"Why no pinch?"
I have the World’s Worst Behaved Toddler. This thought occurred to me while I sent Abbie to her room for the dozenth time for pinching yesterday morning. Or maybe I thought of it while she relentlessly pinched me in the store yesterday. Either way, I assume this is a phase that all children go through. At least I hope so because I’d hate to think it’s true.
“Wait a minute,” says my faithful reader. “Wasn’t there an entire post about pinching a few days ago?” Yes there was, but this blog is about my experiences with my children, and right now all of my experiences with Abbie end in pinching. I could write about the boys, but until they’re mobile enough to get into trouble, I’d have little to type.
Pinching is turning book time into bawl time. Usually when I read to Abbie, I’m reading while caring for the boys. This means I’m generally multi-tasking by simultaneously reciting her book, bouncing Tory, wiping Ian’s spit-up, and trying to finish reading yesterday’s newspaper. I can do all of these things at once because I have most of her books memorized and can narrate each page as she turns without looking at said page, provided that she doesn’t skip any pages, which she usually does, but how is she going to know I’m “reading” the wrong page? My massive multi-tasking tends to slow down my reaction time, and I don’t always start reading as soon as she turns the page. Abbie has learned to bring me back to what’s important (her and her book) by pinching. She’s getting to the point where she automatically pinches as soon as she turns the page, just in case.
The first time or two she pinches, I try to ignore it and continue speaking, especially since I should have been reading her book instead of that day’s Dilbert. Eventually my leg starts hurting and I tell her to stop pinching. Sadly, this break in the reading prompts her to continue pinching to draw me back to her book, or maybe me bringing up pinching just gave her a great idea. Either way, the situation generally degrades until I send her to her room screaming.*
Ellie tried a new anti-pinching technique the other night by making her say “daddy” or “mommy” before continuing to read whenever she pinches. This operates under the theory that pinching is her way of grabbing our attention. Optimally, this teaches her the appropriate way to catch our attention while forcing her to practice her language skills. It worked beautifully that first night as she immediately uttered “ah-ee,” which sounds just like “daddy” when there’s a large fan spinning to drown out the “d” sounds. It hasn’t worked as well since then as this technique combines the frustration of not being read to with the frustration of being forced to speak, and it just accelerates the inevitable go-to-your-room-screaming conclusion.
I know this is all normal. This is just a phase she’s going through when her emotions have developed beyond her ability to express her emotions. I just need to remain calm, keep my patience, and keep reinforcing in her that pinching is unacceptable. Eventually she’ll learn. I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.
* She’s the one who’s screaming; I’m just speaking forcefully.
“Wait a minute,” says my faithful reader. “Wasn’t there an entire post about pinching a few days ago?” Yes there was, but this blog is about my experiences with my children, and right now all of my experiences with Abbie end in pinching. I could write about the boys, but until they’re mobile enough to get into trouble, I’d have little to type.
Pinching is turning book time into bawl time. Usually when I read to Abbie, I’m reading while caring for the boys. This means I’m generally multi-tasking by simultaneously reciting her book, bouncing Tory, wiping Ian’s spit-up, and trying to finish reading yesterday’s newspaper. I can do all of these things at once because I have most of her books memorized and can narrate each page as she turns without looking at said page, provided that she doesn’t skip any pages, which she usually does, but how is she going to know I’m “reading” the wrong page? My massive multi-tasking tends to slow down my reaction time, and I don’t always start reading as soon as she turns the page. Abbie has learned to bring me back to what’s important (her and her book) by pinching. She’s getting to the point where she automatically pinches as soon as she turns the page, just in case.
The first time or two she pinches, I try to ignore it and continue speaking, especially since I should have been reading her book instead of that day’s Dilbert. Eventually my leg starts hurting and I tell her to stop pinching. Sadly, this break in the reading prompts her to continue pinching to draw me back to her book, or maybe me bringing up pinching just gave her a great idea. Either way, the situation generally degrades until I send her to her room screaming.*
Ellie tried a new anti-pinching technique the other night by making her say “daddy” or “mommy” before continuing to read whenever she pinches. This operates under the theory that pinching is her way of grabbing our attention. Optimally, this teaches her the appropriate way to catch our attention while forcing her to practice her language skills. It worked beautifully that first night as she immediately uttered “ah-ee,” which sounds just like “daddy” when there’s a large fan spinning to drown out the “d” sounds. It hasn’t worked as well since then as this technique combines the frustration of not being read to with the frustration of being forced to speak, and it just accelerates the inevitable go-to-your-room-screaming conclusion.
I know this is all normal. This is just a phase she’s going through when her emotions have developed beyond her ability to express her emotions. I just need to remain calm, keep my patience, and keep reinforcing in her that pinching is unacceptable. Eventually she’ll learn. I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.
* She’s the one who’s screaming; I’m just speaking forcefully.
posted by Matt at
11:20 PM
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