Those of you who know Jack will understand what an enormous accomplishment petting a dog was for him. Born six weeks early, Jack never seemed quite ready for the world. Noise and light disturbed him, and since he was totally not interested in nursing there was little I could do to comfort him. When he was three weeks old, we took him to a craneo-sacral massage therapist named Loretta my midwives refer to as The Baby Whisperer. The idea was that Jack may have had some underdeveloped or knotted muscles in his baby jaw that made it painful for him to nurse, and maybe some massage would help. I was skeptical, but was willing to try anything to make the screaming stop.
As soon as Loretta opened the door I felt calmer. She had an aura of motherly wisdom about her; I don't believe in reincarnation, but if I did I would say that Loretta was a very old soul. After she'd introduced herself, she washed her hands and knelt down in front of tiny Jack who was sleeping in his car seat. She placed her hand on his chest and said a few soft words before unbuckling him and lifting him out. I don't remember what she said, but I could tell she was asking Jack for permission to touch him. I had never seen an adult be so respectful of an infant before, nor seen an infant be so responsive to a stranger. The understanding between them was so deep you would have thought Loretta was his mother and I was a bungling stranger.
She held Jack in her lap and gently cradled his tiny head in one of her capable hands while rocking slowly. Jack, who was usually a bundle of tension and distress, was fast asleep in her lap, arms and legs flopped out in complete trust. As she rocked, her hands worked, softly feeling and making tiny adjustments to the muscles in Jack's jaw, face, neck and head. I sat back in awe, wondering how it was possible for this woman my son didn't know to work him into such a state of relaxation.
After about ten minutes, she told me the future.
I'm not joking.
She said, "Jack is clearly a very sensitive baby. It's not uncommon for babies who are born early to have a low tolerance for stimulus; he's not ready for the outside world. He will probably be very sensitive to change as he grows up, and transitions will be very difficult for him. He may also have trouble organizing himself, such as knowing when he needs to eat and when he needs to sleep. Every time he experiences a major growth spurt it will probably effect his eating and sleeping, even when he's older. He will also probably be very artistic; I've met babies like this before, and they usually grow up to be very expressive. This is because they notice and take in everything in their environment; right now it stresses Jack out, but as he gets older he'll find ways to process it. He'll need to do a lot of processing to help him understand his world."
I didn't know four year-old Jack at the time, but Loretta could not have been more right. I don't know how she divined all that from holding him for ten minutes, but she clearly knew something about my son. As I type, he is sitting at the kitchen table coloring and singing his heart out the whole time.
So, back to the dog pictures.
Jack has always been afraid of dogs. "Afraid" isn't quite strong enough. He's terrified of them, and if we are playing at the beach or park and a dog shows up, even a small one on a leash, he panics and wants to go home. Jack has a pretty long list of fears and concerns, but dogs top it. Aaron and I have spent a lot of time talking about how we can help Jack overcome his fears without pushing him too far, and my uncle's dog Lucy was the answer. She is a very sweet, very obedient dog. Recently we spent the day with my aunt and uncle at their house on Lake Tapps, and out of consideration for Jack they put Lucy in the back room or kept her tied to a tree outside. If Jack happened to be around for the transition, he was instantly all a-tremble and would start to whine in panic.
Now, I think every person has the right to choose their own boundaries, but Aaron and I feel that life is limiting enough without being held back by fear. We tried our best to respect Jack's fear of dogs while encouraging him to try to be brave, explaining that Lucy was a nice, gentle dog and she would never hurt him.
Somehow, Lucy got out of the house while we were playing in the grass by the lake. She walked slowly over to me and then lay at my feet in the shade. Jack ran up to the top of the yard, as far away from Lucy as he could get.
"Jack, watch mama pet Lucy," I said.
I gently put her head in my lap, then talked to Jack about how soft her ears were and how much she loved having her head scratched. After a few minutes, he was willing to come closer. He just watched for a while, marveling at Matteas who has no fear of dogs and wanted to climb on top of Lucy's head.
After watching for some time, Jack was willing to pet Lucy if I promised to hold onto her head so she couldn't lick him. After a few minutes of petting her, he moved up to her neck, his body coiled like a spring ready to jump if she showed the slightest hint of menace.
Eventually he worked his way up to her face and ears, and I watched the fear in his eyes melt away and be replaced with pride.
After that, Lucy was allowed to roam free and Jack didn't mind. He still needed reminders of how brave he was and how nice Lucy was, but by the end of the day he was playing fetch with her. We haven't yet tested if this new-found comfort level will translate to other dogs, but for now we are celebrating the achievement. "Boy Pets Dog" is hardly headline news, at least it probably wouldn't be in any other house, but I have to say that watching Jack overcome his fear and deliberately choose to do something he was really, really afraid of was one of my proudest parenting moments ever. The dog wasn't the issue; the internal process Jack had to go through to get to the dog was the real triumph. How many of us can say that we have faced and conquered our greatest fear?
Those of you who know Jack will understand what an enormous accomplishment petting a dog was for him. Born six weeks early, Jack never seemed quite ready for the world. Noise and light disturbed him, and since he was totally not interested in nursing there was little I could do to comfort him. When he was three weeks old, we took him to a craneo-sacral massage therapist named Loretta my midwives refer to as The Baby Whisperer. The idea was that Jack may have had some underdeveloped or knotted muscles in his baby jaw that made it painful for him to nurse, and maybe some massage would help. I was skeptical, but was willing to try anything to make the screaming stop.
As soon as Loretta opened the door I felt calmer. She had an aura of motherly wisdom about her; I don't believe in reincarnation, but if I did I would say that Loretta was a very old soul. After she'd introduced herself, she washed her hands and knelt down in front of tiny Jack who was sleeping in his car seat. She placed her hand on his chest and said a few soft words before unbuckling him and lifting him out. I don't remember what she said, but I could tell she was asking Jack for permission to touch him. I had never seen an adult be so respectful of an infant before, nor seen an infant be so responsive to a stranger. The understanding between them was so deep you would have thought Loretta was his mother and I was a bungling stranger.
She held Jack in her lap and gently cradled his tiny head in one of her capable hands while rocking slowly. Jack, who was usually a bundle of tension and distress, was fast asleep in her lap, arms and legs flopped out in complete trust. As she rocked, her hands worked, softly feeling and making tiny adjustments to the muscles in Jack's jaw, face, neck and head. I sat back in awe, wondering how it was possible for this woman my son didn't know to work him into such a state of relaxation.
After about ten minutes, she told me the future.
I'm not joking.
She said, "Jack is clearly a very sensitive baby. It's not uncommon for babies who are born early to have a low tolerance for stimulus; he's not ready for the outside world. He will probably be very sensitive to change as he grows up, and transitions will be very difficult for him. He may also have trouble organizing himself, such as knowing when he needs to eat and when he needs to sleep. Every time he experiences a major growth spurt it will probably effect his eating and sleeping, even when he's older. He will also probably be very artistic; I've met babies like this before, and they usually grow up to be very expressive. This is because they notice and take in everything in their environment; right now it stresses Jack out, but as he gets older he'll find ways to process it. He'll need to do a lot of processing to help him understand his world."
I didn't know four year-old Jack at the time, but Loretta could not have been more right. I don't know how she divined all that from holding him for ten minutes, but she clearly knew something about my son. As I type, he is sitting at the kitchen table coloring and singing his heart out the whole time.
So, back to the dog pictures.
Jack has always been afraid of dogs. "Afraid" isn't quite strong enough. He's terrified of them, and if we are playing at the beach or park and a dog shows up, even a small one on a leash, he panics and wants to go home. Jack has a pretty long list of fears and concerns, but dogs top it. Aaron and I have spent a lot of time talking about how we can help Jack overcome his fears without pushing him too far, and my uncle's dog Lucy was the answer. She is a very sweet, very obedient dog. Recently we spent the day with my aunt and uncle at their house on Lake Tapps, and out of consideration for Jack they put Lucy in the back room or kept her tied to a tree outside. If Jack happened to be around for the transition, he was instantly all a-tremble and would start to whine in panic.
Now, I think every person has the right to choose their own boundaries, but Aaron and I feel that life is limiting enough without being held back by fear. We tried our best to respect Jack's fear of dogs while encouraging him to try to be brave, explaining that Lucy was a nice, gentle dog and she would never hurt him.
Somehow, Lucy got out of the house while we were playing in the grass by the lake. She walked slowly over to me and then lay at my feet in the shade. Jack ran up to the top of the yard, as far away from Lucy as he could get.
"Jack, watch mama pet Lucy," I said.
I gently put her head in my lap, then talked to Jack about how soft her ears were and how much she loved having her head scratched. After a few minutes, he was willing to come closer. He just watched for a while, marveling at Matteas who has no fear of dogs and wanted to climb on top of Lucy's head.
After watching for some time, Jack was willing to pet Lucy if I promised to hold onto her head so she couldn't lick him. After a few minutes of petting her, he moved up to her neck, his body coiled like a spring ready to jump if she showed the slightest hint of menace.
Eventually he worked his way up to her face and ears, and I watched the fear in his eyes melt away and be replaced with pride.
After that, Lucy was allowed to roam free and Jack didn't mind. He still needed reminders of how brave he was and how nice Lucy was, but by the end of the day he was playing fetch with her. We haven't yet tested if this new-found comfort level will translate to other dogs, but for now we are celebrating the achievement. "Boy Pets Dog" is hardly headline news, at least it probably wouldn't be in any other house, but I have to say that watching Jack overcome his fear and deliberately choose to do something he was really, really afraid of was one of my proudest parenting moments ever. The dog wasn't the issue; the internal process Jack had to go through to get to the dog was the real triumph. How many of us can say that we have faced and conquered our greatest fear?
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