an exceptionally positive, joyful mother

When my daughter's father and I separated, my attorney asked me to agree, and thus pay for, a custodial evaluation by a child psychiatrist.  The way such evaluations work is that each parent spends time with the psychiatrist and the child, so the doctor can observe each parent's parenting. Even though we took him to court twice to get my ex to just show up to see my child psychiatrist, expert witness, he never did. I dutifully showed up for several sessions with my ex's expert witness, a child psychologist.

Get this. The child psychologist, the guy paid for by the father of my child, had me come in several more times than my daughter's father. In one of our meetings, that guy took Katie's developmental history from me. Midway through that interrogation, the kind I had already been through with my own expert witness, I said "Wait a minute, if you think he and I parent equally, why are you taking her developmental history from me? If you actually believe he has been just as involved in her care as me, he would know the answers to what you are asking me."

The interrogator said, seemingly unaware of the implications of what he said, "I don't think your husband knows all of Katie's developmental milestones. I think if I took her history from him, he would answer all my questions but likely make up some answers to look more involved."

I said "Are you hearing yourself?"  He noted in his report that I was defiant and resisted his authority. He had no authority over me, the fool.

I loved talking about my baby, though, so I kept on answering his endless questions.

He asked "what was her first word?"

Katie's first word, at least the first one I identified,  was a garbled attempt to say Snuffleupagus, a Sesame Street character she loved. The guy pressed me, saying 'but what was her first clear, real word?"  It was 'da'. I think 'da' is the first word of more babies than not. I think he thought I was downplaying the fact that Katie said 'da' before she said 'mommy'. Nope. I was bragging about my smart baby. It was way smart that her first intelligible word was five syllables.

My child psychiatrist watched me hang out with Katie two times, in his office. First he took me into his office alone, asking his receptionist to keep an eye on Katie, who was less than two at the time. A receptionist for a child psychiatrist probably keeps an eye on kids all the time. Katie began to cry when she heard I was leaving her. I said, repeating it three times, "I will come back for you." And then I suggested she introduce the receptionist to her Smurfette. That effort to distract her succeeded. She held up her filthy Smurfette to show the receptionist and the doctor and I slipped out. And then I did come back for her as promised.

The Smurfette. Her dad had given it to her. It was one of those dolls one might win at a carnival for throwing balls or something. It had painted on face and clothes, buttons for eyes and was stuffed with straw. So it could not be cleaned.  Every mindful parent knows you don't give babies dolls with buttons for eyes. They could choke on the buttons.  I never bought Katie a doll that could not be cleaned. Most of her dolls could be tossed in the washing machine.

She did not learn about Smurfs with me so she must have learned about them during her visits with her dad. And as much as I disapproved of those risky buttons, I saw that my baby clung to that Smurfette, saw that it was filthy because she kept it with her always, because it had come from her dad. I saw that she missed living with him. I saw that the Smurfette represented her dad and I let her play with it until it fell apart.

He actually once accused me of making it dirty deliberately.  He never got that it as a junky toy and inappropriate for her age.

My child psychiatrist understood why I let my baby play with a doll with buttons for eyes at her age once I told him her daddy had given it to her. He admired me for my acceptance of that crappy doll. I never once suggested to Katie that it was a piece of crap.  I actually understood that her dad had good intentions when he gave it to her. He must have noted she loved Smurfs, seen that doll and bought it for her. Maybe they went to a carnival together. She was too young to tell me what happened when she spent time with him.

She moved on to Rainbow Brite, another cartoon character but a safe doll. Not a great doll. The head was plastic. I like handmade cloth dolls and machine washable stuffed animals. Rainbow Brite had a plastic head but a soft body and no choke risks.

So I talked to the shrink alone, then I go get my baby and we hung out in his office, which he had obviously set up for such evaluations.  On a shelf almost beyond Katie's reach, he had a magnetic pin holder covered with straight pins. Radar alert. Straight pins are not safe for babies.  There was also a ball on the shelf next to the straight pins. I pointed the ball out to Katie. At first, she grumbled, signaling that the ball was out of her reach. She was not yet talking, not quite what most consider talking. I encouraged her to stretch for the ball. I said "You can reach it if you try, stand on your tippee toes, stretch out your arm and you will get the ball."

She reached and picked up the pins but she seemed to understand the pins weren't for her. She came over to me and handed them to me. I said "Thank you, Katie. That's not for babies. I will hold them. Now go get the ball."

It took her a few tries but she got the ball and then bounced it around and eventually noticed the other toys.  I had pointed out the doll to challenge her, because it was a little high. When I saw the straight pins, I realized the doctor had set up the room to see how both Katie and I handled unsafe situations. Both Katie and I handled the 'danger' of the pins well. She was only about 18 months old but I am positive she handed them over to me because she instantly saw it was not something for babies. She might not have literally thought 'not safe' but she knew it was not a toy, not intended for her. I was so proud when she rushed across the office to give it to me.

I was on my best positive maternal behavior because I am not stupid. I knew that child psychiatrist was evaluating my relationship with my baby and would be testifying before a judge about it eventually.  And he was not stupid. He knew I was on my best behavior. But he also saw that Katie and I did have a positive, joyful bond. I didn't make that part up.

That doctor wrote that I had an exceptionally positive and joyful relationship with my child.

I floated in a cloud of happiness on that phrase 'exceptionally positive and joyful relationship' for days.