Xander has a spider that his Grandpa (aka my Dad) gave him. It's a bit, hairy tarantula, to be exact. And the thing is dead and encased in a plastic bubble. It's going nowhere. Xander adores this thing and calls it Fred. (No, I am not joking.)
While I am not particularly enamoured with Fred, I also have no fear of him either.
My Mom (aka Nanny), on the other hand, is petrified of spiders. Why my Dad gave this doubious gift to my 5 year old, I will never understand.
Fred came to live with us in November and we hid him under a tissue while Nanny was here visiting. I thought that perhaps with Nanny arriving again tonight, we ought to put Fred away and insisted that he go into Xander's sock and underwear drawer.
This should be the end of the story, but my young son is one who stews and frets. So we put the boys to bed last night and Liam was out in about 30 seconds. Xander, on the other hand, came downstairs for snacks (got nothing, as he ate plenty at dinner) and to talk. Once he'd been run back to bed for the third time, he was heard singing and complaining loudly from his bed.
Ray went up to coax him into going to sleep. I hear words like, "Well, being quiet is the first step to going to sleep." were part of that conversation. Eventually Ray gave up and told me that there was something weird going on with Xander, who claimed he couldn't sleep.
I finished what I was doing, and then went upstairs to find that Xander had shoved all of his blankets and his pillow to the bottom of the bed and was lying on his sheet looking at the ceiling miserably. I did what I knew was the right thing: I climbed in.
Climbing into Xander's bed is no easy feat. He has a loft bed from Ikea. Getting in is not horrid, but getting out is a gymnastic accomplishment when you are in your 30s and the ceiling is sloped.
Xander was ticked off. He rolled as far away from me as possible and refused to share the pillow and blanket. I snuggled in and spoke to him a bit at a time.
What was wrong? Nothing. Was he upset? No.
I was quiet a moment.
Then we talked about the day. He liked playing with Play Doh today. The movie yesterday was good. And I asked him if he was really hungry and he started to get silly and tell me about making giant mounds of sushi (kid does love his sushi!).
After the giggles, we talked about how sometimes trying to sleep and not being able to sleep makes a person anxious about sleeping, which also makes it hard to sleep. Vicious circle.
And I prodded to see what was making him upset: was it school? Nope. Nanny and Grandpa's visit?
Paydirt!
Sobbing ensued. He was very happy for Nanny and Grandpa to come, but why oh WHY did Fred have to go away? He missed Fred. Fred was a friend. Please bring Fred back.
For the record, Fred spent the night IN Xander's bed. (Which made my Mom shudder when I told her the story.) And he will be on Xander's bookcase for the duration of the visit. His reasoning was that there was no way Nanny could get in there to see Fred. It's hard to argue, since the space is so tight between the end of his bed and the bookcase that I can't get in there either.
Most of the time we stand firm, but when something causes this much anxiety, it is sometimes better to negotiate and have peace and sleep.
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Anxiety in Children
I'd never really thought about childhood anxiety. It's not something that gets much play in parenting magazines. Most parents don't sit around and compare their kids' anxieties like they do their abilities to sing, swim, read, and drive their siblings batty. We talk about sleep issues and food problems, but we don't talk about anxiety. Certainly nothing beyond the basic separation issues when the child is 9 and 18 months.
We might all talk about our sadness at them leaving us in stages: for preschool, kindergarten, and so on.
My beautiful, very bright 5 year old has anxiety. And it isn't a little anxiety. It's day-to-day world-altering anxiety. He's been diagnosed officially with Anxiety Disorder.
In retrospect, he's always had small signs. As early as he could talk (very, very early that is), he would say "Can I come too?" when we went to the mall or a restaurant. It was just the three of us back then, and the only option would be to leave him in the car. Of course he was coming! He took the comings and goings of family to heart and would sob when we had to leave someone at the airport.
On the flip side, he went off to preschool with a don't-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out attitude. Unless I was volunteering that day, and then he wanted to literally sit on top of me for circle time. His junior kindergarten year was much the same, though he also marched in line with the other four year olds, calling out very enthusiastic goodbyes to anyone he knew in the crowd.
And then he turned five.
I didn't know what to do with this little man who suddenly refused to let Ray and I go out. It took an hour, bribery and bargaining to talk him down from the emotional ledge on my birthday in June. He was staying with a sitter he'd had for 2 years and loved. Still, it took my cousin, who is a social worker with small, anxious kids, and myself to finally manage that. Each time we went out for months, it was accompanied by screaming and crying. Bedtime was suddenly a disaster: there were "bugs" everywhere (not a one in sight) and multiple trips to reassure himself that we were still there. Summer activities were a painful time. He had a soccer camp and the first day it took me 2 hours to remove myself.
Then his senior kindergarten year began. The little man who had walked in, proudly waving and shouting goodbyes to all and sundry was replaced by someone who not only cried at the prospect of going, but alternately had to be carried in, chased down, and walked in with hand-holding.
Once in school...or camp...or swimming class...or babysitting...he was fine. And he came out the other end smiling and laughing.
Ray and I were not so lucky. We felt like a large truck had jackknifed on top of us!
And I have been incredibly quiet this fall because of it. I've not been talking about the elephant that lives among us. But it is a very real elephant and I am tired of not talking about it.
My child has an anxiety disorder.
We've seen doctors and a psychiatrist. Thankfully we can get him to go to school and swimming and other such things. He's not so bad that we have to medicate him. (Which I would have been leery about, but there were a few months there where we would have given anything to just make it through the next day.) And now we are seeing a social worker to talk about it. I had no idea what was available to us for such problems. Now I do.
Very slowly, things are getting better. He sleeps well now and doesn't get up 40 times most evenings. He's easier to get to start new things. He still verbally protests at certain activities, but I am no longer the mother with the screaming child who is being physically carried into the pool area, school yard, and other places. And although he still gives big tears and loud protests, once the babysitter arrives, he could care less where we are going, as long as we GO.
It gets better. Slowly.
We might all talk about our sadness at them leaving us in stages: for preschool, kindergarten, and so on.
My beautiful, very bright 5 year old has anxiety. And it isn't a little anxiety. It's day-to-day world-altering anxiety. He's been diagnosed officially with Anxiety Disorder.
In retrospect, he's always had small signs. As early as he could talk (very, very early that is), he would say "Can I come too?" when we went to the mall or a restaurant. It was just the three of us back then, and the only option would be to leave him in the car. Of course he was coming! He took the comings and goings of family to heart and would sob when we had to leave someone at the airport.
On the flip side, he went off to preschool with a don't-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out attitude. Unless I was volunteering that day, and then he wanted to literally sit on top of me for circle time. His junior kindergarten year was much the same, though he also marched in line with the other four year olds, calling out very enthusiastic goodbyes to anyone he knew in the crowd.
And then he turned five.
I didn't know what to do with this little man who suddenly refused to let Ray and I go out. It took an hour, bribery and bargaining to talk him down from the emotional ledge on my birthday in June. He was staying with a sitter he'd had for 2 years and loved. Still, it took my cousin, who is a social worker with small, anxious kids, and myself to finally manage that. Each time we went out for months, it was accompanied by screaming and crying. Bedtime was suddenly a disaster: there were "bugs" everywhere (not a one in sight) and multiple trips to reassure himself that we were still there. Summer activities were a painful time. He had a soccer camp and the first day it took me 2 hours to remove myself.
Then his senior kindergarten year began. The little man who had walked in, proudly waving and shouting goodbyes to all and sundry was replaced by someone who not only cried at the prospect of going, but alternately had to be carried in, chased down, and walked in with hand-holding.
Once in school...or camp...or swimming class...or babysitting...he was fine. And he came out the other end smiling and laughing.
Ray and I were not so lucky. We felt like a large truck had jackknifed on top of us!
And I have been incredibly quiet this fall because of it. I've not been talking about the elephant that lives among us. But it is a very real elephant and I am tired of not talking about it.
My child has an anxiety disorder.
We've seen doctors and a psychiatrist. Thankfully we can get him to go to school and swimming and other such things. He's not so bad that we have to medicate him. (Which I would have been leery about, but there were a few months there where we would have given anything to just make it through the next day.) And now we are seeing a social worker to talk about it. I had no idea what was available to us for such problems. Now I do.
Very slowly, things are getting better. He sleeps well now and doesn't get up 40 times most evenings. He's easier to get to start new things. He still verbally protests at certain activities, but I am no longer the mother with the screaming child who is being physically carried into the pool area, school yard, and other places. And although he still gives big tears and loud protests, once the babysitter arrives, he could care less where we are going, as long as we GO.
It gets better. Slowly.
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