Today was better. Kids felt calmer. I think being at the cottage with Grandma for 3 days really disturbed Jane's equilibrium...but I also think that she has resettled quicker than she once would've been able to.
One small, but HUGE thing happened this morning. Jane rode all the way to church and back, 20 min drive each way, without any singing. I know I sound like a curmudgeon but I have to clarify that it isn't really singing. It's toneless, mindless, repetitious droning of the same few syllables for miles and miles and miles. Even the therapist said it'd drive her batty when I demonstrated it for her once.
I'm guessing that Jane rode in cars where the radio was blasting all the time. I'm guessing that no one ever spoke with her as she rode. I'm guessing that, in her need to orally process every single thing, and witnessing that she talks to herself endlessly while playing, the lull of the moving car reduced her to one sing-song phrase as she tried to figure out where she was going. I'm also guessing that it was a coping device for keeping herself from sleeping because she always fights sleep. Always.
Here's what it's like. As we get in the car Jane asks where we're going. I'll say, "the store". Jane would then start by repeating my entire phrase, "We're going to the store!" with normal inflection. But as she repeated that same phrase over and over it'd become just 2 or 3 syllables chanted mindlessly: the store, the store, the store, the store, the store, the store, the store, the store, the store, the store. All while she stared blankly out the window.
In the nine months she's lived with us I've coped a variety of ways. At first I ignored. Then I played the radio (except NPR, not music, cuz yes I am that kinda person). Then I tried to talk to her. Then I gave up and played cartoons. Then I was ready to try again and tried to engage her in conversation. Then I played car games (a hundred bazillion rounds of I Spy). Then I explained patiently that,"saying the same words over and over bothers other people". Then I just snapped at her. Then I started all over again from the beginning and tried every strategy again.
And today it worked. Today she didn't do one sing-song minute. Hallelujah.
The second small, but HUGE thing happened this evening with Kate. She fell asleep in my arms. We do rock-a-bye most nights but rarely does she go to sleep. Today she wanted to. She didn't talk or play games or sing any of our usual songs. About 30 seconds after climbing into my lap she gazed deeply into my eyes as if looking for something and then sighed, tucked her face into my chest, closed her eyes, and drooped her body into my arms.
But she wasn't actually sleeping yet. I could feel that her body was tired but her mind was busy. She was seeking comfort and help relaxing. So I rubbed her back and talked quietly about all the ways I take care of her. I named every tiny thing I do--dressing her, brushing her hair, feeding her, putting on bandaids (or, ban-baids, as she calls them), taking her to the store, finding lost shoes and toys and blankies, reading to her, rocking her, taking her to the library and park and beach, giving her drinks and snacks when she needs them, etc. etc. etc. I ran through the litany of everyday minutia while inserting, "and mama always loves you no matter what" or "and when mama leaves mama always comes back" between every few items.
Slowly, slowly, slowly her breathing became more regulated. At last she drifted off to sleep. And I just kept rocking her and holding her. She was warm and limp when at last I had to put her in her crib.
I'm glad she is still such a baby. I'm glad she seeks these sweet moments of physical connection. They are healing for both of us.
P.S. Suddenly, for the last two days, when I've had to leave the house she has not panicked and held her breath till she passes out. That behavior has been the norm for at least five months now. It began suddenly one day and, maybe, knock-on-wood, has ended just as suddenly. She went through the routine I've been trying to teach her ("when mama leaves we sit down and wave and say Bye, Mama!" so at least she's seated before she inevitably passes out) on her own yesterday. It surprised me. Maybe the experience of being with Grandma but then not returning to Grandma's house and instead returning to our house was meaningful to her. Maybe she actually believes she lives here with me and this all isn't going to disappear suddenly.
Now that I think about it, at rock-a-bye time last night Jane said, out of the blue, "And I'm going to live in this house forever and ever." It was an odd phrase out of context from anything else we were talking about but clearly something she'd been thinking about and was happy to say. So maybe spending time with Grandma but not going to live with Grandma was on her mind, too.
So, we're getting there. Slowly but surely.
One small, but HUGE thing happened this morning. Jane rode all the way to church and back, 20 min drive each way, without any singing. I know I sound like a curmudgeon but I have to clarify that it isn't really singing. It's toneless, mindless, repetitious droning of the same few syllables for miles and miles and miles. Even the therapist said it'd drive her batty when I demonstrated it for her once.
I'm guessing that Jane rode in cars where the radio was blasting all the time. I'm guessing that no one ever spoke with her as she rode. I'm guessing that, in her need to orally process every single thing, and witnessing that she talks to herself endlessly while playing, the lull of the moving car reduced her to one sing-song phrase as she tried to figure out where she was going. I'm also guessing that it was a coping device for keeping herself from sleeping because she always fights sleep. Always.
Here's what it's like. As we get in the car Jane asks where we're going. I'll say, "the store". Jane would then start by repeating my entire phrase, "We're going to the store!" with normal inflection. But as she repeated that same phrase over and over it'd become just 2 or 3 syllables chanted mindlessly: the store, the store, the store, the store, the store, the store, the store, the store, the store, the store. All while she stared blankly out the window.
In the nine months she's lived with us I've coped a variety of ways. At first I ignored. Then I played the radio (except NPR, not music, cuz yes I am that kinda person). Then I tried to talk to her. Then I gave up and played cartoons. Then I was ready to try again and tried to engage her in conversation. Then I played car games (a hundred bazillion rounds of I Spy). Then I explained patiently that,"saying the same words over and over bothers other people". Then I just snapped at her. Then I started all over again from the beginning and tried every strategy again.
And today it worked. Today she didn't do one sing-song minute. Hallelujah.
The second small, but HUGE thing happened this evening with Kate. She fell asleep in my arms. We do rock-a-bye most nights but rarely does she go to sleep. Today she wanted to. She didn't talk or play games or sing any of our usual songs. About 30 seconds after climbing into my lap she gazed deeply into my eyes as if looking for something and then sighed, tucked her face into my chest, closed her eyes, and drooped her body into my arms.
But she wasn't actually sleeping yet. I could feel that her body was tired but her mind was busy. She was seeking comfort and help relaxing. So I rubbed her back and talked quietly about all the ways I take care of her. I named every tiny thing I do--dressing her, brushing her hair, feeding her, putting on bandaids (or, ban-baids, as she calls them), taking her to the store, finding lost shoes and toys and blankies, reading to her, rocking her, taking her to the library and park and beach, giving her drinks and snacks when she needs them, etc. etc. etc. I ran through the litany of everyday minutia while inserting, "and mama always loves you no matter what" or "and when mama leaves mama always comes back" between every few items.
Slowly, slowly, slowly her breathing became more regulated. At last she drifted off to sleep. And I just kept rocking her and holding her. She was warm and limp when at last I had to put her in her crib.
I'm glad she is still such a baby. I'm glad she seeks these sweet moments of physical connection. They are healing for both of us.
P.S. Suddenly, for the last two days, when I've had to leave the house she has not panicked and held her breath till she passes out. That behavior has been the norm for at least five months now. It began suddenly one day and, maybe, knock-on-wood, has ended just as suddenly. She went through the routine I've been trying to teach her ("when mama leaves we sit down and wave and say Bye, Mama!" so at least she's seated before she inevitably passes out) on her own yesterday. It surprised me. Maybe the experience of being with Grandma but then not returning to Grandma's house and instead returning to our house was meaningful to her. Maybe she actually believes she lives here with me and this all isn't going to disappear suddenly.
Now that I think about it, at rock-a-bye time last night Jane said, out of the blue, "And I'm going to live in this house forever and ever." It was an odd phrase out of context from anything else we were talking about but clearly something she'd been thinking about and was happy to say. So maybe spending time with Grandma but not going to live with Grandma was on her mind, too.
So, we're getting there. Slowly but surely.
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