A New Perspective

Every now and then something happens that completely changes your perspective. I had one of those moments last weekend. But first I should rewind and share some background info.

When I was doing all my research about birth (and I did A LOT of it) I stumbled across this article called "Babies are Conscious". It was one of those articles that really made me think. For those of you who don't want to click on the link and read the whole article, its thesis is basically that babies are capable of a whole lot more than we originally thought. Even in the womb, they have very developed nervous systems, they feel things, make decisions, have definite personalities and remember things. And the most interesting thing to me - they remember their births.

A few months ago, there was an article in Mothering magazine that claimed the exact same thing - that babies do in fact remember their births and many things that happen to them in infancy. The best time to ask them is when they are toddlers and have just started talking. If you look into it you can find fascinating stories of what babies said when their moms asked them "how did you get here?" The story in Mothering told of a little boy who said he came into the world because he got tired of this big rock pressing on his head. His mom had a large uterine fibroid that was doing just that! I've also read stories of babies talking about 'lots of tight hugs' (contractions) and babies born by c-sections talking about their 'zippers being unzipped'.

I am convinced that there is a lot more cognition going on in babies than we really give them credit for.

So last weekend when I was visiting with my family, my twin Julie and I started talking about memories and recounting our earliest ones. I was talking about how much I remembered from the week my sister spent in the hospital when we were about three years old. It was the first time I had ever spent extended time away from my twin and as a three year old it was pretty traumatic. I remember everything from that week. Then I started telling the story of how I remembered mom running across the street with me and leaving me at the neighbors' house so they could take Julie to the hospital. I told of how I sat in the floor and our neighbors Cliff and Jane kept talking to me but they wouldn't tell me what was going on. I described the scene so perfectly, my mom who was listening to this conversation about hit the floor in shock. She told me I was describing exactly what happened when Julie was taken to the hospital after slicing her upper lip open and needed stitches when we were nine months old. I had confused the two memories but my mom reminded me that when we were three my dad stayed home with me and she took Julie to the hospital with my grandparents. The only time I was dropped off at the neighbors by myself was when they rushed Julie to the hospital at nine months old.

It is not just that I realize I have a memory of being nine months old - it's what I remember about that day that amazes me. I remember sitting on the floor at my neighbors. I remember looking up at them and they were talking to me in baby talk. I remember thinking (with all the arrogance a teenager might have) that they were complete idiots. I remember feeling incredibly frustrated because I knew something had happened to my sister but they wouldn't tell me what. I remember being scared to death that my parents and my sister weren't coming back and here these people were smiling and babbling at me like nothing was wrong and all I wanted was for them to tell me what was going on. I remember these thoughts and feelings as if they happened yesterday. And I was nine months old. It makes sense now why I remember being so frustrated - I couldn't talk. I couldn't ask them what I wanted to know. But I was fully capable of understanding everything that was said and fully capable of forming thoughts and questions in my head.

So after this enlightening conversation with my mom, I kept reflecting on how complex my thoughts and emotions were at nine months old. I kept looking at Keziah and wondering what she was thinking. Later that night, Keziah had a melt down - one of those scream and cry sessions where nothing seems to console her. She wasn't hungry or wet - what could be wrong? With my new perspective, I paused and thought about her day, put myself in her shoes. I suddenly realized that here she was three days away from home in a strange environment meeting a ton of new people every day and she was probably wondering what was going on and why we weren't going home. So I took her down to my parent's laundry room (I was doing diaper laundry at the time), I sat her on the dryer, looked her straight in the eye and talked to her like she was 10 years old - fully capable of understanding everything I had to say. I told her I understood exactly how she was feeling. I told her we would be leaving in the morning. I told her everything that was going to happen this evening and in the morning and how tonight was her last night in the pack-n-play and that tomorrow everything would be back to normal. She sat there, stopped crying, looked me straight in the eye and listened to everything I said. After that, she was back to her happy self, went to bed with no fussing and was a perfect angel the next day.

So now I find myself talking to my daughter more like a cognitive adult and less like a baby. When she cries, I no longer go through the baby list (hungry? wet? burped? cold?) I now ask myself, is she confused? frustrated? Does she want to know something I haven't told her? Is she wondering why I am doing such and such? I know she is listening and I know she is understanding.

And as soon as she starts talking, I will be asking her about her birth, about her memories. Those of you reading this who have toddlers - ask them how they got here. Ask them about being a baby. I am curious what they might answer.