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April.
2005 |
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1-year-olds
Terrifying combination of total mobility,
tiny
brain
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In the movie “Groundhog Day,” Bill Murray’s
character has to re-live Feb. 2 again and again until
he gets it right.
Our foster care experience has some similarities to “Groundhog Day.” We’ve
been doing foster care for two years, and in that time, we’ve had three
baby girls — all of whom have come to us at exactly 14 months. We did not
request 14-month-old girls; on our foster care form, we noted we’d be open
to any child, age 3 and under.
Despite this, every time a new social worker comes to our door, she’s holding
a toddler girl for us.
Having gone through every parenting stage from birth to 10, the year between
1 and 2 is the hardest. One-year-olds, cute as they may be, are crazy. One-year-olds
are a terrifying combination of total mobility and a tiny brain. I realize this
was also an issue for the Tyrannosaurus Rex, and there are important similarities
between the two, not the least of which is destructive potential. Parents of
1-year-olds spend much of their time bent in half, running after their toddler,
trying to prevent a calamity. Bill and I have now been doing this for two years
straight.
Christa,* our current 1-year-old, is obsessed with the toilet. We must keep the
lids down and the bathroom doors shut at all times. If we forget, no matter where
Christa is in the house, some sort of toilet alert goes off in her brain, and
she is off and running toward the toilet. Upon reaching the toilet, she will
take any object she happens to be carrying and fling it in.
Complicating the issue is Liam, our 6-year-old, whose own relationship with the
bathroom has always been volatile. Liam waits until the last nanosecond to use
the bathroom and then sprints to it from wherever he is. This means he often
can’t even spare the time to close the door. This apparently turns Christa’s
internal bathroom alert to “high” and she is off and running to the
open bathroom where there is now even more potential for fun. Liam, of course,
is horrified to be seen standing at the potty by his little sister, but cannot
flee the scene, so his only recourse is to yell loudly until a running, bent-in-half
parent appears to whisk Christa away. And that is just one three-minute period
of the day.
All of our children, as toddlers, would try to take our food. It is impossible
to eat near a toddler without having the child make a grab for whatever you happen
to be eating. This leaves the parent in a quandary. Do you give in, break off
a bite of the food, and give it to the child, thus teaching the child to continue
to grab for food whenever he or she wants, or do you say something like, “No,
this is mine, you have your own cracker,” and risk the high pitched screams
of frustration that will follow? The year between 1 and 2 is when most women
lose the remainder of the weight gained during pregnancy. This is probably because
they’re giving their food away, but it could also be from time they spend
running around, bent in half.
Three foster 1-year-olds in a row, in addition to our two boys’ time as
toddlers, have convinced me they all have the same agenda. I can almost imagine
a boardroom meeting of 1-year-olds (three of them crawling on the table, two
pulling on the curtains, one crumpling papers), led by a just turned-2-year-old.
The 2-year-old would have a flip chart with a list of assignments for the 1-year-olds.
Cabinets at floor level? Open them and start to empty as fast as you can. You’ve
been brought outside? Run toward the street. If no street, open water will do.
Closets? Walk in and see what you can find. Food on the floor? Eat immediately.
In fact, assume any small object on the floor is a piece of food. Done with your
oatmeal? Start rubbing it on your face. If no one notices, move on to your hair.
Socks? Who needs socks? Take them off. Right away.
As I write this, Christa is busily taking apart a ballpoint pen on the floor
next to me. She has no socks on and I know that I have approximately 60 seconds
to finish writing this before she toddles over to the computer tower and starts
randomly pressing buttons.
But she has these enormous brown eyes, unbelievably soft chubby cheeks and legs
that are still a little bowed from her time in the womb. She babbles in a soft
baby language and when she hugs me, it’s with her whole body.
She’s 1, and she’s crazy and sometimes my life is “Groundhog
Day” because I’m on my fifth 1-year-old. But other times I think,
how lucky I am that I keep catching these girls as they tumble over the threshold
between infancy and childhood. Wriggling, pot-bellied little girls, bursting
into my life and toddling into my heart. How lucky and blessed I am.
Except for that toothbrush in the toilet.
*Name changed to protect Christa’s privacy while she is in the foster care
system.
(Scobey-Polacheck and her husband Bill have two sons, Jacob and Liam, and
a foster daughter. They belong to SS. Peter and Paul and St. Monica parishes.
Scobey-Polacheck
welcomes dialog regarding her column. E-mail her at <ascobey@hotmail.com>.) |
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