Toddler brain is tiny, but terrifying at times

“ROOOOOAAAR!!!!”

“Honey, please don’t scream in my face,” I said.

My 2-year-old reared his head back and threw up his arms in his best Tyrannosaurus Rex pose and screamed — louder this time — an inch from my nose.

It’s not the first time he has displayed some sort of new, unwanted behavior. In fact, we’ve been through pushing, biting, hitting, roaring and fibbing phases — sometimes simultaneously.

When I try to curb unwanted behavior, such as pushing, the shutters come down over those cute baby blues and a scowl that could slay a dragon appears. Once, as I calmly tried to say, “We don’t push our friends,” I barely had the last word out before that dreaded toddler response was screamed at me.

“NO!”

 Ah, independence. Ya gotta love it.

“Honey,” I said gently, “You need to listen to Mama.”

“NO!”

I read somewhere that as brain growth in toddlers is exploding, so is emotional development. That means these little guys are not only learning colors, numbers, letters and the like, but they are experiencing new emotions, such as frustration, fear, anger and disappointment.

The only problem is that they don’t have the self-regulation to control these emotions yet, so their baser instincts usually get the best of them.

One child psychologist wrote that this is why “toddlers are the opposite of civilized human beings.”

That would explain the sudden temper tantrums over seemingly benign things. And why sometimes I’m convinced demon possession is at play.

But how do I make his toddler brain understand that these behaviors are wrong?

Here are some useful tips I found on Parenting.com:

• Pick your battles: If you’re always saying no, the child will tune out your priorities

• Know your child’s triggers and remove temptations for unwanted behavior

• Be consistent in your reactions to avoid confusing the child

• Don’t get emotional: If you get angry, that’s all the child will see versus your message

• Keep it short and simple: Speak in short phrases so the child will understand (i.e., “No hitting.”)

• Give a time out: After repeated reprimands, put the child in a time out space for one minute per age

— Sarah Leach is editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com or @SentinelLeach #babyboom.

No needle is getting in the way of my dream

I am terrified by needles. Like sweaty palms, shallow breathing, I’d-rather-eat-shards-of-glass terrified of needles.

One time when my mother had to take me to urgent care, it took two orderlies to hold down my legs for them to get a blood sample so I didn’t buck myself right off the bed.

Now I put on a good show; I’m even able to carry on a conversation with a phlebotomist like a champ as she takes a sample. I, of course, have to avert my eyes and think of every distraction technique known to man in order not to freak out. Lately I’ve been trying to name all the NHL teams (I’m getting pretty good at it).

So when my fertility treatments recently advanced to the stage of giving myself daily injections, it was a bit of a concern, to say the least.

My doctor and the pharmacist gave me pamphlets and video links and all the things one needs to supposedly feel comfortable with this sort of thing. But, come on, who EVER feels comfortable sticking themselves with a needle?

So it was with barely contained panic when I had to give myself that first injection. I held it over my stomach and froze.

My poor husband, who is even worse than me when it comes to this type of thing (seriously, if this isn’t already a classified phobia, it should be named after him), looked green.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I said, as I stared at the would-be injection site. “You might need to help me.”

He swallowed down what I can only imagine was a blood-curdling scream and said, “I will do it if you absolutely need me to.”

There was a moment then as I continued to stare at the needle, hovering inches above my skin. Could I do this? Could I overcome 36 years of terror? It’s not like I am diabetic and my life depends on this. But then another thought came: My life does depend on this.

I already know what I would do for my son, all the way up to taking a bullet for him. The thought of holding another baby in my arms is something I would go to the ends of the earth for.

And then I had my answer. I am capable of great strength, and this was no time to chicken out.

“This is for Baby, right?” I whispered, and poked the needle in.

And you know what? It didn’t hurt. At all. As in, I’m not deluding myself into thinking it didn’t hurt. It really didn’t. And I couldn’t have been prouder of myself. Suddenly all the doctor visits, blood draws, ultrasounds and injections don’t seem all that scary.

I can do this. I WILL do this and once I get that baby in my arms, every hurt in the world will have been worth it.

— Sarah Leach is editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

Tricks, treats all part of Halloween lore

The magic of Halloween never ceases to amaze me.

It’s the one night each year where you can transform yourself, and the creative choices are limited only by our imaginations.

When I was a girl, my mother and I, along with my stepbrothers, would canvas our subdivision on a quest to fill our pillowcases full of candy booty. We eagerly anticipated the spooky decorations our neighbors would conceive and it was an added pleasure when said neighbors couldn’t identify us — that meant our costumes were awesome.

Even the parents got into the Halloween spirit — they fretted over costume ideas just as much as us kids. I distinctly remember my mother accompanying us one year in 6-inch heels, fishnet stockings and a wig that perfectly completed her Tina Turner look. She nearly froze to death, but that’s the sacrifice one makes for one’s art on this one night a year.

When we would return home, the candy audit was enacted with flourish. Piles of candy were dumped on the living room floor, and our parents carefully inspected our haul, occasionally deeming one piece or another “not meeting muster” and confiscating the offending treats.

Once we were back to our human selves, we packed up the car and drove to my grandparents’ house, where trick-or-treating was still in full swing. As we drove down the street every year, it always seemed to be the spookiest night of the year. The leaves were gone from the trees that lined the narrow street, and the branches from each side seemed to reach overhead, creating a tree tunnel that set the perfect tenor for the holiday.

Grandma and Grandpa, instead of passing out chocolate or candy delights, opted instead to hand out nickels. I thought that strange at the time — I mean who wants boring money over culinary delights — but now I recognize its brilliance (no wonder their house was one of the most popular on the block).

 Yes, Halloween is a holiday that is steeped in tradition, and these are treasured experiences I want my son, who is now nearing 3 years old, to have. I will make sure he has a costume each year, and I will dress up as well in a show of solidarity. All I ask is a candy commission.

— Sarah Leach is editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.