Developmental Milestones

This past Shabbat, I said to Raphaela, "OK, now we are taking our special Shabbat nap."  I can enjoy this rare treat only on the weekend.

Raphaela explained that as she has taken to less naps during the week at Gan, she does not feel tired now and does not want to rest with me.  I told her that if she let me sleep, and if she didn't burn down the house, she was more than welcome to play on her own.  I added that if she in fact changed her mind, she was more than welcome to crawl into her own bed and rest.

I don't know how I fell asleep at all.  The last time I left Raphaela awake she decided to "help" me with the laundry, and I woke up to a house covered in clothing detergent.  Then there was the time she decided to "bake challah," and put plastic Lego's into the actual oven, put on the actual oven and almost destroyed the kitchen.

But close my eyes I did, and two hours later I woke up and lo and behold, the house was in one piece and Raphaela had set up a beautiful birthday party for one of her dolls.

All hail this new and miraculous era of child rearing!

Matchmaker Manipulations

A client of mine who works within the health system of the Ultra-Orthodox community told me a sad and alarming statistic, that the number of Ultra-Orthodox children born with physical or mental disabilities has grown exponentially in the last ten years. 

She then explained the phenomenon to me:  the shame of having an unmarried child only doubles the shame of having given birth to a child with a physical or mental disability in the first place.  Thus, the matchmaking process rarely involves the future husband and wife meeting each other in person, until a day or two before the wedding, and then only briefly;  the parents and the matchmaker smooth out the issues of dowry etc, paying little attention to actual compatibility.  Once the two young people are stuck with each other, they must (by tradition and halacha) consummate the marriage and start making babies as soon as possible.  By the time that one of the partners in this union realize that the other may be suffering from a physical or mental disorder, it is too late to get divorced (because that would bring more shame upon the family) and at least one child has already been brought into the world.

And the cycle continues, as each generation ignores common sense, refuses to do genetic testing during pregnancy to determine if there will be serious developmental issues, and continues to grapple with the sticky wicket of getting these children married off before anyone notices a problem.

Flash forward to this week, when a matchmaker called me to suggest a blind date.  She kept her details simple, "He is a really sweet guy, very tall and a good friend of the family."  Something niggled at the back of my head and I insisted that the matchmaker employ full disclosure.  She stammered and paused, and after several sighs, said, "OK, here's the story.  He is in his mid-40's and has never been in a serious relationship, not even a girlfriend.  There is something off about him, he does not make eye contact when he speaks to other adults, though he always seems to have a lot to say. He is good looking but makes a terrible first impression because he does not know how to dress himself and present himself properly.  He has a college degree in engineering but cannot hold onto any steady job, and mostly works in part-time under the table gigs. I am thinking that he suffers from some version of undiagnosed autism, but I am not a medical professional."

Me:  And what part of what you just told me disturbs you the most? (Still trying to process...)
Matchmaker:  Well, it always bothered me that he couldn't get a decent job.
Me:  You know I am a single mother with a toddler right?  What makes you think that this person is ready for marriage with an adult, never mind becoming an instant father with all the responsibilities that parenthood entails?
MM:  He is my kids favorite Shabbat meal guest!
Me:  Don't you think there is a difference between someone who entertains children for a few hours, and a man who must step up, become an equal partner within a relationship, and take care of the emotional, physical and financial needs of a family?  A baby sitter can be great with their charge for a few hours, a father falls into a completely different category.
MM:  Well, you seem to know what you want.
Me:  Yes, I don't want to get married so I can care for two children instead of one.  Qualifying that, I don't blame him for being autistic, and I wish him the best, but don't you think that maybe more thought ought to be put into your decisions, and not just the fact that he is a man and I am a woman and we are both unmarried and in our 40's?
MM:  Hmmm, you might have something there.  Perhaps this wasn't the best idea.

"Raising the Ritalin Generation"

As both a parent and a Chiropractor, I highly recommend that you read this opinion piece, published today in the International Herald Tribune and originally published on August 18 in the New York Times.

The author, Bronwen Hruska, relates her and her son's personal experience with the misunderstood diagnosis of ADHD, and Hruska deftly points out the various problems with said diagnosis, as well as the side effects of the addictive drugs commonly prescribed.

For her son, "...it was a matter of growing up, settling down and learning how to get organized...We might remind ourselves that the ability to settle into being a focused student is simply a developmental milestone."

In my own experience in my clinic, I have seen many children prescribed Ritalin, and about 15% of those kids who actually have a chemical imbalance that justifies its use.  Teachers, doctors and parents must learn to be more selective, rather than blanketing the entire generation with drugs.

Or as Hruska writes, "We're also ensuring that down the road, when faced with other challenges that high school, college and adult life are sure to bring, our children will use the coping skills we've taught them.  They'll reach for a pill."

The Simple Life

Raphaela has finally officially started crawling forward, rather than the continuous activity (fun!) of getting her self stuck under various pieces of furniture. She has two methods, one, which my care taker calls "Commando Crawling"; or the second, in which she gets on all fours, revs her body forward and then does a little hop. I know that eventually she will understand that it is much more efficient and far less traumatic to her knees to move one leg at a time.

I was thinking, and actually a bit jealous, that the life of a child at this age can be very focused and oh so simple. All Raphaela thinks about is learning how to crawl and playing with the various educational and yet entertaining toys that I spread out for her on her activity blanket. She knows that I will feed her and play with her and read her stories; she knows thank G-d that she has a Mommy who will take care of her and tuck her in at night, and be there the next morning.

Raphaela has no concept that the planet might be falling apart or that the Israeli government might be falling apart, nor does she care. She also doesn't know the constant stream of thoughts that regularly rush through my head, more so since we returned from the United States.

I feel frustrated and worried that my office has not picked up, that I must basically start from scratch to remind my patients that I am indeed back in Israel and working. If it were just me, I would obsess less, but now I have a child to think about. I cannot bear the idea that my daughter will feel the struggle of worrying about bills, or food or diapers.

For now, I have been dipping into my savings, and I am planning for the day when these concerns are a distant memory, when our lives are more stable.

How I Know I am not in Israel

This morning a beaver (or a squirrel with an extremely large body) walked across my parents' back yard.

I am still surprised when I see gray squirrels abound, and can't stop myself from mistaking them for rats. I have only seen two cats since my arrival, and it makes me sad.

Yesterday my parents fired up the sprinkler for my nieces, and the water ran continuously for longer than I would ever consider showering. The Israeli in me resisted the urge to shut off the water, because it felt like such a criminal waste of natural resources.

Today I went clothing shopping for Raphaela, spent about $200 in three different stores that were all having end of the season sales; the experience of needing my mother to drive me has not necessarily fixed the situation, but it has cut through some of the tension.

I bought about 15 outfits, some toys and books, and had to consider that in the last week and a half since we landed in America, Raphaela has basically grown out of her current size of clothing. I wonder if any of the clothing sitting in her dresser in Jerusalem will fit her when we get home.

Minor Child Care Chaos

For the first time since Raphaela is born, I am about to understand what happens when the child care, upon which you rely, goes a little haywire, single parent style.

My care taker called last night to tell me that she was feeling ill and feverish, and did not think it wise to bring Raphaela to her today. The substitute option is only available for half the day.

Ironically, I was planning today on going to my first professional seminar since before I gave birth, and had originally arranged to have Raphaela stay in child care longer than usual. I spoke to the organizers of the seminar, and they encouraged me to come, with baby in tow, and as I have no other real choice, it looks like Raphaela will start to learn the tricks of the medical trade much earlier than planned.

She is a contented child, and I will pack a bunch of toys and several bottles of expressed milk, and I am hoping that it will be alright. The Greater Universe has done its job as well, as all of the patients I had scheduled for the afternoon canceled, except for one woman. I am fairly certain that Raphaela will be able to play quietly, or nap, for the time that I need to do my Chiropractic work.

CSI: The Case of the Missing Lamaze Bugs

Little people like Raphaela have little toys. While I was still in recovery at Hadassah after the birth, I received as a gift the developmental toy from Lamaze, with two hand rattles and two foot rattles. They are all in the shape of various bugs, great bold colors and black and white stripes, and are meant to cause excitement in her neurons when she discovers her extremities.

Two weeks ago, I noticed that one of the bugs (a lady bug) went missing. It was clearly on the changing table last time I checked, and now it was gone. I checked in the obvious places and some less than obvious options, and the lady bug is no where to be found. When the cleaner came on Friday, I gave him the mission to search for this toy while he takes care of the rest of the house.

This past week, the second hand bug went missing. Again, it was clearly in its designated spot on the changing table on Friday morning, and on Sunday morning it had sadly vanished.

I have three suspects in mind:
1. Myself, as my level of exhaustion may lead me to do silly things, like throw things away with the dirty diapers without noticing.
2. Harry. The cat has been hanging out in Raphaela's room lately, recovering from an injury to his paw. Perhaps he perceived Bug as a threat akin to a small mouse and battered it to death.
3. The Cleaning Guy. Never emotionally stable to begin with, he has developed what I fear is an unhealthy attachment to my house and to my daughter. The same way that serial killer collect souvenirs, perhaps he is taking home one of her toys each week. It gives me the creeps to think about it.