When I was pregnant with my first baby, I heard about babies and sign-language and I thought I’d look into it. It seemed like a great activity to incorporate into my new SAHM world. It occurred to me that I might need to think about what I would do with my new little person, besides cuddle, nurse, change diapers and watch her when she slept. And if she learned a few words, especially those related to her needs, well, that might be a cool thing for both of us.
I learned the alphabet in sign when I was a kid. And to this day, I remember it. But besides that, I didn’t know anything else besides how to say, “I Love you”. Oh, and the universal, middle finger. Which I get a kick out of, but reserve for rare occasions.
I flipped through the laminated reference page and realized how intuitive most of the vocabulary was. I started with just one sign word, “Milk” (or, “Babyfood” as we call it in our house). I started when Girl-E was around 3 months – just trying to get in the habit myself, I used the milk sign when we began nursing. She started to notice that I was moving my hands when she was about 4 months. But I’m sure she just thought I was animated, or something. Because, I kinda am.
Then when I started solids, at around 6 months, and she was sitting in the highchair, I used the “More” sign. Then, “Eat” and ”Drink”. The actual signs are simple. You know, like, “drink” is motioning the cup at your mouth taking a drink. It’s an easy gesture. Plus, it was a fun way to interact during the day.
I though, maybe this sign-thing would take. Maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, I didn’t push it.
Then one night, at 9 months, Elyse was fussing and crying in an uncharacteristic way before bed. She was all worked-up. And even after I tried the nursing, diaper, rocking chair, lullabye, change environment, routine – she was still fit to be tied.
Aaaah! Save me!!
So, we were standing in the dimly lit kitchen at 8pm. Holding her close to my chest, trying to lull her in a rhythmic chant, she pushed away from my chest, looked me straight in the eye, and signed… “drink”.
What?
WHAT!?
Pause.
Oh! Right!!!! I know that hand movement!
So I got her a sippy cup of water, handed it to her and she gulped it down lickety-split. The entire 6 ounces!???
And that was it. Can you imagine? I never would have thought to give her water at that stage in our bedtime process. It’s not something we ever do. She has water with dinner, but not hours later. She would have been thirsty for who-knows-how-long before I would’ve thought about that. If at all.
But she told me. She got it. She knew I got it, too. And the relief on her face was priceless.
And that was the beginning of my mission to teach her how to communicate her needs with me during the frame of time when, developmentally, she wasn’t able to speak.
This was a breakthrough for us.
From those basic words, I expanded. There are a ton of sign language websites out there. Just google “ASL” (American Sign Language) for free online dictionaries. There are a ton of books out there, too. My local library has a great selection. But I mostly used that laminated card and online ASL dictionaries. Everything from animals, food stuff, day-to-day routine things (like change diaper, bath time, meal time), people, places, things, activities, feelings, etc. We’d often flip through a picture dictionary and she’d ask me for the sign word on just about everything she came across. Suddenly, by 18 months she had a massive vocabulary.
The older she got, the more she used her spoken words. And eventually, we kind of let the sign drift, as it was replaced with her new exciting skill… talking, talking and more talking. And more talking!
But what I learned early on in our sign-language journey, was that she knew how to talk to me, and she knew that I understood her. We had an unspoken language that gave her the feeling of being understood. Her needs and wants were being answered and it felt great to experience this level of communication with her while she was in diapers. (Most) Tantrums were thwarted because she could communicate with me. And that was a HUGE bonus, to say the least. Though, there were many times she’d ask/sign to watch a show, and I’d sign, “not now, later”… and well, there’s not a whole lot I can do about her reaction! But you get what I mean!
And now I’ve got my second baby, he’s 15 months young, using sign, too. And once again, it’s just a fabulous tool for fun and communication in our home. His big sister has reignited her sign language and is a big contributor to what he’s learned. They sign together, too, which is so sweet!
He also tells me when he’s teething and when his ear hurts (he’s been prone to ear infections). It’s pretty amazing. On a lighter note, he lights up to tell me he sees an elephant, alligator, cat, hat, car, shoe… you name it, on the pages of his favorite books. The excitement in his eyes tells me he’s proud and it’s a really sweet feeling to share this with him.
Anyway, I wonder if any of you sign with your kids? Or if you’re thinking about using sign with your baby? I’d love to hear your stories about this subject!
Now that I’m a Mom, I feel more fragile, more vulnerable.
On one hand, from the moment I became pregnant I knew I was more powerful than I ever realized. I harnessed the strength to carry a baby and give birth. No small feat. Right? And then I did it again two years later, without an epidural. Yes, I know I’m a strong woman now for sure.
On the other hand, I sometimes feel vulnerable. I can be strong all I want. But I can’t defend myself, my husband or my children against the things I am powerless over. Like, I worry, particularly if I let my mind wander, about random awful things happening.
Does that happen to you, too?
It’s not like I walk around looking over my shoulder or avoid leaving the house. These thoughts don’t prevent me from living a full, fun, adventurous life. But when I go about my daily business, it occurs to me, that our lives are fragile. That crazy, unexpected things happen all the time and sometimes those outcomes are catastrophic.
My Mother’s father died when she was two, and my fear is likely linked to her experience. The ripple his death left in her family was something they didn’t ever seem to shake.
Hurricane Andrew, that cab driver, 911, my sister’s ex, the 2004 tsunami… are just some of the “too close” moments I’ve had, and they flicker in my psyche, reminding me not to take any day for granted.
But my worries are also anchored in the everyday stories of families that are blindsided by tragedy.
I’m know really running with this fear stuff, and it’s probably because we’ve been procrastinating with getting our wills done. We have two children and we haven’t designated a guardian.
I know. It’s terrible.
More than terrible.
For fuck’s sake. Of all things to procrastinate on. It’s driving me crazy.
It’s NOT making a choice that’s worse than MAKING a choice. And as it stands today, if anything should happen to both of us, the court system would make this choice for us. It’s giving me agita.
One thing I know for sure is, I can’t die. Not that I ever thought I could before. But the thought of ANYONE else raising our children makes me want to cry… in fact it already has. And at some point, we all just have to swallow that awful pill, realize that NO ONE could ever do it like we would, and let the topic go.
I need help.
What have you done about this? Have you and your partner disagreed? If so, how did you come to common ground? What have you learned? Do you even have a will yet?
So Girl-E is summing up to 40 pounds now. How ever did she get to that weight? I’m so happy she nursed for 17 months and ate like an ox until her 2nd birthday, cause the girl’s just decided that she doesn’t want much of anything to eat these days. “No fanks!” is all I get. Well, at least she’s polite about it.
This has been going on for the better part of a year. Like, seriously.
I want to giggle at her matter-of-fact swagger and cringe at the impending power struggle all at the same time. I’ll jump through freakin’ circus hoops like a clumsy elephant, making 4 meals in a row to fill her up before she hits the sack. But, nope.
Hmph!
Her “pass go” food list is as brief as her years are young. She immediately rejects anything unfamiliar. She won’t smell it. She won’t even lick it. She’ll even gag if it passes her picky pucker. As soon as her little nose starts to crinkle, I’ve already started to think about the next offering. It’s ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I bring our lunch, snacks & drinks when we go out. Otherwise, I’ll easily spend $15 on lunch. My on-the-go meals? PB&J, cheese and crackers, yogurt drinks, nuts, raisins, freeze-dried fruit, sliced fruit, ziplocks of snacky stuff, and jarred babyfood for D-Boy. Sippy cups with water. I even bring my own ice coffee in a super size thermos to avoid the itch when I pass a Dunkin Donuts. That $2.79 adds up if I do it 3-4 times a week. The few times I’ve bought a coffee drink at Starbucks, I end up feeling like I was duped, so I don’t bother (too often).
I almost didn’t post this because I look exactly how I feel. Jacked up. And I’m not talking Jack Daniels. I’m talking tired, sick, chap-lipped, and annoyed. Bad lighting, too. But, hey. This is what happens when I’m in the trenches of 2 weeks worth of illnesses. So, here it is.
I’m crabby this week. My baby’s sick, in pain and it’s making me feel sad.
I REALLY don’t want to hear a play-date-Mom-friend say, “What!? He’s sick again? What is going on over there? My kids never get sick. Ever. Just a stuffy nose. Maybe a little cough. I’m so lucky. Maybe it’s cause I’m nuts about using antibacterial. Plus, I nursed my children exclusively. Wow… he’s on meds again? “. Only to call back and say it all over again the next day.
Then when I say I “have to go” (or else I’m going to tell her she’s impossibly insensitive and can’t help her one-upping, even in the wake of my child’s illness…), she changes the subject and keeps talking.
Oh, for goodness sake. Save me.
So this time, I’m not taking her calls.
In the sting and silence that follows a conversation like that, I really start missing my (before babies) friends.
Girl-E stared wide-eyed at D-Boy, holding her breath as she stuffed her prized ponies into her Dora backpack. I could see the urgency on her face. “Hurrrrry!”, she ordered the ponies. He was closing in on her. Wobbling at a good pace, D-Boy was almost there. And with a quickness, they were shoved and zipped into safety, from the drooly hands of a boy who covets everything she owns.
When he finally touched base, a little out of breath from his fevered pace, he studied her face for just a moment. Will you let me? Please? He pleaded, in their unspoken language. He timidly reached his sticky fingers out, spread wide open for her beloved stash.
She actually thought about it. Considered the pros and cons. But this time, she wasn’t feeling generous.
I read a post at one of my favorite Mom blogs the other day and it got my wheels turnin’ about how women see their bodies.
How some of us hide behind silly euphemisms and then how that translates to the little girls we are raising.
What are we teaching girls about their bodies by the examples we’re setting?
I recently had a conversation with another mom about “labeling girl parts”. And in this case, the mom uses the word, “nee-nee”, instead of “vagina”. She couldn’t even SAY the word vagina herself. Which I found strange. But, hey (?). She called her own, “you know, dowwwwn therrrre”, with a shrugged-shoulder hush, and nervous energy that almost made me ask her if she was serious.
The last time I had a conversation with a “down there” description, I was 13 and in junior high.
Anyway, trying to keep a straight face, I asked her how she came up with “nee-nee”, and she said she wasn’t “ready to go there” with her 2 year old daughter. I was like, “What do you mean? It’s a body part. There’s nothing sexual about a 2 year old vagina. Shouldn’t the sex talk happen later? ”. She nearly choked on her latte – and looked at me as if I pulled a sex toy out of my diaper bag.
I can’t believe it took so long for my cycle/girlfriend/visitor/period to return this time around.
With my first baby, it took 6 months after birth. With my second, it took over 13 months.
I nursed my 1st baby until 17 months, and I’m still going strong with my 2nd at 13 month old. So, I know this is nature’s way of preventing another pregnancy. I get it. But this time around, I seriously got to the point where I was, like, “just happen already!!”. It felt weird to not have it. I was actually looking forward to breaking into my not-used-since-forever stash of feminine products. Can you imagine?!
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