Creative Independence

Happy Baby Monkey is a pretty independent little girl. She likes to do things herself, and I'm sure thanks to mom, practices a new skill with a single mindedness that's slightly unnerving. I mean seriously, how many times can a person walk up and down a step? She has tried a myriad of stepping scenerios, "What if my foot was here? Or here? Or what if I turned this way, would I still make the step?" and has found a handful of places around the house to practice. It's pretty cool, don't get me wrong. But with this studious independence comes a price.

Zoe's worst time comes around midnight - 3 am. Parents can wax intellectual for hours about the differences between a 'hungry' cry versus a 'sleepy' cry. The cry Zoe comes up with is more of a 'Boot to the Face' cry. It's a wail, sure, but there's some banshee mixed in...and a seasoning of maniac. Starts out with that breaking glass quality, then descends down into a gravely growling "ahhhhhrrrrrAAAgggggccccckkk!" Hell of a way to wake up.

Course, that's just the bark. Usually Zoe is so sweet, even in the wee hours of the morning. She smiles and chats you up a bit, just to make sure the niceities are observed. She sips a little water for context and giggles when you put her back to bed. What a freakin angel. Seriously, we're so lucky. Some kids NEVER do that.

But then there's the 'end times' version. She kicks and bows her back like posessed. Swings her hands in front of your face (we're REALLY working towards breaking that nasty habit) and knocks anything out of your hands that you're trying to use to soothe her. "Do you want your passy?" Whack! Right out of your hand. She want's to sit down, screams to sit down. You sit. She freaks out. YOU JUST SAT DOWN!!! HOW DARE YOU! She want's to be put down on the floor. Then promptly rolls around the floor like a worm on fire, braying like an agitated howler donkey.

The only thing you can do, and this is very daoistic, is nothing. If you try and do ANYTHING for her, she starts spitting nails. So it's sort of wierd: I have this shrieking mini-person in my lap, surrounded by all the accoutrement of parenting. Pacifiers, sippy cups, teddy bears, blocks, blankets, blankies (there's a difference- I know I know, it's marketing but whattya gonna do?) etc. etc. And I can't touch a single one. All I can do is position them in a way that she'll find them on her own. And even then, if she sees me moving anything ... she hates that thing. 'Mr. Duckie..... you're dead to me"

The real solution to this kind of behavior is just let her freak out. When she realizes it doesn't get a rise out of us, won't drive us to serve her every need and desire, she'll stop. Or at least find a different way to blow our mind. Which is what we do, we let her throw her little fit, and when she's done we comfort her and that's that.

But it's a little surreal to watch her systematically decline every attempt at soothing: knocking a pacifier out of my lap because she saw me put it there. Just to have her get up, walk over, and pick up the very same pacifier. Oh and then there's the look, "I don't need you hairy daddy man. I have my own freakin hands!"

Well that's right Happy Baby Monkey. You are a strong, independent 1 year old girl with opposable thumbs and an attitude. You pee on the floor for fun and chase cats for fitness. You are super bad. And I'll be here in a few minutes, when you want to curl up in a warm blanket and nuzzle your drooly face in my neck. I'll be here in thirty years, I'll be here in fifty. These arms are just useless tools, without you to hold them in.