By Cheryl Tessler-Ryshpan In your local bookstore, you will find a best seller entitled A
ll I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten: Uncommon Thoughts on Common Things. It’s a light prosaic title, meant to catch you slightly off‑guard. Believe me, I’m a university graduate, I’ve even done some postgraduate studies and as far as I’m concerned, contrary to Robert Fulghum’s idea, I learned diddly squat in kindergarten.
I do, however, have some uncommon thoughts on being a mother. Nothing in high school or university prepared me for the new life for which I was totally responsible. Not even prenatal classes. You are obliged to take a crash course – five minutes after the nurse places that gorgeous baby on your chest, you’re expected to pass the test and be a genius at child rearing.
However, if you’ve had an epidural, you’re too busy having the shakes to pass any test, let alone concentrate. No amount of babysitting in your teens provides you for the realistic definition of ‘poop and scoop’.
Keep in mind, there is no examination to pass to see if you are a good candidate to parent. Nope, you are forced to attempt to maintain your sanity by throwing yourself into the pool with a huge ‘splash’.
Why don’t parenting magazines ever warn of the impending need for a lifetime subscription to child rearing? We would have zero population growth. Hospitals would have no maternity wards or nurseries. Is this simply the raving of a sleep‑deprived mother? Sure, I forgot what it was like to sleep an entire night or past 5:30 a.m. I can’t even remember what it was like to stay up for the prime time newscast at 11:00 o’clock. The fact is, however, I’m sincerely glad that I’m a quick study.
I have come to the conclusion that we really must dispense with large nurseries. Yes, new moms need their rest while in a hospital. Yes, the nursing staff provide new mothers with a vast insight into infant care. I have to tell you though that those infants, cute and adorable, in that nursery, smelling of talcum, are comparing notes and passing on information designed to make all mothers scratch their heads.
Here’s how it works . . . Osmosis! Coded messages on receiving blankets. Keep in mind that blankets are hospital issue, hospital laundered. How else does every child know exactly when to press Mom’s magic buttons? I’m not sure who is ultimately responsible. Nurseries are large rooms with row upon row of bassinets. Discussions in the nursery occur when the nurses are taking coffee breaks.
If the encoded blankets are not a conspiracy of the medical profession, are they somehow a conspiracy of men? Or, are these blankets conveniently provided by the stork? Isn’t this a reasonable explanation when you realize that all babies with colic react the same way? Granted there have been no scientific studies to support these allegations but I only ask that you think about it. Now, doesn’t it sound plausible?
We don’t claim to understand why babies cry. Child psychologists who write baby books give a list of things to check first. Only when babies have been in the family a few weeks do moms begin to recognize the ‘feed me’ versus the ‘diaper change’ cry. Only mothers understand the initial babble of their children. To some moms ‘bottt’ means bottle while others claim ‘bop’ has the same meaning. In my case, I got ‘peas’. My failure to immediately comply resulted in a pacifier being flung clear across the room and a hard ‘thud’ beside the fridge door.
Here’s another reason why I firmly believe this notion. Toy manufacturers. They use children to test their products don’t they? If you take two toddlers from very diverse backgrounds, put them in a room with a toy that makes a loud, strange noise (especially one that will irk Mom), paint it in vibrant colors then that toy is a sure winner. Haven’t you ever wondered why all children like the same things? The girl/doll conspiracy. Those chains and lines of cars that boys make at a certain age.
And another explanation in support of this theory – children only get sick late at night or on the weekend when parents have plans. No doctors on call. No clinics. Only hospital emergency rooms where the babies reunite and pass on more information. The need to return to that hospital environment is positively overwhelming. Once in Emergency, the child will quiet momentarily, fall asleep or just cuddle closer to Mom. Ever notice how quiet Emergency Rooms usually are? The babies need the quiet to gather stage two of their data.
Some children are flexible and adapt quickly to any change. Some, the minute you alter one iota of their program, you encounter a brick wall displayed through tears of frustration and the most awful temper tantrums. Moms seem to handle it while rolling their eyes and gritting their teeth. Dads, dads don’t know what you’re talking about. How come? The child never had a tantrum in his presence. Nope, its only mom’s buttons that ever need pushing.
Did you ever notice that dads can put the kids to bed without even the slightest whimper? While with moms, there are sixteen trips to the bathroom for a glass of water, pleadings for another story, "spend some time in my bed", the entire boogie man routine . . . the whole nine yards. Mom’s buttons need to be pushed. But, I ask you, do they need to be pushed every night? Every night for years without a night off? I didn’t commit murder. I had a child. Is it really necessary to make me feel like I’m leading a life sentence without the chance for parole?
The concept of a mother and child bonding is a strange phenomenon. It twists and turns at different stages of a child’s life.
I recently attended a seminar on discipline. One of the tricks that the moderator decided to share was the concept of a mother in need. Instead of asking for a chore to be done, a request that is inevitably met with a brick wall, he suggested using the phrase, "I need." The child, he assured the audience, would be off to do the chore in a split second. Amazing.
I decided that from then on, this was going to be my choice way of introducing a request. I was going to get help with chores; yeah, I’d be selective but never fear, help was on the way.
One day, after about three requests starting with, "I need..." this wondrous child looked down at me and said, "Mom, are you okay? You’ve become awfully needy." Great. Even the experts don’t know what they’re talking about. I swear I didn’t abuse the phrase. Ok, ok, I guess I did use it once too often. How was I to know? It has been a very long time since I took my nursery courses.
And what about milestones? They creep up on you because you’re sleep deprived. Milestones, those occasions when your child moves away from you while exhibiting independence. Sometimes it’s so sudden, it hits you smack in the face. Because, along with your child facing a milestone, your hair is turning gray, reading glasses suddenly appear from nowhere, shoes become too narrow, hips spread and there is that gentle pull of gravity. We all have it; probably learned when we took our nursery courses.
So, Mr. Fulghum, nice idea about kindergarten but personally I think it goes back before that.
