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in reply to: Early morning toddler adventures… send coffee. #6508
Oh, Alistair, still in the thick of it, huh? It really does feel like they’re just on their own little schedule sometimes, doesn’t it? I remember thinking with my son during that early phase, it was almost like he just had *too many feelings* from the day before, and the quiet of the morning was the only time his little brain felt safe enough to let them all out. Like, one morning, he woke up super early, and instead of trying to get him back to sleep, I just sat with him on the floor in his room, and he started pointing at all his stuffed animals, naming them one by one, like he was checking in with each of them. It wasn’t a conversation, but it felt so important to *him* in that moment. It made me realize it wasn’t about me getting more sleep then, it was about creating a calm space for him to just… be. It helped me shift from feeling resentful to feeling like I was just present for him, even if it was ridiculously early.
in reply to: Early morning toddler adventures… send coffee. #6507Oh, Alistair, I hear you. The 5 AM club is a tough one to be a part of, especially when you’ve had a taste of those 7 AM lie-ins. It’s just utterly draining, isn’t it? My little guy went through a phase like that a few months ago, and honestly, I felt like I was constantly just a step behind myself. I remember one morning, I was so frustrated, but then I looked at his bright, happy face, totally oblivious to my exhaustion, and I just thought, ‘He’s not doing this to me, he’s just… feeling things.’ Sometimes I think with my son, those early mornings were almost a way for him to just process everything from the day before, like his little brain was just buzzing too much to stay asleep. It’s not a magic trick, but sometimes just acknowledging that he’s not trying to make my life harder, he’s just being himself, helps me shift my own feelings about it. Still doesn’t make the coffee taste any less essential, though!
in reply to: Lily and her greens… sigh #6498Oh Anja, I’m right there with you, truly. And Yuki and Hanna, you’ve both hit on something so important about the emotional weight of it all. It’s not just about the food, is it? It’s about feeling like you’re doing right by them, and when they push away the good stuff, it feels like a little piece of your heart sinks.
My little boy, he’s so sensitive, and I’ve learned that if I get even a tiny bit stressed about what he’s eating, he picks up on it immediately. There were so many mealtimes where I’d feel this knot in my stomach if he wasn’t eating his veggies, and then I’d see his little face cloud over, and he’d clam up even more. It was like my worry was actually making it harder for him to relax and just *try* things.
I remember one evening, after a particularly frustrating dinner, I just sat with him on the floor while he played, and I realized I was letting my own anxiety about his nutrition completely overshadow the joy we usually find in just *being* together. The next day, I made a conscious effort to just be present at the table, chat about his day, maybe make silly faces. Even if he just ate the plain rice, I tried to focus on the laughter, on his little hand reaching for mine. It’s a constant learning curve, trying to separate my own worries from his experience, but it really has made a difference in the atmosphere. You’re definitely not alone in feeling this, Anja. It’s so hard wanting to give them everything they need and feeling that struggle daily.
KlaraS, I keep coming back to your original post about the intensity, because that’s exactly where I am so often. It’s truly draining, isn’t it, to feel their big feelings so acutely? Aoife, your point about their ‘predictive model’ getting a glitch, and how it’s almost a ‘crisis of agency’ for them – that’s been so helpful for me to think about. It’s like when my little guy is having one of those huge moments, like when his carefully stacked blocks tumble unexpectedly, it’s not just the blocks. It’s a complete shock to his understanding of how things *should* work, and then that overwhelming frustration just takes over his whole body. My heart just aches seeing him like that, utterly undone by something that seems small but feels so monumental to him. I’ve found myself just whispering to him, ‘It’s okay to feel upset, buddy. I see you.’ It feels like such a tiny thing to say in the middle of a storm, but sometimes, just that acknowledgment, without trying to stop the feeling, gives him a little bit of space. It’s so hard to do when you’re already stretched thin, but I truly believe that letting them feel it, and just being a calm, steady presence, is the best gift we can give them in those moments. We’re showing them that all feelings are okay, and that we’re a safe harbor. Still reach for the chocolate by 8 pm though! Sending so much solidarity.
Aoife, yes, that ‘predictive model’ getting a glitch really does explain so much of the intensity, doesn’t it? It’s like their whole world just wobbles. For me, what I’ve been trying to figure out is how to stay anchored when his world feels like it’s wobbling. KlaraS, you mentioned feeling so drained, and I completely get that. Sometimes when my little guy is in the middle of one of those absolute hurricanes, my own heart just starts thumping right along with his. It’s so hard to not let that overwhelm me too. But I’ve noticed that if I can just manage to take a deep breath and remind myself that his big feelings aren’t a reflection of *me*, but just *him* experiencing something huge, it helps me to just be there. I’ve found that sometimes when he’s really, really deep in a tantrum, just gently resting my hand on his back or even just sitting quietly next to him, without trying to talk him out of it, makes a difference. It’s like my calm can sometimes be a little anchor for his storm. It doesn’t always work instantly, but those moments of just being present, allowing him to feel it with me there, are the ones I cherish. It’s so tough to witness their distress, but I’m learning that sometimes my job isn’t to fix it, but just to feel it with him. Still exhausted by dinner, though, absolutely!
Aoife, yes, that ‘meticulously constructed internal world’ and the ‘predictive model’ getting a glitch really resonates with me. I’ve been trying to wrap my head around why these seemingly tiny things spark such intense reactions, and seeing it as a deep cognitive disconnect helps. For my little one, when his expectation is shattered, it’s not just a cognitive thing, it’s like this immense feeling of betrayal or confusion washes over him, and he just doesn’t have the words to tell me. It actually makes my heart ache to see him so utterly overwhelmed by something that seems so small to me. I try to remind myself that his feelings are just as huge and valid as mine, even if the trigger is a broken cracker. Sometimes, when he’s really spiraling over something like the wrong color crayon, I just get down on his level and hold him close, without trying to talk him out of it. Just letting him *feel* it, and letting him know I’m right there with him, can sometimes be the only way through. It’s incredibly hard to just be present in that storm with them, not trying to fix it or distract, but I find those are the moments of quiet connection that truly make a difference in the long run. Still completely wiped by dinner, absolutely, but those small moments of simply being there with him, really *with* him, are what I hold onto.
KlaraS, oh my goodness, you’re describing my mornings sometimes! The ‘wrong blue cup’ is just… it’s like they have this perfect picture in their head, and any deviation feels like a betrayal. I feel you on the drained part. It’s so hard to keep my own heart from racing when my little guy is in the middle of one of those big, big feelings.
Just last week, we had a major meltdown because I gave him the ‘triangle’ cracker when he *clearly* wanted the ‘square’ one, even though they were from the same box and tasted identical. In that moment, for him, it wasn’t just a cracker. It was like his whole world was crumbling because something wasn’t exactly as he expected, and he just didn’t have the words to tell me how that felt.
I found myself just kneeling down, not trying to fix the cracker, but just putting my hand on his back and saying something like, “It’s so frustrating when things aren’t how you want them, isn’t it? It feels really unfair.” Just acknowledging *his* feeling, even if I don’t quite understand the depth of it over a cracker. It doesn’t always stop the tears right away, but sometimes, just that moment of being seen, really *seen* in his upset, helps him eventually find his way back. It helps me too, honestly, to remember that it’s not about me, it’s about him navigating these huge emotions that he’s still learning how to manage. It’s tough, but we’re here for these tiny, powerful people.
in reply to: Morning dressing battles… anyone else? #6313Aoife, you hit on something so true about that intense, laser focus they have! When my little one gets that way, completely fixated on a specific something, it’s like his whole being is just *there*. And my mind immediately goes to, ‘Oh, is this going to cause a problem? Will he get upset later? Is this going to be difficult?’ It’s exactly like you said, that impulse to ‘fix’ or make it more ‘sensible.’ I’m constantly trying to remind myself to just breathe and watch, and to separate my grown-up ‘what ifs’ from his very pure, in-the-moment desire. It’s so hard sometimes to just trust his little spirit, even when it feels so strong and, honestly, a little overwhelming for my anxious brain. It really does feel like a daily discovery to find that line between guiding and just letting them *be*.
in reply to: Morning dressing battles… anyone else? #6307Chloe C., that’s such a brilliant way to think about it, making it a game! I completely get what you mean about ditching the ‘do you want’ questions because sometimes, for my little one, it’s just about that intense ‘no’ in the moment, and it’s not even really about the clothes. When his little brow furrows and he’s so fixated, making it silly like that… it actually helps *me* too, to step out of that anxious space of trying to reason with him. It feels like it just softens the whole moment for both of us, instead of spiraling into those big emotions. I’m definitely going to try the ‘sock walking like a worm’ idea next time we hit that wall. Thanks for sharing that!
in reply to: Morning dressing battles… anyone else? #6289Eleanor, that’s such a profound point about checking *why* we’re resisting something. It really got me thinking, because so much of my own struggle is about untangling my anxieties about *his* potential feelings from what he’s actually experiencing. It’s like, when he gets upset about a shirt, my stomach immediately twists because I’m imagining him feeling sad or uncomfortable later. I know it’s not always about a sensory thing for him, but sometimes it’s just this intense little fixation on ‘that one thing’ in that moment. And in those moments, it’s so hard not to project all my own worries onto him. Like, will he be okay? Will he feel happy? It truly is a daily challenge to separate my ‘what ifs’ from his very present joy or distress.
in reply to: Morning dressing battles… anyone else? #6280Oh Annelies, seriously, the morning routine can feel like an emotional marathon, right? I totally get that feeling of just wanting to throw your hands up. And Yuki, what you said about your own anxieties getting in the way really resonated with me.
My little one, he’s so sensitive, and sometimes if he gets really fixated on something, even something small like a specific shirt, and I try to gently redirect, his whole face just crumples. And then *my* stomach just twists. I remember one morning he absolutely wanted to wear his dinosaur PJs to playgroup. My first thought was, ‘Oh no, he’ll be the only one, people will stare, he’ll feel silly when he realizes.’ I was so worried about him feeling *any* discomfort or standing out in a way that might make him sad. But seeing that little furrow in his brow, knowing how much that choice meant to him in that moment, I just… couldn’t.
So, I let him wear the PJs. And he was SO proud, stomping into playgroup, pointing to the dinosaurs. And honestly, no one blinked an eye. He was just *himself*, full of joy, and all my worry about him feeling embarrassed was just… mine. It’s a hard balance, wanting to protect them from every little bump, but also needing to trust their own little spirits, even in something as simple as choosing PJs for playgroup.
ChloeD, I totally hear you on the “food battle” thing and that knot of anxiety! It’s so easy to get caught up in it, especially when you just want them to be nourished.
I remember one afternoon, my little one just kept pushing away his plate, no matter what I offered. I could feel myself getting frustrated, and then I saw his lip wobble a bit. It wasn’t about the food, really. He’d had a tough morning at playgroup, and I think he was just feeling overwhelmed. When I just put the plate aside and picked him up for a cuddle, he leaned into me. Later, when things were calm, he actually pointed to his highchair and wanted to try the food again, all on his own terms.
It made me realize how much their little emotional worlds play into everything, even eating. Now, I try to really tune into his mood at mealtimes. If he seems a bit fragile or just needs some quiet time, I try not to push the food. It’s hard to let go sometimes, but I’ve found that when I focus on his feelings first, the food often sorts itself out.
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