The Henry Attitude Rehabilitation Program or HARP

Before having a baby, I worked a lot.  It was not uncommon for me to spend 60 - 70 hours per week working and there were weeks when it was a lot more.  My entire existence revolved around working, cycling, sleeping and eating.  

As an Occupational Therapist, I worked as a contractor for different insurance companies.  My primary population was people with chronic pain.  Chronic pain is a multifaceted diagnosis that involves physical, psychological and sociological factors.  Patients are often in lengthy engagements with insurance companies and have had difficulty with typical treatment protocols.  They generally experience problem froms injuries or illnesses long after the expected timelines, and this leads to friction at work, with the insurance companies as well as within their personal relationships.

My job often had me entering into situations where relationships had broken down between employees and employers.  It was my role to pick up the pieces and attempt to unify the worker, employer, physiotherapist, physician, union, insurance company and any other involved players in a plan to rehabilitate the worker while satisfying the other interests.

Because of the nature of the claims, meetings were often adversarial and at times down right nasty.  I had to make snap judgements and change tactics on a dime if a strategy wasn't working.  After doing this type of work for several years, I was often anxious long before the meetings, anticipating conflict and trying to guess all of the things that could go wrong.  I spent most days engaged in conversations with people who were angry, manipulative, depressed and at times deceitful and cruel.  This takes a lot of energy and truly begins to change the way you see the world.

Once Henry was born, it took me a considerable amount of time just to decompress from having operated in that environment for so long.  As he gets older and more interactive, I've found myself having to examine the way I interact with people as I believe that what Mark and I model will most heavily affect his behaviour.

I think I am generally a kind person, but am prone to being judgemental and reactive at times.  I have a sarcastic sense of humour and often, as I'm sure a lot of people do, will poke fun at someone's funny pants or an elderly person's attempt at parking their car.  I intially rationalized that this wasn't a big deal because I'm an adult, but came to a later decision that it is a big deal.

So.  I've decided to adjust my attitude.  The following is an ongoing attitude rehabilitation program that I am currently undertaking in order to attempt to model the most kind, open-hearted, gentle existence for my child.

1.  Purposeful Smiling.  This is certainly not my own creation and has deep roots in yoga practice.  The belief is that by purposefully smiling, you can channel more positive energy.  It occurred to me that every time I'm staring at Henry's face, he is generally staring back at mine.  His gorgeous little face always made me happy, but I wanted to make sure that he was getting the same benefit.  The pragmatist in me says that he should get used to a range of emotions, but I think as his Mom, it's my job to provide that happy place for him.  So I consciously smile.  Every time I look at him or he looks at me.  As I practice this, I find it comes more naturally.

2.  The "Maybe He's Just Having a Bad Day" Program.   I started this quite recently and have found it very effective for building empathy.  Many years of traffic in Vancouver left me with some road rage tendencies and I would often catch myself snarking at other drivers with Henry in the car.  I would mouth off if someone didn't drive fast enough or failed to yield to me.  I'd get worked up in the grocery store if the lady in front of me paid her entire bill with nickels and then realized she forgot to get peas, and then paid for the peas with nickels, and then needed a rain cheque for hazelnut cookies. 

Now, every time I start to label someone a jerk for parking their car diagonally across two parking spots, I stop and say out loud, "maybe he's just having a bad day".  I started to make fun of someone on a TV game show last night because I felt she was taking too long to answer a question.  Stop.  "Maybe she's just having a bad day".  I find it totally alters my train of thought and is a much happier place to live in.

3.  Taking care of Henry's Mom.  My guilty pleasure is Dr. Phil.  I can't watch it very often, but every now and then, I get a lot of glee from watching him fix people.  I'm amazed at how the guests prefer to be derided by a stranger on television than pursuing more conventional avenues of recovery.  But every now and then he gets something right. 

My favorite Dr. Phil-ism occurs when he works with parents who are usually engaged in some type of self-destructive behaviour.  For example, if Sally's mom was drinking herself to death, instead or trying to get her to negotiate with herself, he would ask her, "How would you take care of Sally's mom?  What would you do for her?"

The purpose is to take her out of her bubble and to spin the perspective towards empathy.  It is easier to see ourselves as sympathetic figures through our children's eyes.  I would treat Henry's mom a whole lot better than I treat myself sometimes.  So, when I decide what to eat or when to stop a workout, if I can't make the best decision for myself, I do it for Henry's mom.  Because I love that little boy, it has become a whole lot easier to love his mom. 

Happiness is a choice.  I don't get it right all the time.  I  have to practice these three things, but I find that I am learning to exist more peacefully. 

And I still reserve the right to cuss like a trucker now and then.  Out of earshot of the boy, of course.

The Seventh Sense

I have a relatively strong background in behaviour theory and have worked in a number of different situations that require consistent, specific responses.  I assumed that upon having a child, I would effortlessly apply my scientific background and experience and simply manage my baby like the black and white behavioural experiment that he is. 

  

No one told me, while I was trying to shape the behaviour of this little creature, that his different noises would actually cause me varying levels of physical pain.  I call this the Seventh Sense, as the sixth sense is apparently taken.  The Seventh Sense is an amalgam of physical pain caused by the child's screaming, Mommy Panic Syndrome-driven anxiety about whether or not he is actually dying this time and the Cave Mom response to perceived danger.

I used to teach parents of kids with autism about responding to different behaviours and how they could shape outcomes to help their children function in a more socially appropriate manner. I would imperiously order parents to simply ignore kicking and screaming and just remain in a calm state until their child stopped an unwanted behaviour and began to approximate the more desired behaviour. Simple.

Often times the kids would have difficulties eating, some of these related to sensory issues, but others just pure learned responses to avoiding certain foods. I, without children, would knowingly say to the parents, "Kids have to eat, you just have to wait it out." I would then go on to wonder why they had difficulty following through with such a simple concept as starving their child.

I would like this to serve as a formal apology from a well-intentioned, but completely uninformed non-parent therapist.

Henry is starting to crawl.  He's getting pretty quick going backwards, which leads to him ending up in funny places (wedged under the TV stand, stuck behind a speaker, etc.).  Unfortunately, he also still forgets that he needs to hold his head up against gravity sometimes, leading to loud bonks on the floor.  I assume that this is probably normal as they don't sell baby helmets for the crawling stage, but I'm pretty sure there's a marketing opportunity there.

Upon becoming wedged in an undesirable place or bonking his melon on the floor, Henry will let out an earth-shattering, "I'm going to die" scream followed by the saddest cry you have ever heard.  Instinctively, I rush to him every time.  He has begun to notice the expediency of my response to these cries.  I'm screwed.

Mark was out with the boys last night and Henry and I got to play a little game using my Seventh Sense.  Henry was hanging out in his play pen and I was attempting to get his bottles washed before bed.  After being out of view in the kitchen for about 30 seconds, I here an earth-shattering wail.  I drop everything and sprint into the living room expecting to kill a wild animal or smash a looming intruder in the knee caps.  What do I find?  A very cute little turkey smiling at me from his play pen.  This happens several times.  Each time I attempt to rationalize that he is safe in his play pen, but that Seventh Sense consistently beats my brain.

Henry has also started playing a game with mommy when she's trying to be serious.  If I'm trying to get him to go to sleep or be stern with him (as stern as one can be with a 6 month old child), he will flirt with me.  He bats his big blue eyes and then busts out this toothless grin.  I'm usually good for one of these, but if he does it twice, I can't help but smile.  Victory is his again.

I will continue to try to be a consistent parent and provide a level of relatively invariable discipline.  I am going to attempt to react as a rational adult and not a panic-stricken loony.  I do elect, however, to wholly enjoy the experience of being controlled by this 18 lb, blue-eyed little monster.