The handover from my siblings to babysit my nieces and nephews would become a fine art over time. What would start as being given a list of do’s and don’ts, time frames and respective phone numbers ultimately became “Feed them what you like…” or in Talen’s case, “Just make sure he only eats white food,’” as they subtly slipped out my door.
I was enjoying another overnight stay with Talen. Tania and Guy were enjoying a night of celebration with friends in the city, a great opportunity to have a Saturday night, and more importantly, Sunday morning free of child!
Talen was a challenge to feed. His diet was limited due to early allergies, and because his body had experienced reactions, he was apprehensive to eat. Previously, I tried the typical approach of noises and games like “ Here comes the airplane,” through to… ”OK, you only have to eat 5 mouthfuls” – to no avail. He was around 2 years old and there was no room for negotiation. I would feel stressed – yet try not to show it. Experts would say… “A child can sense your stress – always remain calm, otherwise it will get worse!!” Where the hell were the experts when the child is screaming, undoubtedly hungry and doing back arches in their highchair that would challenge an Olympic gymnast!
So, for our Saturday dinner together, I thought I would try a different approach. “We” were having mashed potatoes, a small amount of steamed chicken and pears (not all mixed together). I treated myself to lamb chops.
I laid a large beach towel on the floor and set up his toys like a construction scene. We had toy cars, a dump truck and a crane, which I think may have been part of a Fire Station toy, but it served the purpose anyway.
Side note, I would often lay towels on the ground for the kids to sit on to eat – sometimes propped by various cushions. I didn’t own a child highchair (no room to store one), and the catchment area needed to be wide for soggy sandwich crusts, half chewed pasta, apple skins (I could never work out how their small mouths with only 8 teeth could eat the apple yet separate and spit out the skin) and of course, countless cups of milk.
So, with a tea towel tied around his neck (a bib was not going to cut it to catch the fallout), we sat on the floor together. I placed his bowl of mashed potatoes and chicken on the towel – next to my plate of food. I always ate with the kids.
Talen was not settled, and I kept saying to him, “ Watch Aunty Tan, look at where all the trucks are, look…watch me.” He started to watch me intently and his breathing calmed. He thought we were setting up for another game…and it was. A game I was determined to win.
I proceeded to put his food in the back of the dump truck, roll the truck to the crane and put the food in the bucket of the crane. He didn’t say anything and watched me wind the bucket to the top. I took his spoon and placed food into Talen’s mouth. He ate it. I cheered and clapped my hands, and he clapped his hands and squealed with mashed potato oozing out between his teeth.
I then put the spoon down and made sure he watched me take a bite of my meal. I clapped and so did he.
Next, his turn. Food from his bowl to the back of the truck, push it to the crane, raise up the food in the bucket with a spoonful into his mouth. More claps and more cheers. We took turns eating. Soon, he was filling the crane bucket and turning the handle to lift it up. It took nearly an hour, but we both ate our dinners – including the mashed pears for dessert and both our tummies were full.
Huge success! I later thought of Tania and Guy and how they deal with this at night – without the time to create such playground scenes.
Time is a luxury for an Aunty.
Soon, it was time for a bath – however, with the feast of our dinner, we were behind schedule.
Bathtime is a joy. I fill the bath with warm water, bubble bath and loads of Tupperware containers, and plonk in the kid. For me, it is a wonderful time to sit on the bathroom floor and just watch the creative world of children at play. Whether staying over on their own or with their siblings or cousins, bath time brings out a child’s world. Within minutes, bubble bath cake (usually carrot) is being served along with a cup of bubble tea. They know Aunty Tan’s favorites.
Tonight, with Talen, was no different. He made pies and cups of bubble milk and cooked other imaginary treats until the water ran cold. We were tracking well. Into pajamas, and following a bottle of milk, it was soon time for bed. The cot was already set, and we were on a roll. He went down easily, and I was quietly giving myself high fives as I walked back downstairs.
I was lulled into a false sense of security – now it was his game.
Thirty minutes later, he started to cry. I went into him, laid him back down and told him everything was OK. With the dummy (pacifier) back in his mouth, I said, “Aunty Tanny is here and it’s time to go back to sleep.” This continued. Each time I would go into the room to pacify him, it became more intense. It would start with me entering the room and he would be kneeling in the cot, crying. I picked him up until the crying changed to gentle sobs, put the dummy back in his mouth and lay him back down.
It was half time, and he was 4 – 0 up.
Back downstairs and ten minutes in, the cries became screams. Back up the stairs – I was far from being chuffed with myself. The wins of earlier in the evening were long gone.
I walked in and he was standing in his cot. He had hold of Man (a shapeless knitted doll in the colors of Parramatta Eels football team), and his red hair was on end. He was crying so hard, his face was red, tears were pouring down his face…and the snot bubbles had started. I picked him up and soothed him again. As he calmed down, I put him back into his cot.
But this time, a penalty card was pulled, and he wasn’t letting me go anywhere. “ I want my Mummy,” he yelled. “I go home.” He repeated this over and over again, and each word would punch out of his body between heaving sobs. I tried not to take this personally. I love him and why wouldn’t he want to be with me?
I decided a change of tact was required. I opened the bedroom door completely. The bedroom door was directly opposite the landing of the stairs. So, with the stairwell light on, I pulled his cot closer to the doorway and I sat on the top step. We both looked at each other.
My motto is to always be honest. So in a calm voice, I started to talk to him in an even, monotone voice. “You can’t go home. Your parents have been out for dinner and would have drunk too much to drive here to pick you up – let alone look after you. This is their first night out in months and you want to ruin it for them. Life is not just about you, kid. I am really not that bad to spend twenty-four hours with. It’s only until tomorrow morning, and trust me, they will be here to pick you up. You will not be stuck here forever.”
His cries didn’t stop. “I want my Mum. I want my Dad. I go home.” I tried to keep my voice quiet and calm.. “Besides, how are you going to get home? I’m not driving you. I have already had a shower and now I’m in my pajamas, and so unless you have your own means of transport, you are stuck here for the night, kid. Now you have ‘Man,’ you have your bands (numerous hair elastic bands he would wear around his wrist at night), and here is your dummy.”
All the time, his gut-wrenching cries continued. His big, beautiful blue eyes filled with tears, and the snot bubble machine was in full force. I washed his face and held him.
I didn’t try to lay him down. I let him stand in the cot and said, “Aunty Tanny is not going anywhere. I am just going downstairs for five minutes and then I will come back,” Whether it was Talen on this night or with any of the kids, if I told them I was going downstairs and would be back up in 5 minutes…. I would. I would never lie – I always want the kids to feel safe.
Sure enough, after five minutes, I went back upstairs. He was still standing, sobbing. I sat on the stair landing and continued to talk to him. I told him how much I loved him and what I was planning for breakfast for us both in the morning. The cries of “I want my Mum” continued, albeit the intensity started to wane. I am sure fatigue was setting in, but he wasn’t going to tap out.
The game didn’t stop, the plays were repeated, and we went well into overtime.
My voice remained calm. At one stage, I picked up one of the many Dr Suess’s books from the bookshelf and just started to read out loud…to anyone who could hear over the cries for help. I read a few pages and then told him I was going downstairs, and I would be back in five minutes.
He kept crying. I was quietly worrying about dehydration – a lot of mucus had come out of this kid over the hour and a half.
Five minutes later, I was back up stairs (with water for both of us). He was sitting in the cot, quietly sobbing. I told him, “Mummy and Daddy will be so proud of you. You didn’t screw their night up and you are being so brave.” I read five more pages and went back downstairs, reassuring him I would be back in five minutes. This continued for another fifteen to twenty minutes.
On one of my final returns, he was laying down with Man in the crook of his arm, dummy in his mouth, and playing with the elastic bands on his wrist. I dimmed the light and kept talking to him while seated on the stairs. Occasionally, he turned his head towards me to listen.
His eyes started to close. It was nearly 2 hours after official kick off …aka bedtime. The referee had blown his whistle. There was no clear winner. It was a draw.
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