Bad First Drafts: Go Somewhere

[Please excuse the extra-terrible drawing in this post]

There's a lot involved in leaving the house.

To encourage Atticus to walk, it's usually best to get him out in the world. It's also best to feed him so that he has energy to walk. And to give him a good supportive base for walking, he needs to be wearing his braces and de-rotation straps.

The scene documented above happens pretty often, and is very stressful. It probably involves strategic parenting errors on my part. It seems like there should be an easier way to get out of the house, or to provide walking opportunities.

Atticus is not a big fan of his ankle-foot orthotics (also known as braces).

Without braces he crawls, or walks on his knees while carrying objects.

His main occupation now is scavenging for items to load onto his fleet of toy trucks.

Some parents make their kids wear braces all day, and sleep in them at night. This would theoretically provide opportunity for the child to develop correct foot posture. But when we put braces on Atticus and leave him to his own devices, he mostly lays

or sits braced in a W-shape, which is terrible for his joints.

With or without braces, he's definitely interested in walking with support. His favorite method is to hang onto our hands:

He also has an adorable walker, which he uses like a tiny old person, to zigzag around sidewalks and in shopping malls. I like it because it gives him a little more independence from me, but he doesn't stick with it for very long.

Ultimately the goal is to get him walking on his own, and it's more possible to work towards this when he's holding onto our hands. We can do things like removing one support-hand, or holding onto his waist, which are both tricks that encourage him to find his own balance.

As parents, if we want to do anything besides be a walking aid for our son, it pretty much means he's on his own: laying, crawling or W-sitting, with or without braces. Any time spent not helping him walk is time when his muscles might possibly be atrophying and not keeping up with his bone growth, putting him at greater risk of losing his eventual shot at independent standing and walking.

But because we both need to work to pay bills, and do housework and laundry, and occasionally do non-parent activities, it means that there is A LOT of time we aren't helping him walk. In fact, most of the day is spent not helping him walk. This is a constant, horrible feeling, and you can't even really talk about it because it makes you sound like an ungrateful, terrible person.

So we have to go somewhere.

Lately Atticus's favorite place to go is the escalator.

Going somewhere means getting physically ready to be productive in that space, and also safely navigate the space. Because of traffic I pretty much have to carry him from the car through any parking lot. If I'm also carrying all the gear, it means being cognizant of my surface area--how much leeway to give parked cars so that I don't scrape them with the walker, or how much space I realistically need to get through a door.

It also means getting emotionally ready for what that space might present.

Children act differently once they register a child with walking difficulties approaching them. They skip, jump, run spontaneously, or dance. (Maybe this is just how other people's children are all the time).

Which brings me to the first and biggest challenge, which is checking my own perceptions and emotional reactions. It's very easy to let these get in the way of the work that needs to be done in a particular space. What do people think of us? What kind of picture do we present? Are people staring at my child? Are they staring at me?

It's almost impossible to know what people think. We get some sweet looks and also some completely weirded-out ones. Often, while I'm trying to calm my brain's neuroses, I will look down to find Atticus has abandoned all forward movement in order to gawk at someone.

Maybe people just like to stare at each other. Maybe that's why we go out in public. I try to focus, to be the walking helper, and keep my own eyes peeled for those strangers who might present an actual threat.

I also try to figure out what Atticus thinks and feels in these spaces, and how best to help him socially navigate. This is the hardest of all because I have no idea how to do it. He's not three years old yet and already he hesitates to be caught in an awkward pose around his peers. He won't let go of my hands (to try one-handed walking) if another kid is near.

He really wants some kind of interaction with other kids, but isn't sure how to make it go well. Which is probably how many toddlers (and adults) feel. Yet when I get home from work in the evening, he's often the one initiating the request to go somewhere. I admire his courage, and whatever it is in him that keeps seeking out these connections.

"Seeks out" is a nice way to say it. In true toddler form, he demands them.

After a good solid hour of dealing with my stress and his stress in preparation for going somewhere, I'm usually in a terrible state by the time I actually get behind the wheel.