Lift Up Your Hearts!

Mallard Fillmore hits the nail on the head again. One can as easily subsitute "president" for "congressperson."

What’s Going On in There? How the Brain and Mind Develop in the First Five Years of Life, by Lise Eliot (Bantam Books, New York, 1999)

I don’t have time to do justice to this wonderful book, only to say that every mother, grandmother, mother-to-be, and potential mother should read it—and that goes for fathers, too. When Eliot expresses her opinions on the data she presents, I don’t always agree, but as a collection of clear, readable reports on the latest research on brain development, this book is invaluable. I’d love to post large quantities of this amazing information, but will content myself with a few more or less random samples.

Elevated temperature is dangerous for developing babies; pregnant women should avoid electric blankets, heating pads, saunas, and hot tubs, should reduce high fevers, and—I wouldn’t have thought of this—should limit exercise to levels that don’t cause their bodies to overheat.

The birth process itself is amazingly good for babies. Some of the advantages require actual passage through the birth canal, but some come earlier in labor and thus it is recommended that even for planned Caesarian sections the mother be encouraged to undergo at least the early stages of labor. When compared with babies delivered by c-section, vaginally delivered babies take their first breaths sooner, experience a more rapid rise in blood oxygen levels after birth, are less likely to have respiratory problems, are better able to maintain their body temperatures, have larger reserves of glucose, and have better reflexes, muscle tone, and sensory responses.

Touch is enormously important to babies. Infant massage, long practiced in India, has been shown in several studies to promote physical, mental, and emotional health as well as brain development.

The dads are right. Dads fling their babies around in the most frightening manner while the babies crow with glee and the moms cringe. Of course proper precautions must be taken to protect the baby’s neck and brain—no one is advocating “shaken baby syndrome"!—but stimulation of the child’s vestibular system confers enormous developmental benefits. In one study, babies ranging in age from three to thirteen months sat in a researcher’s lap and were spun ten times in a swivel chair, each spin followed by an abrupt stop. The babies experienced spinning on both directions and in three different positions, to stimulate each of the ear’s three semicircular canals. After four sessions a week for four weeks, the results were clear. Compared with control groups (one with no treatment, another where the child sat in the researcher’s lap but did not spin), these babies showed clear advancement in both their reflexes and their motor skills (sitting, standing, crawling, walking). One set of three month old twins was split up in the study, and by the time they were four months old the one twin had control of his head and could sit independently, while the control twin was just beginning to hold his head up.

Babies are aware of odors in utero, are calmed by the smell of amniotic fluid, and prefer to nurse on a breast moistened with amniotic fluid.

Back in the days when women assisted in (or even soloed) their own deliveries, their hands were probably covered with amniotic fluid, which was then transferred to the breast as they attempted their first feedings.

Babies as young as six days can distinguish the smell of their own mother’s breast from that of another lactating woman, and even formula fed infants prefer the smell of an unfamiliar nursing mother to that of a non-nursing woman. Infants are also comforted by the scent of their own bodily secretions, which is why a well-chewed blanket or stuffed animal makes such a good “transitional object,” and why having them washed is so upsetting to the child.

It is interesting that children in non-Western cultures do not show as much attachment to these kinds of comfort objects as Western children, perhaps because the former continue to have a great deal of touch and olfactory contact with their parents. (They often keep nursing and sleeping with their parents well past infancy.)

Hearing, too, is acute in the womb. Newborns have been shown to recognize, and enjoy, sounds they heard before birth, from Dr. Seuss stories to concertos, and can distinguish not only familiar voices but also familiar languages.

The evidence for the superiority of breastfeeding is simply too overwhelming to summarize. For the baby’s physical, mental, emotional, intellectual, social, immunological, and every other kind of health, there is no arguing that breast milk—and the nursing process itself—is by far the best. One thing I hadn’t realized was the preponderance of evidence that breastfeeding makes babies smarter. Even after all efforts to correct for other variables, such as home environment and parental attitudes, there is compelling evidence that breastfed children are developmentally and cognitively superior. So that’s my problem….

Reading What’s Going On in There? will make you stand in awe of the tiny baby whose chief accomplishments you once thought were eating, screaming, and excreting.

The Real War Against America, by Brett Kingstone (Specialty Publishing Company, Carol Stream, IL, 2005)

Our local library has a subscription to Ancestry.com, the genealogical research site. Unfortunately the response time is slow, and one day a couple of months ago I was working near enough the “New Releases” shelf to do some browsing during the otherwise interminable wait between entering my request and the return of the results.

The bright cover of Brett Kingstone’s book caught my eye. I was not impressed by the title, which sounded Limbaugh-esque and evoked images of conspiracy theorists. I brought the book home, thinking Porter might enjoy it, but did not expect to read it myself. It didn’t sound like my kind of book.

Never judge a book by its title.

Porter picked up The Real War Against America in the evening and hardly came up for air until he finished it several hours later. It was obviously compelling, but why would I want to read a book that caused my husband to come to bed, spluttering with anger, at three in the morning?

But read it I did, and if I knew better than to read till nearly dawn, I did find it hard to put down. The tale of Super Vision’s struggle against international piracy takes place (mostly) in Orlando, and it was delightful to recognize familiar places, events, and people. Of the story itself I had heard nothing previously, perhaps because much of the action took place while we were in Boston. Nor were we prepared to find the name of a friend pop up in the middle of the book, a friend who though mentioned only briefly was close enough to the events to assure us that this is no right-wing propaganda piece but a true story, no matter how much it reads like a made-for-TV action movie.

Brett Kingstone’s entrepreneurial adventures started in a dorm room and eventually grew into the Super Vision company. If you’ve never heard of Super Vision, you’ve certainly seen their fiber optic lighting products, from Disney World and Times Square to the Moscow airport, from children’s toys to gigantic signs, from swimming pools to Christmas trees. You have seen Super Vision’s products, I say—and you have probably also seen the Chinese counterfeit products that nearly destroyed the company, the visible result of an unbelievably brazen scheme involving common thugs, company traitors, crooked bankers and lawyers, a bureaucratic legal system that favors the criminal over the victim, and an evil Chinese businessman who might have leapt full grown from Ian Fleming’s head.

I had never given much thought to intellectual property theft, beyond making a reasonable effort to respect copyrights. Nor have I had much experience with the American legal system. But just as Hurricane Katrina convinced me that the quality of local government really matters, and that nothing is an adequate substitute for personal effort and preparedness, this tale of untruth, injustice, and perversion of the American way has opened my eyes to a threat as dangerous as any scheme of Osama bin Laden's. Without economic freedom, few other freedoms can stand. And when legal victories are ultimately won by those who, like the “house” in a casino, have the funds to drag out the process until they bankrupt their opponents, what hope is there for justice?

Justice is driven back, and righteousness stands at a distance; truth has stumbled in the streets, honesty cannot enter. Truth is nowhere to be found, and whoever shuns evil becomes a prey. (Isaiah 59:14-15)

As promised elsewhere, I am finally printing the recipe (actually, a couple of recipes) for Bay Punch, absolutely the best drink in the world to serve with pizza.

Bay Punch was invented by John Lefor and Chip Nimick for Pizza Night at the Towne House computing center at the University of Rochester in Rochester, New York. The name came from the original pizza source, Bay & Goodman Pizza. It did not change even after we switched to Cap'n Tony's Pizza. The traditional punch bowl is a large dishpan. John says that if it tastes as if it needs more pineapple-orange, add more cranberry, and vice versa. The punch is better if it ages a bit before serving. We used to start making it just as someone left on the 45-minute round trip to get the pizza. Another tradition is the punch ladle, a simple soup ladle, which must be hung on the outside of the punch bowl, and woe to him who puts in inside, where it will slide down and disappear into the drink. Of course this is all tradition—Bay Punch tastes great in a traditional punch bowl, too. But you must squeeze the limes and lemons, not just float them artistically on top.

Original Recipe
96 ounces Ocean Spray cranberry juice (two 48 ounce bottles)
46 ounces pineapple orange juice (used to be one can; it's hard to find that way now)
8 limes (I usually use only 6, but this is the original recipe)
2 lemons
ice

Slice limes and lemons into 6ths, lengthwise. Squeeze juice over ice in large punch container, dropping squeezed sections into bowl as well. Add cranberry and pineapple orange juices, adjusting to taste; stir well.

Notes:
I've tried to use other brands of cranberry juice than Ocean Spray, but have never been satisfied with them. Pineapple orange juice can be hard to find, and orange pineapple isn't the same. In a pinch I've mixed orange juice and pineapple juice. Be sure to let the punch "steep" before serving, which allows oils from the fruit to seep into the drink. If there is any punch left over, remove fruit and any remaining ice before storing, or you will end up with a dilute, bitter liquid.

Faster, Easier Recipe, a very close substitute for the original, easily resized
96 ounces Ocean Spray cranberry juice
42 ounces pineapple orange juice
3/4 cup lime juice (I find the Squeeze-eez brand by Concord Foods the best tasting)
3/8 cup lemon juice (also Squeeze-Eez)
1 1/2 teaspoons Boyajian lime oil (we discovered Boyajian citrus oils in Norwood, MA, and they are the key to the success of this recipe)
3/4 teaspoon Boyajian lemon oil

Mix ingredients very well; this is necessary to disperse the citrus oils. Serve over ice, preferably with a pepperoni and green peppers pizza...I'm on my way over!

A friend sent me a copy of Louise Story's New York Times article describing the new generation of bright, college-educated women who are chosing shortened, delayed, or part-time careers so they can give their best to their families. A quick Internet check tells me this story has already been blogged and overblogged, so I won't spend much time on it. (The article ran exactly one month ago—my friend is one of the rare breed who still cuts articles from the paper and mails them, and I am not as prompt as I should be at getting to my reading material.) Nonetheless, I can't resist a couple of comments.

Some people appear to "get it," including Shirley M. Tilghman, the president of Princeton University, who said "The goal of a Princeton education is to prepare young men and women to take up positions of leadership in the 21st century. Of course, the word 'leadership' conjures up images of presidents and C.E.O.'s, but I want to stress that my idea of a leader is much broader than that," and "There is nothing inconsistent with being a leader and a stay-at-home parent. Some women (and a handful of men) whom I have known who have done this have had a powerful impact on their communities."

So do the unnamed university officials who "said that success meant different things to different people and that universities were trying to broaden students' minds, not simply prepare them for jobs."

But some people, however well-educated, are still clueless, such as Peter Salovey, the dean of Yale College, who bemoaned, "What does concern me is that so few students seem to be able to think outside the box; so few students seem to be able to imagine a life for themselves that isn't constructed along traditional gender roles."

This generation has faced overwhelming pressure, promotion, and downright propaganda against the idea that making a home and caring for a family is an important, valuable, and respectable career goal. No matter what it may look like to the older generation, even the smallest move towards home is radical thinking for today's college students. What consititutes "outside the box" depends very much on which box you are in, and what color chains you are wearing.

There's not much to do but pray, watch, and wait for now. Our freezer has been full of ice and frozen jugs of water and other potables since the beginning of the season; the cupboards are replete with flashlights, batteries, and non-perishable food; the propane tank (for the grill and camp stove) is nearly full, and our plywood window covers line the garage wall. While I was out today, I filled the car's gas tank, figuring that prices can only go up in the next week or so, and wanting replenish the supply before everyone else has that idea. Other than that, our preparations have mainly comprised lending an occasional hand to a neighbor who is trying to get an outdoor project to a sufficient state that it can withstand abnormal levels of wind and rain. The next project will be some cleaning and organizing, both physical and electronic, in case we lose power for a while. But that's an ongoing effort, anyway....

I would not do well on one of those music school "drop the needle" tests, in which one needs to name a piece of music based on hearing a small excerpt. It's not that I can't recognize the music—often just a few measures, even a few notes, is enough to bring forth, "Ooo, I know this piece! What is it?" I know that I know it, but identification often eludes me. What's more, I sometimes recognize brief motives from one piece of music in another, and that's even harder to pin down. I had no trouble identifying The Phantom of the Opera in the praise song, You Are My Hiding Place, but the hymn, Jesu, Jesu (1982 Episcopal Hymnal #602) was another story. There are four measures in the verse part that stung me on first singing with that "why do I know this?" feeling and I was never able to determine an answer. One day, listening to Vivaldi's "La Primavera" (from The Four Seasons), I finally found it: there in the third movement, clearly the same motive. Not that there was any sharing between Vivaldi and the Ghanaian folk song that is the basis for the hymn—it's a simple phrase, bound to show up independently in many places—but I was thrilled to make the connection in my mind and resolve the mystery.

Jonathan is never cold. Our pool was a Florida-warm 77 degrees for his visit, but it didn’t take long for the rest of us to feel chilled when the sun was not shining. Not so Jonathan, who never flinched when entering the water, and was still happy after three hours’ immersion. This is the same child I watched run outside on a bitterly cold Pittsburgh winter day, shoeless and wearing only a diaper. His only unhappiness was with the killjoy adults who brought him back inside. Looking at Jonathan’s portly body, one might think his imperviousness to cold was related to excessive insulation. However, I have plenty of that and it doesn’t keep me warm in the pool. Infants, I have learned, are born with brown adipose tissue (“brown fat cells”), which unlike the white variety actually produce heat. This phenomenon is also seen in small mammals that live in cold environments, and in hibernating animals. I venture the claim that most of Jonathan’s plethora of fat cells are of the brown kind! Brown adipose tissue also helps protect against obesity, which may explain why so many mothers have told Heather stories of their own children, now grown and thin, who when young were as large as Jonathan.

There’s a special advantage to having visitors who are comfortable with your household arrangements and routines. Many guests who want to be helpful are stymied by the fear of doing more harm than good, and in truth it’s often easier to do something myself than to explain how someone else can help. During this visit, however, I was delighted to turn around and find chores done as if by one of those Scottish “broonies” that gave their name to the younger Girl Scouts. On the last morning of their visit, I, the grandmother, was able to enjoy swimming with Jonathan; when we finally climbed out of the pool, Heather had packed and loaded the car, put away all of the toys and books, washed the dishes, done a couple of loads of laundry!

Jonathan’s speech is very efficient. He generally speaks in two or three word phrases, eschewing for the most part pronouns, articles, prepositions, and verb tenses. “Fly a plane!” can mean, “We’re going to fly in an airplane,” “We flew in an airplane,” “I want to fly in an airplane,” etc. It would be a mistake, I believe, to think that because he does not use certain parts of speech he does not understand them, for his receptive vocabulary is tremendous and he is quick to pick up on subtleties. What’s more, it appears that what he actually speaks is not what he thinks he is saying. When trying to understand him, if you parrot back to him the syllables you have heard, he often appears confused, as if he’s sure that’s not what he uttered.

I had much less difficulty understanding Jonathan’s speech than I had expected, based on my experiences with hearing him over the telephone. Context helps a lot, as does learning the few words in his vocabulary that bear little resemblance to their English equivalents. I find it interesting that while most of his vocabulary is quite easy to understand, those words he has been using the longest retain their original form, such as “wye” for water. [Update: In the week after their return home, Jonathan suddenly started using prepositions and pronouns consistently.]

He picks up new words so quickly! There is a smear of something hard on one of our pool bricks; I don’t know exactly what it is, but I called it concrete when he asked. He neither repeated the word to me, nor showed any sign of taking it in— but he never forgot, and referred to it as concrete the next day and thereafter.

I just heard from Heather and Jonathan, who have safely navigated car and plane and bus and foot and are home in Pittsburgh. I didn't get any details because they are having problems with their phones at the moment. We miss their cheerful faces and voices!

What a memory Jonathan has. We haven't mentioned pretzels at all this week, but in the car on the way to the airport he suddenly declaimed, "Airplane, pretzels!" Obviously he was more impressed than most people with the in-flight food.

You might guess that Jonathan is the son of two engineers by the fact that he frequently peruses their Dilbert calendar, laughing heartily. An incident today confirms the inheritance. He is sleeping in Janet's room, and she has some clear plastic file drawers filled with very interesting items that would not be good for him to investigate. Jonathan is in general an obedient child, but rather than expose him continually to temptation I ran a strip of duct tape along the drawers so that they could not be opened. Heather assures me that she never mentioned the words in his presence in relation to the drawers, but tonight he walked over to them, looked at the silver-colored stripe, and commented, "duct tape." Any 22-month old who knows duct tape when he sees it is well on his way.

I once read that a child should learn "at the rate determined by her own happy hunger." (I believe the quotation is from John Ciardi, but I haven’t been able to confirm that.) It is delightful to observe Jonathan’s voracious appetite.

He loves books, and rhapsodizes, "Library! Lots of books!" He asks frequently to be read to, usually specifying the book he wants. This week his first choice is usually, “Hop on Pop, Cat!” (The Cat in the Hat, don’t ask me how it picked up the “Hop on Pop” part) and sometimes “Wocket Pocket” (There’s a Wocket in My Pocket). Elephant’s Birthday (new from Great-Grandma Landeen) and A Fly Went By are other favorites.

He is equally enthusiastic about his “bits.” (See this post and others from Daley Ponderings.) Basically, they are large, discrete, unambiguous pictures of almost anything under the sun, from flowers to art works to mathematical quantities. He has a large collection of physical bits (on 11x11 or 8.5x11 card stock, laminated), and we had some new ones for him to see on this visit. We also have a large number on computer CD’s (“Picture Dictionaries” in which the pictures are shown along with the names of the objects, in English or any of four other languages.

At home, when and how Jonathan sees his bits is somewhat more disciplined, though he still has a lot of freedom to express and indulge his happy hunger. But at Grandma and Dad-o’s house (with Mommy’s permission), just as in the pool, we let Jonathan “drive” with the bits. We show him the cards as often as he wants, several times in a row if he asks. And with the Picture Dictionaries he is allowed to choose the subject (there’s a menu of 15 on each disk) and see whatever he wants, as many times as he wants. He even navigates the mouse (with a fair amount of help) and does the clicking.

He has definite preferences for subject matter, and one of his favorites is Dots (number quantities) in Japanese! He is not (yet) interested in any other language besides English and Japanese, but asks repeatedly for the Japanese Dots. Last night he asked for other subjects in Japanese, which he had resisted the day before. Although he has seen the Sports Equipment only a few times in English, and Vehicles not much more often, he vocalized “baseball bat” and “road roller” in English after seeing them in Japanese. I don’t know what that means; I just thought it was interesting. He asks for some subjects by category (“Dots”) and others by the name of one element of the category (“crab-it” for Sea Creatures, “double bass” for one set of Musical Instruments, “trumpet” for another).

Great-Grandma Landeen came for lunch yesterday, and Jonathan had fun playing trains with her, and reading the new books that she brought him. I had been worried about an "elderly lady" slipping on the train track pieces that covered most of the family room floor, but she nimbly navigated them and without hesitation sat down on the floor to play!

On Friday Jonathan and Heather had accompanied us the park for our regular running date. While Dad-o ran, the rest of us walked around the trail. Sometimes Jonathan is enthusiastic about running, and we thought he might enjoy it here, but he was not in the mood. In fact, he wanted to be carried from the beginning. With encouragement, he walked about 0.7 miles before I gave him a piggy back ride the rest of the distance to the playground.

Monday we returned, and this time as we were walking the trail, he spontaneously began to run, off and on, pausing to check out the various fitness stations. When Dad-o sped past us, I commented, “Dad-o runs fast.” Then Jonathan took off, declaiming, “Jonathan run fast!” In spite of, or more accurately because of, his new enthusiasm, we did not push him so far this time (following the “stop before he asks to stop” rule), but took a shortcut to the playground. There he indulged his passion for swinging (“swing fast!”) while we took turns getting upper body exercise pushing him. He particularly liked Dad-o’s enthusiastic pushes.

There are several forms of slide at that playground, and once again we observed his challenge–retreat behavior. When we arrived, he headed directly for the tall, curly slide that he had tried last time but not had the courage to slide down. He climbed up eagerly enough, but hesitated at the top, pronouncing this slide a “tough one.” Finally, he announced that he was climbing back down the ladder, and he did. He then proceeded to a slide in which the down part was low and easy, but climbing up difficult. The ladder had only three “steps,” but they were single rungs far apart and had to be climbed like a jungle gym with arms as well as legs. At first he asked for help, but before we left had figured out the problem and could make the climb himself. He also returned to the curly slide and mustered the courage to launch himself down. It was a wild ride, and both elbows needed kisses where he banged them against the sides of the slide, but he was pleased with himself and shed no tears. That was enough of that for today, however, and for the next several slides asked to ride on Heather’s lap. That still represented progress from earlier in the hour, when he had refused that offer and insisted on climbing down the ladder.

While swimming today, Jonathan consolidated and expanded recent gains, hand-walking (along the wall) more than halfway to the other end of the pool, and having a blast swimming with Mommy, showing her his prowess.

Jonathan is not accustomed to having to leave the house before 7 a.m. for church, but he managed to be only one of the Seven Dwarves—Sleepy but not Grumpy. He had no comment on Father Tom’s sermon, having chosen that time to be out of the room, but happily received his blessing at the altar rail during the Eucharist.

In the afternoon we visited the Orlando Science Center; since we are members and thus didn’t feel any pressure to get the most out of the admission price, we happily toured at Jonathan pace, which meant we actually saw little of the museum. It was the water that first caught his eye, and we watched the fish and the baby alligators and the turtles for a long time. We continued to explore the first floor until we reached Kids Town, which is designed for children under 48 inches tall (and their parents). It was fun to have an excuse to see it, but having done so, my recommendation is to pass it by. Jonathan did have a great time playing with the trucks, and the boats in the water, and talking on the telephones, but he could have done that at home. On the other hand, our house does not have a simulated sewer to run through, which he did at least half a dozen times.

During the IMAX movie about India, Jonathan first watched with interest, then nursed himself to sleep, much like his Aunt Janet at the Exxon (dinosaur) ride at EPCOT. The movie was interesting, but that did not stop me from following Jonathan’s lead in places—minus the nursing.

Porter suggested we stop at The Cheesecake Factory on the way home, and that idea was greeted with resounding enthusiasm by everyone but Jonathan, who didn’t know any better and preferred to sleep through most of our meal. Thus he missed the fabulous Avocado Egg Rolls, but he awakened in time to chow down a couple of pieces of chicken, an entire asparagus stalk, and a few French fries (“dip in ketchup!”).

Our day was so long and so busy I thought we might not swim, but Jonathan thought otherwise, so he and Grandma saw the sunset from the pool. We swam, and swam, and played the usual games: throwing the rings, sweeping with the pool brush, and a game he invented totally on his own, “Dinner ready!” He sits on the step in water up to his chin, asks another person to sit with him, and announces, “Dinner ready!” Then we discuss what we will eat: popcorn, asparagus, cheese, broccoli, carrots, ice cream, bread and milk and blackberries.

For a while I thought we might finish this swim with no new accomplishment to report, but Jonathan had other ideas. We have a large, ring-shaped float that he has been playing with on the steps. He had watched the adults float with it, but found it too big for his comfort. Nonetheless, he enjoyed sitting in the middle on land, or on the first step of the pool, and once again I observed his process of challenge–retreat. Tonight, standing in the middle of the ring with his arms holding the side, iron cross-style, he announced, "Here comes Jonathan!” and floated himself off the steps. He held on for maybe half a minute before tiring and wanting to go back to the steps. He repeated the exercise a few times, then asked to be helped to hold on to the front (a more comfortable position) and float to the deep part of the pool. This we did, ending at the little seat at the other end, and sat down to a triumphant game of Dinner Ready.

Jonathan has grown so comfortable and happy in the pool that he must be watched carefully, but I note that it is not a careless self-confidence he has, but rather a secure trust. He is very good about staying out of the pool or on the steps when there is no adult in the water, and is quite careful when he is on his own. But let a trusted adult be near him in the water, and he will enthusiastically launch himself into deep water, confident loving arms will receive him.

Having learned that it is now possible to ride along the bike trail from our neighborhood to the bridge over I-4, Heather wanted to make the journey. We have only two bicycles, and no bike seat nor bike trailer for Jonathan to ride in, and no helmet for him to wear. So he was sadly disappointed, because when he heard the words, “bike ride,” he became very excited: “Jonathan go bike ride!”

His disappointment did not have long to last, however, because when Dad-o and Mommy set off on the bicycles, Grandma and Jonathan headed for the pool. I had thought we might swim for a while, and then maybe play with the Brio train, or read stories, or ride in the red wagon, or maybe go to the playground. However, when Dad-o poked his head over the fence some three hours later, we were still swimming! And Jonathan continued swimming while Dad-o and Mommy joined us, and after Dad-o got out, and after Grandma left to fix dinner. Only Mommy’s suggestion that he might like some milk eventually enticed Jonathan out of the water.

I love the freedom of being a grandmother. I can have no agenda, no discipline responsibilities beyond setting and enforcing some basic rules (e.g. “you may throw the rings into the pool, but not the rock”), no need to teach him anything in particular, no reason not to let him be the writer, director, and producer of our play. In the pool, Jonathan is the boss.

Today he decided, on his own, to work on holding the edge of the pool and walking with his hands along the bricks. He practiced several times: jumping from the steps into my arms, having me help him swim to the side, then inching his hands along until he could reach the steps with his feet again. The trickiest part was negotiating the corner, but it did not take many sessions before he was confidently holding on with one hand and making large reaches with the other. He also discovered that the returning water jet tickles his belly!

 

We pretended Jonathan was a whale, who liked to “jump and splash” in the water. The downward splash frequently wet his face, and he made further progress in getting comfortable with having his head partially submerged.

In addition to the usual way of jumping off the side, which is into my arms with his head remaining above the surface, we tried “super jumps,” in which I let him go all the way under before catching him. After several times, he decided, “no super jump.” That was fine with me; I know now that he will file the experience away and bring it out again when he is ready.

He also asked to practice floating on his back, and we added a new version: being held in my arms in a reclining, though not completely flat and definitely not relaxed, position while I spun “’round and ’round!” first one way, then the other. I’m not sure what it accomplished, other than giving him another opportunity to be semi-supine and feel the water splashing in his face, but it was fun, and great vestibular stimulation for both of us.

Once again—typical of most children, it seems—he was reluctant to show Mommy and Dad-o his prowess when they returned, but he has advanced so much that some of it was apparent, anyway. He wouldn’t “show” Heather his hand-walking along the wall, but did it naturally when they went to the deep end and that’s how she moved along the wall herself. She also noticed his greatly increased confidence, as she had to adjust her reactions; he no longer clings to her, but eagerly projects himself from her arms, trusting she will follow.