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.