Category Archives: Baby Girl

Related to Josie

Josie’s Bootcamp

I guess we’re supposed to call it child-centered play. That term is so much more politically correct than child-dominated play. But dominated is so much more appropriate.

The other evening we’re in her bedroom.

She keeps her palms on the floor and kicks up her legs like a donkey. Do dis Mommy!

I do it.

Then she jumps from a squat reaching up toward the ceiling. And do dis Mommy!

I do it.

Then she puts them together – a donkey kick and a squat jump. Do dis den do dis Mommy!

I do it.

Again! Again!

I do it again and again. She stops doing it but insists I continue. I’m wearing my glasses, a wool sweater, and my sheepskin-lined slippers.

She puts her hands on her hips and watches. Every time I try to stop she shrieks Again! Again!

I am SUCH a good mom.

PS – I’ll write about my exciting book-related news when the contracts are signed. Stay tuned!

Accessible

We’re heading in the right direction in our household.

We have more positive interaction, more harmony. We have more good days now – more days of Josie at her best. She’s affectionate, verbal, and expressive. After dinner last night she came over to me and told me she had a secret. She whispered I wuv you in my ear.

Sometimes in the evening we do a little stretching/yoga-business to calm ourselves down after a long day. She copies my moves. She focuses on my complex poses, the placement of my arms and legs.

One recent Sunday morning when Paul was out of town she came into my room early. She patted me on the head very gently and said, “I know you’re tired Mommy, but it’s time to get up. Take your time but you’ll need to get up soon.” She finished it off with a kiss on the cheek.

We can reason with her again. Standard discipline approaches – like Parenting with Love & Logic and the Incredible Years – seem more likely to work. We still have our power struggles but we recover and she’s less likely to spend time screaming. She recovers.

She goes right to sleep an hour earlier than just a few months ago and she sleeps though the night.

The other morning when she was having a power struggle with her dad she walked into the kitchen, arms crossed, head down and said, “Daddy, it makes me feel sad when you talk at me that way.”

We’re just past her birthday and in the time of year when she’s more balanced anyway. It happens every year. Maybe all this positive awesomeness is the usual ebb and flow of child development, maybe it’s the result of a big verbal advancement, or maybe the dietary changes; maybe it’s all due to the fading evening light. Maybe, and most likely, it’s all of these things. It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad it’s here and that we’re connecting again. I know we’ll have hard times again in the future but for now I’m going to try to collect those moments, for all of us, so that when the next phase comes we have some good times in storage.

The Tablet Controversy

She asked him to bring her a cookie for Christmas. I hope he knows it needs to be lactose free.

On October 23rd, the FDA issued a warning to stop using Hyland’s Teething Tablets. The tablets contain belladonna which, when dissolved in a baby’s mouth, is thought to ease teething pain.

The FDA cited these problems with the tablets in their report:

  1. They’ve received reports of belladonna toxicity – symptoms include: seizures, difficulty breathing, lethargy, sleepiness, weakness, skin flushing, constipation, agitation.
  2. They’ve identified manufacturing inconsistencies that result in varying degrees of the substance in the tablets.
  3. They point out that the tablets have not been proven to work.
  4. They’ve received reports of babies consuming too many tablets because there is no child proof cap.

Seattle Mama Doc recommends not using any tablets or gels of any kind because they’re not proven to work.  She recommends baby Tylenol (if anything) for teething pain, but I’m not sure that is the right solution either after their recent recall debacle. I’m not sure I’ll ever look at Johnson & Johnson the same.

On the other side of the debate is Gaia Health who claims that the amount of belladonna is so low that a baby would have to consume thousands of the tablets to show any signs of toxicity and that the FDA’s actions are the result of pressure by big pharmaceuticals. Now, I’m all for a good conspiracy theory, especially one that involves the FDA, but the question I just can’t answer is this: why would big pharma want Hyland’s to be off the market? Are they competing with Hylands or is it just because Hylands is unregulated? Also, if it takes thousands of tablets to show signs of toxicity, is there really enough belladonna in each table to relieve pain?

We used the tablets when Josie was teething with mixed results. Sometimes it seemed like it helped, sometimes not. Josie was kind of a fussy baby and I think many times we incorrectly assumed her fussiness was a result of teething pain. Now we know that was likely lactose intolerance. Hello, bad mommy feeding her cow’s milk formula! Sheesh, the guilt… Anyhoo, it’s a tough call but I think the risks outweigh the benefits.

Have you used them? Did they work? What do you think of all this?

Babies Don’t Talk

Photo by Libby Lewis Photography

We’re taking another parenting class. Soon I will be a real life Wikipedia of child raising theories and strategies. This particular class recommends at least 15 minutes of child-dominated play per day. Seems easy enough but when they say dominated they mean dominated. (Oh, what the search engines will bring me for using that ‘d’ word three times…)

When it’s time to play I sit down with her and do what I am told. I am allowed to narrate her play – Josie’s picking up the red block, Josie’s building a tower, nice tower Josie – like the water-cooler guy on Saturday Night Live. I am not allowed to ask questions or make suggestions. I am purely a follower and Josie looooves it.

Here’s how our playtimes go these days.

Josie: You be the baby

Me: OK

J: Baby, ask me for some popcorn

Me: May I have some popcorn?

J: Babies don’t talk!

Repeat 3x.

The end.

Fructose is the New Gluten

Josie’s new doctor (my new hero) says that many kids with lactose intolerance are also unable to break down fructose. With a little Googling I discovered that fructose mal-absorption is associated with mood swings and mood disorders. Between eliminating the gastrointestinal discomfort of lactose intolerance and the moodiness of fructose intolerance things are really making more sense around here. This is revolutionary, truly.     

Fructose, a natural sugar found in fruits and included in many processed foods, has been more difficult than lactose to eliminate. Of course, it’s in fruit juice and high fructose corn syrup, but it’s also in products sweetened by fruit juice.

I noticed right away that fructose was the first ingredient in Josie’s multi-vitamin. Apparently we were giving her a nice little dose of crazy every morning to start the day. Super. As soon as I could I went to my co-op grocery and spent several hours (okay, minutes) reading children’s multi-vitamin labels, trying to find one that was fructose-free. Finally I found one that didn’t list fructose but did include a “natural berry flavor” and decided to give it a try. 

We skipped her vitamin completely for a few days. Then one Sunday morning I gave her this new vitamin. She was beet-red screaming, crying, grasping for air, within 15 minutes. I had to get in bed with her and rub her back to calm her down. Apparently, there can also be fructose in the ambiguous catch all: “natural flavors.”

The lack of transparency on food labels, and the experimentation method of determining ingredients reminds me of the early days of my gluten-intolerance. I’m going to tell you guys right now, this family, is on the leading edge of food intolerances. It’s one of my talents, one of my gifts if you will, spotting trends in exclusionary food diets. I’m warning you now, fructose, it’s the eliminated ingredient of the future. You heard it here first. Fructose is the new gluten.

PS – The results are in and HMN finished 2nd overall in the ‘Parenting category’ of the Best of Western Washington contest. I’m so pleased to be second! Really, thank you guys so so much. You’re the bestest. XOXO

Trust

Back in the spring when it was clear something was wrong in our house, when Josie started behaving like a colicky baby, waking up for two hours every night and screaming for two hours every day, I took her to a new pediatrician. He came highly recommended for complex cases and was considered to be fairly woo-woo. A friend told me he had a naturopathic physician in his office – my dream come true.

At our first appointment, he ordered more blood work, an EEG of the frontal lobe of her brain, and a breath tolerance test. The tests were going to be such a pain and I really didn’t think they were going to find anything. Here was an MD I respected who was taking my thoughts and concerns seriously and making suggestions and all I wanted to do was roll my eyes and say, an EEG, really?

The EEG was awful. It didn’t hurt her but I did have to hold her still for a long time then try to get her to fall asleep. The blood draw was hard to get. It took 3 visits and multiple tries. By the time we were done, Josie was crying, I was crying and I think the phlebotomist was on the verge.

When those tests came back normal, I decided we needed to take a break. The final piece, the breath tolerance test was supposed to take 3 hours and I just didn’t have it in me. A few months had passed when I finally decided to schedule it, not because I thought it would yield illuminating results, but because I wanted to see this doctor again and I didn’t feel like I could go back without following through with his recommendations.

So I started talking to Josie about the test a few days in advance. I explained that we’d go in the morning, that we wouldn’t have any breakfast, that she’d drink a glass of special juice, then breathe into the tube every 30 minutes for 2 and a half hours. They’d be able to tell by her breath if something (lactose) was giving her tummy ache. If she was unable to digest lactose they would find a level of hydrogen in her breath that would reach its peak after two hours – that’s why we had to stay so long.

We arrived the morning of the test, loaded down with bags of her favorites books and toys and a few snacks for when it was all over. We’d had three breath samples, and had been there for about an hour when the tech came out and told us we were done. We could go home.

But… Wait… I mean, we haven’t even touched the DVD’s yet. She’s only just now started rolling on the floor. We still have toys to play with. We’ve been pacing ourselves!

We were done. They sent us home after an hour because she’d already reached the top level, demonstrated the strongest reaction possible. They didn’t even want to see what happened when the level of gas in her tummy peaked at 2.5 hours.

Apparently our girl is totally off-the-charts lactose intolerant. You guys, I almost didn’t have her take the test because it was a hassle and because I didn’t think it was the real problem.

This is something I’ve had a problem with in the past. There are so many tests I wish I’d had. The things I could have learned – that I had endometriosis, that I was allergic to gluten, that I was B12 deficient. I should have let the doctors do their jobs. Here’s what I’m learning: when looking for the cause you’re bound to run into some dead ends, but you’ve got to go down those roads to see where they lead anyway because eventually, one of them may actually lead to a castle or a princess or a pony in a field, and I’ve always wanted a pony in a field.

Going Pro

It was kids-run-the-bases day at the Mariner’s game last weekend. Josie’s big chance to show the world how it’s done. Do you see this kid’s form? At what age does track and field start? Kindergarten? I don’t think we can wait that long. Maybe I’ll enroll her early… Just kidding! If you haven’t read the comments on the “Redshirting” post, you should. I have the best commenters on the world. We’re having an interesting discussion.

Race Relations

We’re sitting in a gluten-free bakery/café last weekend waiting for our “pizza” and nothing-at-all-like-mac-and-cheese-but-still-kind-of-good dish (you know, that’s the key to gluten-free eating, just banish the thought of what it should taste like and you might really enjoy it). Anyway, the “pizza” crust held together by nutshells wasn’t really good but that’s a story for another time. We were relying on a completely stoned, dreadlocked barista who seemed overwhelmed by my Groupon, as if she hadn’t seen 2,000 of them already, and things were not looking good. The food was taking for-ev-er.

I use the word “sitting” loosely. Jose is alternating between hiding under a neighbor’s table playing peek-a-boo with strangers, and running down the long hall to the kitchen. Dining experiences need to be planned well in advance, prepared for with crayons and paper and toys and discussion. The restaurant should be kid friendly, the food fast, and no one should be hungry when the expedition first sets out. In short, it’s never a good idea for us Ellises to “stop in” anywhere for food, but we seem to need to re-learn that over and over. We are doing a pretty good job of disrupting everyone’s fine Sunday afternoon with our last minute decision to stop for lunch. Josie is somewhere in the general vicinity of our table when a black man sits nearby.

“Mommy, why is he brown?”

Silence… [shit]… I thought she was supposed to ask that question when she was, like, 4. Damn it kid, I have 1.25 years to prepare my answer to that question! Instead of coming up with a good response, I say, “Hey, let’s read this book together.” Smooth.

In the car many minutes later, I’m ready. I ask her what color her skin is. Brown.

What color is Mommy’s? White.

What color is Jada’s? Brown. Alyssa’s? Donnel’s? Etc. Brown, brown, brown.

I make a mental note to put the Josie Book on top of her pile of bedtime books so we can revisit the pictures of her infancy and her birth mother.

What color is your hair? Black.

What color is Mommy’s hair? You get the idea…

I say something like, well, your skin is brown because some of your ancestors, your grandparents’ grandparents’ grandparents, were from Africa. Mommy looks more like some of her ancestors who were from Norway.

She’s quiet for a minute. She stares out the window. Then: “Sometimes my ancestors… My ancestors, sometimes they blow bubbles for me.”

Exactly

Like any parents we have our struggles. Without giving you all the details, let’s just say that we’re seeking professional help and not for the first time. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with our girl, but the conventional parenting techniques (ie: Love & Logic) aren’t working, and we need an advisor to help us through our days. There are weeks and months when I feel like I can’t do anything right for her, when I feel like it’s all wrong. When I don’t know what parent she needs me to be.

We met with someone last week. When I thought about the appointment beforehand I worried I’d start crying and not be able to stop. We gave her the whole story from the beginning.

I told her about Josie’s grand entry into the world: spontaneous labor and an unplanned home birth (ie: have a contraction, get in tub, have baby). I told her about Josie’s first week of life in the ICU, and how she had a little orange bow in her hair the day we met her. I told her how Josie had complete head and neck control and cried real tears from the beginning. I told her about the time Josie got so mad at me for running out of formula that she wouldn’t make eye contact. About the crawling and the climbing and the walking and the running, oh god, the running. The running and how she ran without fear or boundaries, how she’d run into large bodies of water, off tall ledges, into traffic. I told this woman about the pinching and the biting and the hitting, but also about the hugging and the loving and the joking and her first words which were ‘owl’ and ‘hug.’ We talked about how other children cluster around her, how everyone is drawn to her, and also about the sleep problems, the night waking, the sensory seeking and the inability to calm herself. I told her I was reading the “Spirited Child” book and that Josie scored 106 on a scale of extreme behavior that only goes to 50. And, finally, I told her about the unreachable place where Josie seems to go sometimes when nothing works.

I talked about all of these things with surprising composure. It was when I got to the adoption, to the part where we talk about the birth family that I got into weepy, quiver-lipped, trouble. I mentioned a friend who had a spirited child. How the boy’s father had been the same way growing up. I thought about how wonderfully reassuring it would be to be to know Josie’s traits came from a relative and be able to say, yes, it’s okay – look at what a lovely and interesting adult she is now.

We know very little about Josie’s birth father but, for some reason, I think she gets her temperament from him. I wonder what his mother would say if she knew there was a small version of her son in the world. I wonder what her life and his childhood were like. I imagine her hearing about Josie and saying something like: Oh heavens! And putting a hand to her chest and laughing. Then saying: You have got your work cut out for you! Or something like that. That’s all. She doesn’t give me any sage advice, or answer questions. She doesn’t tell me what I already know, that this kid is going to be fine and that everything will be all right. We share a look and I get everything I want and everything I need from her eyes because I can see there is someone in this world who knows exactly what we’re going through.