More evidence of the benefits of sleep

One of the things I found hardest to adjust to in Spain was the different sleep schedule, especially the late and erratic hours kept by children. I can see the benefits – more family time, easier to go out, etc. But the kids did seem cranky. Mark and I joked about whether or not we should tell them that sleeping more would help their children’s brain development. We figured they probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

There has been a lot of evidence coming out lately on the benefits of sleep, and here is one more. Most notably, having a rule about bedtime was associated with 6-7% higher math and language skills among preschoolers. In Spain, we saw kids negotiate with their parents about bedtime. We asked some friends if their child did that regularly and they said it happened every night and could last an hour. Neither Mark nor I wanted to spend an hour of our days in painful fighting about bedtime.

So I guess we’ll be sticking with our 8-8:30 p.m. bedtime for our toddler, even if he does occasionally babble in his crib until 10. And no negotiations, except in exceptional circumstances. So far, he’s cool with the bedtime ritual. Since he enjoys each part of it, it’s generally not difficult to go from one step to the next. But he has begun to negotiate in other areas. Should he try applying that to bedtime, we will have to remember what is good for him and stick to our schedule. Looking back, I would have been much better off with more sleep from about ages 13 to23.

I’m trying to decide on the hours we’ll take him to preschool in the fall. Part of me wanted to make it 8 a.m., to maximum the time he has there in the morning. But he doesn’t usually get up until 8 and I see no reason at this point in his life to wake him before his body is ready. I’ll see what time he’s waking up in August and then set a start-time that allows us to get him up and ready with minimal rush and to get to work at a reasonable time (perhaps 8:30 or 9).

It's so nice when something that is good for the child is also good for the parent (quiet time - yay!).

Whose decision is it?

One thing I wasn’t prepared for when traveling to Spain was the extent of the allergy problem. I had already gone through seasonal allergies at home and thought I was done with it for this year. But upon arrival in Spain, they hit hard, causing me to rub my eyes until they were raw and swelling my sinuses until I could neither inhale nor exhale air through my nose.

I was able to get a generic form of Claritin tabs from a nice pharmacist, even though in Spain, they don’t recommend it during pregnancy (in the U.S. and on the internet, information indicates it’s fine). But I was still having severe problems, especially with my nose. I had difficulty eating and sleeping. Even talking when closing my mouth meant I had no air supply.

I went into a pharmacy looking for a nasal spray. One of my Spanish friends had told me that the Spanish culture expects women to suffer to the point at which they cannot breathe at all before they will be given a medication while pregnant. Some pharmacists are more flexible, but others aren’t. So I didn’t plan to say anything about my pregnancy. I believed I was suffering significantly, I didn’t think an over-the-counter nasal spray posed a high risk, and I thought the benefits outweighed the risk.

Unfortunately, my friend entered the pharmacy with me and told the pharmacist I was pregnant. The pharmacist refused to give me anything. She sent us to a medical clinic, where they also refused me anything. They said if I had asthma and came in unable to breathe, they would give me a shot of the medication in the arm. But since I could still breathe through my mouth – nothing. This was a Saturday, a day on which most pharmacies are closed – and we were in the middle of the Pyrenees. So I had little chance of being able to find anything.

My friend apologized for putting her foot in her mouth. She said that she miscarried her first pregnancy late in the first trimester. “That makes you question everything you do,” she said. She told me she had plans before her second pregnancy to get a vaccine for allergies. When she found out she was pregnant, she refused the shot. “The doctor told me it was fine, that I could get it. But I said unless he gave me a guarantee in writing, which he wouldn’t, I wasn’t going to do anything with even the smallest chance of hurting the baby,” she said.

I’m sympathetic to those who have suffered miscarriages and I know that if I went through that, I would doubt myself and would be extra cautious. But as I told her, I think there is too much of a tendency to blame the mother. Mothers may wonder if they did something wrong. But they can never know. Most miscarriages are caused by chromosomal abnormalities and probably have nothing to do with the decisions a mother makes. Nevertheless, I believe it was my friend’s right to refuse the allergy vaccine. And I believe it’s my right to take an over-the-counter medication when I believe I need it.

I understand there is now a medication available in the U.S. that helps a lot with continued morning sickness. There are some who say a woman should suffer through morning sickness as a normal part of pregnancy. Others, including a woman I know, says no one else would be allowed to suffer endlessly from any other illnesses for weeks or months at a time. Yes, there is a potential effect on an unborn life. But there is a definite effect on an already existing life. I believe that an adult, with the advice of medical professionals, should be able to decide if relieving her pain is worth the odds of potential harm to the fetus. In Spain, I felt that ability to decide for myself was taken away from me, that they put the well-being of the embryo above my own. That made me feel devalued and powerless. I didn’t like it.

Heading home, and Spanish thoughts on childrearing

I’m heading home and I think the length of this trip was just right. We were able to do the things we wanted to do, I think we avoided overstaying our welcome, and I’m now anxious to see River.

We spent time with other children on this trip, all of whom were good kids. But those close to River’s age appeared to be more difficult. We appreciate how easy we have it and I want to see my baby to show him how much I appreciate him.

Today I asked my friend what the Spanish recommend regarding potty training and she said people are advised to get their children out of diapers when they turn 2. She thought that was too generic of a recommendation, that it doesn’t take into account the differences between children. But in general, it sounds like most Spaniards complete daytime training between 18 months and age 2.5. She said no one goes to school still wearing diapers.

Regarding dental care, they don’t make their first visit to the dentist until age 5 or 6. Our friends still put their 3-year-old to bed with a bottle (a bottle, not a sippy cup) of chocolate milk. I wouldn’t want to emulate the bottle, nor the chocolate, and we are trying to move away from milk in the bed. But I did like their lack of mania about dental care, especially since I have peers where I live urging people to bring their kids to the dentist at age 18 months or earlier. When I called the dentist, he said not to bring River until age 3, which is what I plan to do.

“I think Americans tend to be kind of manic about teeth,” said our friend’s husband. “Not just about dental hygiene, but also appearance.” They also thought it was strange, and going a bit overboard, to have hair salons (or dentists) that focus just on serving children. “There is nothing traumatic about sitting in a chair and getting a haircut,” one of them said. “Our local hair salons will cut a child’s hair for 5-7 euro. There is no need to make a big deal of something that isn’t really.” They said when they were growing up, their mothers cut their hair.

I do agree with them, but where I live, there aren’t a lot of other options. The man who cuts my hair said only a few people in the salon will agree to work with children, and they charge something exorbitant. I could take him to a cheap place, but then one is rolling dice as to the quality. I still have memories of when my mother took me for a cut at a training center for hair stylists. It’s just not worth the possibility of such mistakes.

While I liked their more relaxed attitude regarding dental care and haircuts, one Spanish practice I’m glad we don’t use is the late bedtimes. I found the evidence in the book Nurture Shock of greater hours of sleeping being related to better brain development to be convincing. Another study that found negative effects from co-sleeping, due to reduced hours of sleep achieved by both mother and child made sense to me. The kids we spent time with often didn’t nap, then they went to bed very late – 10 p.m., 11 p.m., later. When it was time to get up, they were tired and clingy. During the day they were cranky. The lack of a set routine seemed to make the bedtime routine a fight and/or a negotiation.

We weren’t so much into a routine when River was a small baby. At that time, I figured we’d follow his signs. But as he’s gotten older, he’s fallen into a routine and I think it’s a good thing for all of us. He knows what to expect, which is the same virtually every day. Since he likes most of the steps of the routine (potty with his favorite program, book, milk), there is no resistance as we go through the steps. In the process, he’s settling down. And when it comes time for bed, that’s just a natural extension of the process. He gets plenty of sleep. We get plenty of down time.

One thing I do love about the Spanish culture is the strong tie with the family. Perhaps there is a tendency to coddle and to spoil their children. But family connections are strong and children remain close to their parents well through adulthood. My ideal would be for River to be empowered and independent and for him to be well-behaved and respectful, and for him to feel so loved by his family that he wants to remain close.

Bike circuit completed

I made it! Over 200 kilometers in mountainous territory. I was the only female cyclist I saw until the very end of the trip, when the terrain was easier. I always like accomplishing a goal, so I’m proud of doing it and am appreciative of the chance to both get so much exercise and to explore an interesting area.

But right now, on the evening of the day four of biking, I’m exhausted. Utterly exhausted. I’m sitting at a train station waiting for a late train and dreaming of a bed. Mark was having a harder time cycling today than I was, and he got less sleep than I did last night. “It must be the pregnancy,” he said. “Because you got a good night’s rest.”

I was just thinking, during the final leg of the trip, how cool it is that I barely feel any pregnancy symptoms at all. My gratitude was tinged with a slight bit of worry that perhaps something is wrong. But I took reassurance in the fact that both my stomach and my breasts appear to continue growing.

At the end of the ride, I was able to check email and received a note from my dad, who appears to be holding up well while caring for a 2.5-year old. He said that River is going to the pool, the beach or the boat every day, which sounds like a summer camp vacation for him. He also said that they have taught River to say things like “I like hot dish,” and “Ya sure, you betcha,” that I’ll be picking up a real Swede.

I think it’s good for him to be exposed to that aspect of his heritage, so that’s fine with me. But I’m going to have to try to figure out how to say things like “I like hot dish,” in Spanish.

After this bike trip, I’ve decided I want to do another, and I’d love to do it a few years from now with River. If you have any recommendations of good bike tours to do with kids (I’m ideally looking for luggage to be transferred to the lodgings each night, the ability to set our own pace, and a route and a bike that would be appropriate for hauling a youngster) please let me know. I have a preference for Spanish-speaking areas, but would consider any place. Also, I’m terrified of dogs, so places where dogs don’t roam freely and run after cyclists also get bonus points.

Creating an adventure buddy

So far the bike trip is going well. I’ve completed two of four days. Despite a slightly sore behind and eyes red from the high pollen count, my energy is up and I’m hopeful I can make it through the 17 kilometer up-mountain climb tomorrow morning.

Mark isn’t doing as well. He skipped the first day of the ride and will take a taxi for the 17 km uphill portion tomorrow. He made it through the ride today and I respect him for pushing through, but it was hard for him and he’s suffering.

There is nothing I love more than being out in nature for several days at a time and exerting myself towards reaching a goal. Being in a foreign culture and having exposure to a different diet, people, way of life, etc. makes it all the more enticing.

But if Mark isn’t up for it, that means either going alone (not so fun), or bringing River. I enjoy taking River on adventures, but as much fun as it may be, it’s also extra work, adding to what is already a fair level of exertion. Nevertheless, I think he’s my main prospect in the near future, so hopefully I can figure out ways in which he’ll have fun and I can manage.

I spoke to Mark about how fun it would be to do a bike tour in Spain with River. Not only would he get to ride and to enjoy the scenery, but he’d be surrounded by Spanish language, Spanish culture and Spanish food. What a great immersion experience. Then Mark said he’d like to take either River or number 2 to London for a long weekend to enjoy a soccer game. I asked why he couldn’t see a soccer game closer to home and he said that it’s the tradition of the long-existing league and the passion of the participants that make it fun.

So perhaps, we’ll both be able to provide our child/ren with special experiences that reflect our own interests, we’ll be able to cultivate those interests in our children that our partners haven’t picked up, and we’ll have an excuse to do the things we enjoy most. That of course is dependant upon having the funds to do these kinds of things. Guess I need to continue working.

Taking the embryo for a bike ride

Today I went a good 35 miles by bike, probably more, in the region north of Madrid. A good chunk of this was uphill, including a switchback mountain road that I walked up in the intense late morning heat, huffing and puffing. I realized I haven’t panted so much in a day for quite some time. I also wondered how this was affecting my embryo. Was it positive in that it’s improving my fitness and perhaps giving the embryo exposure to an elevated heart rate? Or was this going beyond the recommended moderate exercise and potentially causing harm?

I thought back to the bike ride I took when I was four months pregnant with River. Then I biked in the Ecuadorian Andes and I really stressed out about the one-day trip because it began at an altitude of 4,000 meters. It turned out the altitude wasn’t a problem and the ride was a breeze because it was all downhill. I had to do nothing but apply my brake constantly and barely broke a sweat.

This one I didn’t stress out about in advance. I’m only two months along. I’m gloriously not sick. I can use the exercise. And this is the last opportunity I may have to do something like this for a while. But now that I’ve started, I start to worry a little.

While on the quiet country roads today, I thought about how nice it is to not have to think or worry about the state of my belly and who notices or doesn’t notice. No one here cares. And I don’t care what anyone here thinks. My belly can do what it needs to do and I can focus on other things.

Then, while showering at the end of the ride, my belly did seem noticeably expanded to me. Is it going to be obvious upon reappearance at work, the change that has taken place in a week and a half? Can I get the Down’s Syndrome tests done before people start to notice?

Smoking 18 month old

On the Spanish news last night, the last item of the broadcast was about how the rate of smoking has gone up five percent recently (in the past year?) despite someone dying once each minute due to cigarettes.

To illustrate their story, they showed an obese toddler from what appeared to be a low-income community in Indonesia. He was sitting on the porch of a hut, his fat congealed into rolls, puffing away on a cigarette. With his family looking on calmly and a gaggle of kids staring, he took one cigarette and lit it from another lighted cigarette. After his smoke, he lay down with a bottle of milk.

The accompanying text said he started smoking at age 18 months and that his parents started him and encouraged the habit.

This was contrasted with news about Chinese children speaking out against smoking and preparing posters depicting the dangers.

I wonder what in the world (other than an extremely low education level) would inspire parents to start their 18 month old smoking. They seem to be treating their child in the same way I’ve seen people treat monkeys or other simians behind bars, giving them dangerous substances to get a laugh at how difficult it is for them to handle the effects.

Is this child abuse or parental perogative? What do you think?

phone home

I called home today and River seems to be doing well. He has a habit of not speaking much on the phone. Though he listens intently, if he talks at all, it’s in a barely audible whisper. He said yes when I asked if he was having fun with his grandparents and toward the end he said “Te amo,” which may have been prompted by my mom.

My mom sounded like she was still thrilled to have him there. She told me how they had taken him to the lake, to the park, to a party, and today were either heading to the beach or to McDonalds playland, depending on the weather.

Each day, I regret that he’s not here for all the things I think he would enjoy – the spectacle of hundreds of motorcycles entering a medieval plaza today, playing with two toddlers at a 3.5 hour Spanish lunch, waving to the airplanes flying into Madrid just above us. But I’m also glad that he’s having his own type of vacation – filled with activities and adventures. He’s also creating family bonds and memories, which is important as well.

That said, I look forward to seeing him again just over a week from now.

48 hours

It’s been 48 hours since I left the little one, though it hardly seems that long. I leave my computer clock set to his time, so each time I turn it on, and each time I sit down to eat, I think about where he probably is and what he is doing. Right now he’s probably at my brother’s house. I hope he received his nap. He’s probably enjoying the attention of his two older cousins, he’s probably being fed copious amounts of junk food by a doting aunt, and I believe he’s going to be brought to a party this evening.

The 2.5-year-old we are staying with here in Spain just went to bed, shortly before 11 p.m. He didn’t take a nap. Part of me wishes we had brought River. He would have had such a good time with all the children and the child-friendly activities here. On the other hand, I think he would have suffered with the lack of schedule. We walked and toured the city until 3:30 this afternoon, together with a toddler and a five-month old. The kids are largely expected to adapt to the adult’s rhythm.

In the evenings, the streets were packed with families enjoying a pre-dinner stroll. The carousel was doing a brisk business, the line was long at the ice cream shop. At 7:30 p.m., I saw many, many babies and small tots outdoors with their families, enjoying the evening. I thought about how River is usually winding down and beginning his bedtime ritual at that time.

My friend says it’s due to the long evenings. As long as it’s light out, her toddler won’t accept that it’s time for bed. Even if she darkens the room, he can hear the voices of people enjoying the outdoors, and knows they are not in bed. So the Spaniards seem to enjoy the warm daylight hours, together with their children, and just deal with whatever consequences come, including tiredness, crabbiness and opposition.

This afternoon, after walking for miles, both Mark and I took a nap before the next round. The two kids didn’t. Tough tykes in Spain.

lessons in hospitality

Enroute to Spain, I made a stop to see family. I was disappointed when I arrived at 8:30 p.m., after six hours of traveling, and there was nothing to eat. Only after much scrounging was I able to come up with a hot dog and some Jello, not the “real” food I craved.

I’ve had similar experiences visiting other family members, where I need to go grocery shopping or get take out in order to not go hungry.

Then I arrive in Spain, where my husband and I are given a loft, half of the square footage of our friends’ apartment. It’s open and filled with light. I hear birds chirping. We have a private bathroom, a place to relax, a flat screen TV. Most notably, my friend filled our personal refrigerator with drinks and put some snacks on top of it. In the bathroom, she laid out all kinds of toiletries we could need and said to help ourselves.

I did, in fact, forget my shampoo. It’s great to be able to grab a snack when hungry and not have to ask, or to find a way to go out and buy something. I’m reminded of similar hospitality I’ve been offered in many countries – the kind where the hosts think of what the guests might want or need, and do their best to accommodate.

In the U.S., on the other hand, it seems common to give guests a space, and tell them to make themselves at home. But they are often on their own in terms of feeding themselves and they may even take out the hosts in thanks for the lodging. I understand that people are tired and busy and may not want to put themselves out for guests. But that extra step makes being a guest so much more enjoyable. It makes me want to repay the favor – which makes the experience better for everyone.

We don’t have great accommodations for guests – a fold out sofa in the living room. I do try to have food on hand, I try to make at least one decent meal anytime someone is visiting and I tell people to help themselves to whatever is in the kitchen. But I recognize it’s not all that comfortable to rifle through someone else’s kitchen. I also admit that with the pressures of parenthood and work, I’m often fine with just suggesting we go out to eat.

This reminds me that I should make a bit more effort. I should have toiletries easily available and ready to use. I should have some snacks available in an easy to access place. And I should make an effort to think about what my guests would like to eat or do, and try to make that happen.

Spain

Oh, the relaxed Spain of my youth. It is coming back to me.

“You’ve come to Spain to do sports?” my friend’s mother said to me, referring to the four-day bike trip we’ve planned. “You are supposed to come here to eat and relax.”

I told her my goal was to eat as much good food as I could without gaining weight, and that the biking would allow me to eat more.

“But it’s not a problem if you gain weight,” she said. “Because you’ll return to the U.S., where except for Thanksgiving, there is no good food, and you will lose it.”

I have to agree with her on the food. After a day and a half spent in airplane travel and a stopover at a house where there was almost nothing to eat that was not processed, I’m longing for quality food made from fresh ingredients even more.

We all gathered at a table outside a bar. Our group ranged in age from one month old to grandparents. The bar tables were all full. Plenty of people strolled outside. My friend said there were less people outside than usual, because on Friday evenings people head to the villages.

Eat, drink, relax. Adults entertained the children. No one talked much about work, about obligations, about anything stressful. It was just an acceptance of and enjoyment of the moment. This seems to me like a nice place to live.

It takes a village

I’ve been in Spain less than four hours and already I can see a place that puts “it takes a village into practice.” Our friends live in an apartment complex filled with small tykes. When I asked how it was possible to have so many toddlers in one building, they said it was due to the economic crisis. “There is nothing else to do,” Jose said. Or, as his mother theorized, perhaps it’s due to the storks that are prevalent in this area. One of these massive birds flew by as we sat at a table outside of a bar.

The complex has a locked outdoor patio, with a basketball court, swings and toys. “You can just let your kids run in here. Nothing can happen since it’s enclosed and there are always so many people we know here,” said Lucia. Giant roses – pink, yellow, red and fragrant – grew from small garden patches amidst the toys. “If someone needs to go and do something, someone else will watch their child.” It’s such a simple way to help the neighbors get to know each other, to interact, to help each other out, yet it’s not something I’ve seen in the United States.

From there, we went to a bar that was literally 10 feet from the front door of the building. Both adults and children congregated there. The kids could run around and play, the adults socialized and drank, everyone enjoyed themselves.

Our hosts quickly assembled a family group. Jose, his parents and his two brothers all live within a couple of buildings of each other. The three generations see each other all the time.

In the fall, 2.5 year old Jose Jr. will start preschool. It’s five days a week, located a five-minute walk from home, and can be as long as 8-3. My friend Lucia thinks it will be possible for her to find work that will allow her to pick him up by 3. The cost - $0. Public preschools are free, and education is mandatory from the age of 4.

I told them that the program we’d like to enroll River in next year costs $9,000 for four days a week, and that that is in the mid-range where we live. The cheapest programs are around $3,000, the most expensive can exceed $30,000. “$9,000 is about what we have budgeted for our child’s entire education,” Jose said.

Of course I like having a choice of programs, but I’m still mentally trying to come to terms with that price tag, and to financially prepare for it. I also think it’s wrong that some children have access to quality programs, and others don’t. I’d rather pay a bit more in taxes and allow all children the same opportunity.

Community, family, connection, support for parents and for early education for all – those are all values that I cherish. When I see them practiced elsewhere, it makes me sad that some people in my country think making each individual struggle, and the children to pay the price, is necessarily great. They may mock what they call “socialism.” But a little care for all people, and structures that support inter-reliance go a long way in terms of creating happy, secure and protected children – and adults.