensitivity and awareness, used to say: "Thing - what do you want from me?"
And while - in this course - I was lying on the floor playing with a simple wooden object for 45 minutes, discovering its shape, smell, weight, sitting and standing on it, holding it - all blindfolded - I had so many thoughts going through my mind. I was wondering along an unknown path so open minded feeling so light and curious. So many ideas on what to do and explore with this piece of wood came to my mind that suddenly I did not just remember Jacoby's saying but also felt it. Deeply.

And amongst all this playing I suddenly heard Leander saying: 'Mama, come with me.' to what I used to respond with: 'Why?' or 'Where are we going?' And I realised how sad that was. How sad for me not being open for the unknown. Not being curious. And how sad for Leander - always having to "convince" me with a certain reason to follow his excitement.

Obviously I don't always have time to follow him. But the more I allow myself to do so when there is nothing else the more often he accepts when I really have to refuse his begging for a particular reason. And then he goes off, maybe doing something completely different than what he had in mind. Because he still is open to the unknown while I am re-learning hard the joy of saying "Ok. Let's go!" instead of "Where to?".

STEP BY STEP iNTO THE WATER

This weekend we spent with the grandparents and they live in an area with many spas. So we decided to enjoy a day in there. Leander has been rather respectful, mostly scared of water for most of the time and we thought if we are careful it can't really harm anything anymore but maybe help him get a little closer to liking it.

When we arrived at the spa he was all excited and got changed. He carried his little toy bucket and a ball we took for him. He looked around a lot and held my hand. Tight. Very tight.
Inside it was loud and very busy. Fortunately we found the kids pool pretty soon. It wasn't too busy so when I walked a step in he quickly followed me. He stopped on the top step. And when he tried to go down the second step I could see his little foot carefully measuring the depth until he felt the stone floor underneath. He was checking how deep he would get. And if it felt safe enough. In the end it was not even knee deep and Leander felt comfortable. Still holding my hand. Tight.

He walked around the outline of the pool a few times, getting to know the place and carefully observing what the other children were doing. At some point he figured that there was a deeper square in the middle of that pool so he decided to give that a try. Again he measured the depth with his feet before actually setting his foot down. Now in the water up to his belly he looked at me. And Smiled. He walked through this deep square a number of times. Now even without holding my hand. You could actually see his confidence growing. And his joy.

When water suddenly started coming out of several columns and walls he got frightened a bit and we went to the outer steps, sat down and he started pouring some water with his bucket over his legs and feet. Something he wouldn't even do in the bath tub (where he preferred to stand rather than sit).

A while later Jan asked him if he wanted to check out the bigger pool for adults. It had a very long slope going in so he could try and walk as much as he liked and what felt ok for him. I was sure they'd come back in a wee while. Well - I was wrong. On Jan's back he was actually up to his neck in the water, holding tight like a monkey but enjoying himself. A LOT.

When they got back he told me to come with him. To the big pool again. And he started walking into it himself. Step by step. Deeper and deeper. Until he was standing in the water up to his chin. Swallowing water. Trying hard not to fall. When he turned around there was this big smile in his face. I had to make sure that it was really him who was standing there in front of me. My son.
I stayed close by so when he would slip and fall I could bring him back up. He fell only once and pulled himself back up. He cried a little but when I told him what happened and he realized that he was actually ok he kept walking. And smiling.

He wasn't going under water again. Not by accident and not on purpose. But that's nothing I'd expect. He's done a great step for himself yesterday. And the way he mastered it all by himself without us pushing or encouraging him was just so overwhelming to watch. We must have looked like the weirdest family on the planet. All just quietly watching each other. All smiling and enjoying Leander's new discovery.

Boundaries and fears accompany us for most of our life. Some a little longer, some only for a short time. Many boundaries we never stretch, many fears we never overcome. Some boundaries we don't even recognize as such. Or we let others step inside our comfort zone without feeling good about it. Children are much more honest. What feels weird or strange they do not allow. If we respect that they might be more open to overcoming fears on their own before they can foster and harm them all their life. Something many of us adults have unlearned.
Today I decided to overcome my own fear of water eventually. I don't even know what the reason behind is, what the real problem is and how to start. But once I am no longer carrying a baby belly I will go for it and figure. Stepping into my son's tiny footsteps.

Instead of "Please say Thank you." I think: "I trust you."

When I go and pick up Leander from the creche he comes running towards me and cannot wait to go. Well at least out to the front garden where the bigger children play. He does not turn back. He does not say „Good bye.“ I know that this is something I can not force him to do. But the teachers are making a real effort in meeting and greeting all the children by their names. Every day they say „Good bye Leander, see you tomorrow.“ Sometimes I ask him if he wants to say Good bye. Sometimes he does. Sometimes not.

I know that teaching a child when to say Hello, Thank you or Sorry is not necessary. And I don‘t. Yet there is this tiny bit of „Good behaviour“ that I have learned from my parents and the society‘s critical look sitting in my neck.

Then I remember how my mom used to tell me to say Thank you to my granny for my birthday or Christmas presents. And although I obviously had done it already I did so again and when we left the house I did again. And still wasn‘t sure if that was enough. When I grew older and Christmas presents resulted in a money transfer to my bank account my mom would call me to ask if I had called my granny. Again I wasn‘t sure how often I should call her to make sure she knew that I indeed was grateful. It was awful and even today I am sometimes not sure how to thank people. Is it enough to say it? Do I have to give something back? How often can one say „I‘m sorry“ so the other one really believes that I AM sorry indeed? How often do we say sorry, although we aren‘t really?

Alfie Kohn has made it quite clear: ‘Thinking a child is going to feel sorry just because you make him say he’s sorry? The only thing that’s going to do is teach the child to lie about his feelings!’

So no. No matter how much society expects my son to be well behaved. I am not teaching him to say „Hello.“ to somebody stretching out his hand towards him. Because I trust him that he can learn that himself. He watches us. Watches society. Carefully and closely. You might think is a little out of space, sitting in his stroller, sucking his thumb. Instead he is trying hard to get to know the world around him.

The other night I was lying next to him in his bed waiting for him to go to sleep. He suddenly sat up and asked: „Mommy, where are you?“ I said „I‘m right here.“ But it was so dark, he couldn‘t see me. So he startet crawling around to find me and he accidentally kicked his knee on my head. It didn‘t hurt much and I didn‘t say anything. Suddenly I felt a tiny warm hand stroking my forehad and Leander whispering: „I‘m sorry mommy.“
That‘s how I know that I can trust him.

DON'T BE SO NORMAL !

When I was about 7 or 8 years old I told my mom that I couldn't eat the bread because it tasted like the dentist - the smell that is in the air and the after-taste of a dental procedure. She got really angry with me. I could not understand how she could NOT taste it. But obviously she was just annoyed that she had food and dinner prepared and then I came along with a silly sentence like that. I still feel how badly out of space I felt back then.
A few months ago I read an article on highly sensitive children and the title was "This tastes like energy!" and when I read that I felt so peacefully gliding back to Earth.

So I started wondering if I am a highly sensitive person. Since this isn't something you can quickly answer I am not sure if I am but many many situations in my life would suddenly make A LOT of sense. When I read that High Sensitivity is genetic I was very carefully observing Leander. So far I would say - he is sensitive. Yes. But not HIGH sensitive. And in the end - does it matter ?

If a child is wild, loud and active he has written ADHD on his forehead before he can actually spell those letters. If he is quiet, observing and easily hurt - he is highly sensitive. What does normal mean in our society? And - is it really desirable to be normal? Do I want my child to be normal ?

When I lived in Britain for almost 5 years I was struggling a lot with who I am and what I am. And what normal was. Coming from another country and a slightly different culture I did dare to question a few things including binge drinking, all sorts of food abnormalities, meaningless small talk, forbidden to use but perfectly neat front gardens, separate water taps... You name it, I questioned it. I felt like an Alien for not just accepting the things the way they were (and surely still are) but instead in a German and very direct kind of way asking questions that felt no one had ever asked before me. (Fortunately I met people who indeed had too, phew).

It might sound hard but one of the best British people I met was my therapist. He took me back to the right path. The one that lead to myself. I finally realized who I was and most importantly: that I was OK the way I was. So all fears of suffering depressions, anxiety or any other mental disease he shook off me and instead stood me right back up. Of course this was his job and not something he did the first and one and only time. But he did it so well that I didn't feel that before I failed and afterwards was fine but instead was fine all the way through just never realized it. I am still very grateful to have found him.

So it doesn't actually matter if I am a highly sensitive person or not. It matters that I have discovered that all the things that seemed so abnormal ALL MY LIFE are just part of me. They have formed me and if others have a problem with that I shouldn't worry.

And I shouldn't worry if others now tell me that my son is a little more sensitive than other kids and that there are "various possibilities" I could do in order to help him... yeah well... help him do what actually ? All I know is that what he needs right now are parents who accept him this way. And who support him in this by helping him figure out his feelings and emotions so eventually he will be able to name them and find ways to deal with them. If he does not want his rice because it tastes like glue than he can have something else. If he decides that he will not go to a kid's birthday party I will not (unlike my mom did with me) force him to at least go over there and apologize for being so rude. I will do all I can to make him feel confident about himself and to stand up for himself and all his weirdest thoughts and emotions. Possibly (and hopefully) without him having to visit a therapist or by reading an article at the age of 33 when he has kids himself.

Somehow I have got the strange feeling that through parenting along the RIE principles I am actually doing all this already. At least a bit. And maybe (as my dear friend Anna from Every moment is right pointed out) children who are raised respectfully, whose actions and emotions are taken care of instead of thrown into boxes and drawers with tags like "terrible two", "stubborn", "shy" or "another phase" etc. might turn out to be more sensitive. Well with only having one child so far and him being only 2,5 years old all I know is that he might have taken his time to enjoy sliding, climbing, playing with sand, sitting in the bath tub etc. - but enjoys those things so much NOW, is so careful and observing that I won't dare "doing anything about his sensitivity".

THiS MAY HURT

Recently the little man was facing his what felt like 1000th vaccination in his short life. While I don't want to go into the pro & contra debate about vaccinations I would like to share some meaningful moments and experiences I had that day.

In the morning I told the little man where we were about to go and what was going to happen. He was really interested when I told him about the doctor, the stethoscope, the ear- and throat examination just to check if he would be ok to get a shot. And then I told him about the painful part. He was nodding away, even when I said "This may hurt a little."
"Doctor! Doctor!" was all he said and when being told we would be going there by bus happiness was all over him. He loves riding the bus.

So all was well. We took the bus and we got off way too early (in his mind he would be going 3 rounds from one end to the other before getting off a bus again). We went into the building and put the stroller in the hallway. He climbed up the stairs and we went in. All happy. All smiley.
I went to the reception, handed his health insurance card over and said why we were there. He looked around and when he looked at me all the happiness was gone. Big teary eyes looked at me, he shook his head and said "No! no!"
I said: "You know exactly where we are, right?" - "Yes." Even though I told him before - reality just hit him.
He had a shaky voice. I felt shaky too. All I wanted to do is to protect him, take him and run away. But I had put this off for so long. And he already had 2 of the necessary shots for this vaccination. It would be really silly to leave out the third now. So I picked him up and went into the waiting room with him.
There were toys, small cars and other children. He couldn't care less. Sitting on my lap sucking his thumb he watched the other kids play. But I knew he wasn't watching. He was dealing with what was coming up. So I jumped in and talked to him. Again. About what was going to happen. "No!" He shook his head and started to cry. I started to cry too a little. I felt so bad for taking him there.
I looked at the other kids and felt the parents look at us, probably thinking I was mad for frightening my boy that much. And I wondered....

The other kids looked happy. They were playing away, talking and smiling. But they were here in the healthy kids waiting room so what else could they want apart from vaccinations ? So why were they not scared? Did they KNOW why they were here? Did they know what was about to happen?
So what was better? Having a happy kid playing along and suddenly facing the truth the moment the doctor set up the needle? Or a kid being scared all the time, probably building up more and more fear the longer it took till we were called in? It seemed that the first way seemed happier and healthier. But if you know me you know that I believe to be more behind all this.

I am scared of the dentist as hell. I refuse to go until it's really bad. As soon as I get the appointment I am nervous until it's all over. What if I wouldn't know about it and would be taken somewhere and suddenly realize what was about to happen? I wouldn't go in. I would run. Fast and far. I NEED this preparation time, as painful as it is.
Our neighbor is a dental assistant who does mouth hygienic treatment. It is quite expensive but for us she tries to make good deals or even swaps jobs so we help her out with stuff in exchange for a treatment. Before Christmas the practice where she works was closed but she had to go and take care of some phone calls anyway. So she called me and said that the next morning I could go with her and get treatment for free. I am scared of this as much as I am scared of the dentist itself. I couldn't. It was too short notice. I couldn't get ready for it.

What I need during those times is somebody who takes me serious. I don't need a "Come on, it won't be that bad. You will survive." kind of talk. I need my husband who is not that scared at all but says things like "You are really nervous about that right? I wish I could help you at all with this." That's it.

And so I knew that this was what the little man needed in this moment too. Me. Not us running away. No fun playing games distraction. No "It won't hurt you." talk. So I pulled myself together and decided to be there for him.
And I wanted him to experience his fear. I couldn't take that off him all his life. So why not help him go through this instead of trying to avoid for most of the time? OK I do believe that we tend to do it because we ourselves have barely learned to deal with our fears, not mentioning the fears of others. So it is probably a self protection to try and "protect" your child. But from what? Again - from dealing with his own fears. And that's no protection. That's danger.
Plus - I want him to trust me. How can he do this when I take him somewhere to play and suddenly in another room for some painful treatment without any warning but obvious knowledge of any of it?

We were called in the doctor's office. She wasn't there yet. They have a few of them and you are always called in way before she shows up. So it was waiting again. The nurse came in and prepared everything. Then it was just us again. The little man cried. A lot. And I kept talking to him. "You are scared. That's ok. You are allowed to cry and scream as much as you need. I will be there and hold you. But it is necessary that we do this."
His crying changed eventually. It went from the "I want to go NOW!" to the "I see I don't have a choice but I still don't like this" crying. And I liked this. Because he was allowed to NOT like it. I was happy with that because I could deal with that much better.

He started to look around and pointed at a picture on the wall. Cars that were painted all over the room. We looked at them and he said "Bus!" I said "Yes, when we are done we will be going home by bus." He nodded. He kept repeating it as if he was making sure that WE WILL BE GOING HOME. It seemed to help him a lot. There were moments of laughter too. All of this initiated by him, not by me trying to distract him from anything. It felt so right.

When the doctor came in it happened all really fast. I knew this because I know her. I can't remember much of what she said because before the little man and i became such a great team that I just sticked with him. Told him to scream if he needed to. He needed to. And as soon as she was done and let go off him he said "Bus!" and I smiled and nodded and said "Yes. We're going home by bus now."

It was all done. The whole day he kept repeating everything the doctor had done to him. He had an imaginary stethoscope and checked my heartbeat and his. He showed me where he got the shot and stated that it hurt. But apart from that he was fine. And I knew that we were took the right path that day.

I HEAR YOU.

I used to be a very pessimistic person. The glass always was half empty, the grass greener on the other side and there was just no point in doing anything. Gladly this has changed. A lot. Especially since I became a mom and being pessimistic would be even more in my way than it used to be already. And this is probably why even now I find a good thing behind this "phase" we are going through.


Recently the little man has been what many parents would probably call "difficult", "hard work" or even "annoying". Since I refuse to think that children want to manipulate us and stretch our nerves on purpose, I started spinning my own brain to figure out why he was acting the way he was - screaming a lot, hitting me, biting, throwing things, throwing even more things,... you name it. And probably know a bit of it.

There are moments when I yell at him. For throwing wooden blocks at me that really do hurt. Then I leave the room to not throw these things out of pure anger and aggression myself. Then I sit down, breathe and think. What did just happen? And why? And like a sudden thunderstorm thoughts come down and explain everything. Well, almost everything.

For one thing - Baby number two is on the way. And while the first few weeks were a bit of trouble and I was told to rest I had to say "No." to a lot of fun things the little man was asking for. Like going for a ride with his little bike. I just couldn't chase him along the streets. Especially not in the extreme summer heat we have had the last couple of weeks. When he wanted to show me things or simply come with him explore the world I felt like sitting down putting my feet up. Worst of all I had to refuse to carry him 3 storeys up to our flat. Gladly he can manage himself easily but sometimes (and I totally understand that) he is just too tired.
Yesterday I did not refuse. I'm allowed to slowly get back to normal again so I really wanted to carry him upstairs. He raised his arms, said "Mama arm!" and I picked him up. After a few steps he looked at me and said: "Mama! Arm!!" and he smiled. Then he put his head on my shoulder and although I was short of breath already I enjoyed carrying him more than ever. I could see how hard it must have been for him the last few weeks.

Another thing is that I am in between jobs. And many ideas. And a few new educational courses. I have been to seminars on weekends. Had to leave the house in the evenings the minute my husband got in. The little man just handed over from one to the other. Always just checking who's there and when. No quality time as a family. This doesn't just frustrates the little man I guess. It frustrates me. All of it. The in-between-jobs situation. The packed full weekends. And an unsatified feeling about all those ideas and no time, energy or ability to chase them. So my frustration adds up with his frustration. He cries and I'm annoyed. He cries even more and I feel guilty. Days that I just want to erase from my calendar.

Now what is the good thing behind all this?
Well - maybe that I learn to reflect my actions. In a live without children we tend to refuse that. On purpose or not. Because it is not easy, uncomfortable. Sometimes hard.
And of course with children it's easier to say "Phew what a day. He's in a tough phase right now. When will this end?" And even if it is him and his speedy development and growth - we are all in this boat. We all have to get through those days and it is easier to do it together than blame a single person.

It also helps me slow down some more. Children grow so fast, they learn new things all the time and develop skills almost over night. So sometimes it is hard to focus on how small they still are. And we expect things that are simply too much, or refuse what they might still need most. I'm glad that the little man shows me what he needs. And what he's not capable of. May it be in screaming or hitting. As long as his speech is not fully developed this is his way of hitting the emergency break (literally).

So as much as I don't understand why the creche is closed all August while they don't rely on school holidays I am very very much looking forward to a month of quality time with my little man. No courses or seminars. No work. And hopefully no more pregnancy troubles. Because once this pregnancy ends things will change. Rapidly. And there is no way in properly preparing the little man for it. Because we don't know either what it will be like with two kids.
So all I can do is to be there for him as much as I can and give him all he needs. Because I love him.