1 Mother 2 Another

It’s as if Maddie sat down and read
yesterday’s blog, where I said she wasn’t ever really
jealous of Cora, and thought, “Hmm, never really thought of
that.”


Continuing with yesterday’s theme, both girls have been
extraordinarily needy today. Cora started early, getting up EVERY
HOUR last night. I nursed: she woke up an hour later. Gave her
Motrin: she woke up an hour later. NOTHING changed her, until she
fell into an exhausted sleep at 5:30 for about 3 hours.


At any rate, both girls have been loath to have me out of their
sight today, and Maddie finally hit major meltdown time this
evening. We were getting dinner ready and I told her
“no” to something really inconsequential, and she
couldn’t find a way to move past it. She cried and cried and
cried, and if I’d known it would have been such a big thing I
wouldn’t have said no, but I knew I couldn’t change my
mind after this big storm so stuck it out.

Of course, five minutes into it, Cora
began crying. She’d been playing at my feet in the kitchen,
chomping happily on a teething ring, but Maddie’s wails
tipped the scales and Cora cranked it up again. So as Maddie ran
from room to room wailing, “No, no, no, I need it!” I
had to scoop Cora up and carry her for the rest of my dinner
preparations.


It should be noted that I do one of two things with a meltdown
– ignore them, or make her take a break in her room. Taking a
break is like a time out without the time frame, and she’ll
stay in her room until she calms down and is ready to apologize.
But sometimes I leave her to work through her meltdown in our
midst, knowing she’ll wear herself out and see they
don’t have any effect on me. If one is just starting
I’ll give her a consequence for continuing - say, no video
later if she didn’t calm down – but sometimes
she’s too far gone to hear me and after all, she’s only
two. So as long as her meltdown is just crying, with no hitting or
throwing or screaming involved, I’m fine with the wailing
around me as she works out a way to move past whatever her problem
is.


So Maddie was roaming the house as she cried, sometimes going to
her room to lie down, sometimes standing in the kitchen. I would
talk to her occasionally so she would know I wasn’t ignoring
her, but by and large ignored the tantrum. I kept trying to put
Cora down to keep cooking, but she’d immediately open up so
I’d scoop her right back up. Finally, Maddie came into the
kitchen and perched on the stool, crying hard but not talking.


After a few minutes I said, “Honey, is there anything you
want to talk about?”


Maddie replied, “I just want you to stop holding Cora and
hold me instead.”


Oh, my.


So I put my baby down on the floor, prayed hard, and dangled a
fresh toy in her face. Thankfully she was distracted enough that I
could then turn to my eldest and snuggle her. I cradled Maddie into
my lap on the stool and we sat there, rocking, while the rice
boiled and her sobs subsided.


After a few minutes I said, “When I hold Cora sometimes I bet
it makes you feel lonely, doesn’t it?” Maddie nodded.
“You carry her everywhere sometimes, and I was crying and you
didn’t hold me. Cora cried and you held her, but not
me.”


We went on to talk about how crying is the only way babies can
communicate, but us older folk can talk things out. I told Maddie I
knew how it must look like Cora was really lucky to be held so
much, but explained why (if you can explain separation anxiety to a
2-year-old), and pointed out how many things Cora couldn’t
do, like jumping and sliding and eating pizza. “And no matter
how big you get, you’ll never be too big for me to cuddle
kiddo, so don’t worry about that,” I concluded.


“’Kay,” she sniffed. We sat in a contented
silence for a few more moments before Cora broke the blissful quiet
with a “Where is everyone?” wail. Maddie immediately
hopped of the stool and ran to her, crooning, “It’s ok,
Cora. We didn’t vanish. We’re right here. Don’t
get anxious.”


So I know she was at least listening to the separation anxiety
speech.


Maddie spent the rest of the evening exhibiting her own anxiety,
wanting to eat baby food and calling herself “Baby
Maddie”. She kept a sharp eye on both me and Brian, following
us into a room to make sure we weren’t leaving for good.


I spent the rest of the evening thinking, Dear God. How can I make
my babies feel more loved? Can’t I just give them an official
certificate declaring themselves “Loved in Full” for
them to look at when they get lonely? I’ve worked so hard to
introduce Cora into Maddie’s world in a nonthreatening way,
and thought that seven months into it we were out of the danger
zone.


Sigh. Patience, patience, patience. It’ll all be over soon
enough. Ten years from now I’ll be dropping them off a block
away from school so they don’t have to be seen with me and
I’ll roll down the windows and snarl at them, “Hey! Not
so long ago you couldn’t get enough of me! Ingrates!”


Ah, to dream.