a miniature racing tank
So about the time that belly laugh baby transitioned to the toddler room another baby I'll call miniature racing tank baby also transitioned to the toddler room. Miniature racing tank baby is stocky and large, with strong tense muscles and a hankering for intense transitive interaction with the world around him. One of his favorite hobbies is pushing the furniture around. Another of his favorite hobbies is pushing belly laugh baby around. Literally. He pushes belly laugh baby over, sits on him, and sensuously grabs hold of his silky hair and creamy caramel skin. Yes. Well. Of course we can't let him do that. It's nightmarish for belly laugh baby and a bad precedent for miniature racing tank baby.
Of course, he's almost as fond of grabbing other babies' heads as belly laugh baby's head. He'll also get a jolt of pleasure out of a big joyous chomp of a grownup's shoulder. He gives this infectious inhaling laugh, almost a wheeze, and grins wide, all his pearly little teeth showing -- it's really hard to convince him he's doing something horrible.
So I had them both in to visit this afternoon. I followed him around when my Princess (about whom more another time) allowed me, intercepting his pudgy little hand before it reached the head of a baby whenever I could, sternly explaining "The babies do not like it when you grab their heads like that, and I will not let you do it." He shakes his head, grinning and laughing: he's trying to convince me that he's right and I'm wrong: that it feels so goody to touch the scalp and pull the silky hair that it must be the right thing to do. Finally, out of a dire need to change diapers and clean the room, I put him up in the high chair with a snack, which is what I generally do when I get the fear-biter in.
The fear-biter is genuinely afraid of the babies, who are half his size but will crowd him: he's a slightly older toddler who doesn't have many words yet. I call the high chair the fear-biter's safe place and when he gets bored up there I ask him if he feels safe enough to get down, and give him a refresher on what to do when he starts feeling the pressure: move away, say "no," come to me, but don't grab, don't bite. He's making real progress, but I honestly think he'll outgrow it developmentally before he learns better from my teaching. In the meantime, there are fewer bites and scratches from that corner, which is all good.
The miniature racing tank is a whole different issue. He's not upset, afraid, angry, jealous, or lonely when he wreaks havoc. He's happy, thrilled to see his friends, adoring, affectionate . . . and too young to have developed much empathy. At fourteen months, it's not surprising either way: some his age will have twigged quite a bit to other people's feelings, some will be relatively clueless like my miniature racing tank. He knows that there's a bit of drama when he does these things, but he has not connected this to feelings like what he experiences. And he has a pretty fair tolerance for discomfort himself, so there's another source of disconnect. He's a newish walker and his face is covered in scratches and bruises from taking tumbles in the toddler yard. When he pulls something on top of himself or falls down, he cries out and accepts a brief cuddle before he's off and running again.
For now, every chance I get I explicate the other babies' feelings. Every time he grabs me or bites me I shout -- it's important that my expression be startling to him, I think, to make the connection between his actions, my feelings, and my words. Also, very importantly, every time I have a chance I prevent him pulling off one of these actions. Every time he doesn't hurt a baby is a time he doesn't hurt a baby, on the one hand, and on the other, every time I act as a conscience for him -- explicitly! -- is a time when some kind of conscience is acting for him.
I fully expect he will grow a conscience as his consciousness grows. But, man, in the meantime, it's hard on belly laugh baby, because belly laugh baby is his favorite.
Of course, he's almost as fond of grabbing other babies' heads as belly laugh baby's head. He'll also get a jolt of pleasure out of a big joyous chomp of a grownup's shoulder. He gives this infectious inhaling laugh, almost a wheeze, and grins wide, all his pearly little teeth showing -- it's really hard to convince him he's doing something horrible.
So I had them both in to visit this afternoon. I followed him around when my Princess (about whom more another time) allowed me, intercepting his pudgy little hand before it reached the head of a baby whenever I could, sternly explaining "The babies do not like it when you grab their heads like that, and I will not let you do it." He shakes his head, grinning and laughing: he's trying to convince me that he's right and I'm wrong: that it feels so goody to touch the scalp and pull the silky hair that it must be the right thing to do. Finally, out of a dire need to change diapers and clean the room, I put him up in the high chair with a snack, which is what I generally do when I get the fear-biter in.
The fear-biter is genuinely afraid of the babies, who are half his size but will crowd him: he's a slightly older toddler who doesn't have many words yet. I call the high chair the fear-biter's safe place and when he gets bored up there I ask him if he feels safe enough to get down, and give him a refresher on what to do when he starts feeling the pressure: move away, say "no," come to me, but don't grab, don't bite. He's making real progress, but I honestly think he'll outgrow it developmentally before he learns better from my teaching. In the meantime, there are fewer bites and scratches from that corner, which is all good.
The miniature racing tank is a whole different issue. He's not upset, afraid, angry, jealous, or lonely when he wreaks havoc. He's happy, thrilled to see his friends, adoring, affectionate . . . and too young to have developed much empathy. At fourteen months, it's not surprising either way: some his age will have twigged quite a bit to other people's feelings, some will be relatively clueless like my miniature racing tank. He knows that there's a bit of drama when he does these things, but he has not connected this to feelings like what he experiences. And he has a pretty fair tolerance for discomfort himself, so there's another source of disconnect. He's a newish walker and his face is covered in scratches and bruises from taking tumbles in the toddler yard. When he pulls something on top of himself or falls down, he cries out and accepts a brief cuddle before he's off and running again.
For now, every chance I get I explicate the other babies' feelings. Every time he grabs me or bites me I shout -- it's important that my expression be startling to him, I think, to make the connection between his actions, my feelings, and my words. Also, very importantly, every time I have a chance I prevent him pulling off one of these actions. Every time he doesn't hurt a baby is a time he doesn't hurt a baby, on the one hand, and on the other, every time I act as a conscience for him -- explicitly! -- is a time when some kind of conscience is acting for him.
I fully expect he will grow a conscience as his consciousness grows. But, man, in the meantime, it's hard on belly laugh baby, because belly laugh baby is his favorite.