Love The One You're With

The pandemic has had a dramatic effect on the communication skills of very small children, according to a recent study of some 50,000 children between the ages of four and five.

The survey was conducted for the Education Endowment Foundation, an independent charity, and the findings indicate up to 25% of children in this age category have fallen behind over this past year. 

These figures may come as a surprise to those people who have not had much contact with small children but, to those of us who have, we have been expecting it. 

And while it’s bad for those children at the start of their school lives, I would argue it's as bad for children who are still at the nursery stage of schooling.

My own experience children of pre-school children (and I've observed and spent a fair bit of time with several of them over the past year) is that they, too, have at the very least stood still, if not actually taken a metaphorical step backwards. Those little people who were toddling towards life outside their immediate family have had their learning curves severely curtained. 

The children who were smiling and laughing and beginning to form words and make connections outside their family nucleus up to the middle of March last year have been abruptly pulled back to return to an isolated existence that we who can communicate easily have found very disheartening. If we can talk about and still feel bad, what must it mean for those small humans who are not yet able to get any words out, let alone the right ones.

We know that new-born babies are instinctive and animal-like, sensing what hurts, frightens and angers them and letting parents and carers know what’s going on inside through their cries. They need love, nurturing, attention and comfort and, with luck, they will grow and thrive. We also know, through recent studies, that unborn babies recognise their mother’s voice inside the womb, and they are attuned to it. They are programmed from even before their birth to be ready to respond to the first person they meet. 

For the non-specialist observer, we see that it’s as babies grow into toddlers and small children that they develop and learn from those who are ahead of the game the skills to move them from their own inner world into our infinitely more complicated but potentially even more fascinating world. 

So, what happens if it all stops still as it has for this past year? Who on earth knows? This is the first experience any of us has had of an event like this and we have no idea about long-term effects. We can only hope they will be few for those of this age but, as Babette Rothschild, explains in The Body Remembers, we may well store memories of traumatic events somatically - within our bodies - and, even if we’re not consciously aware of it, they may leave some of us with some scars.

Returning to my own experience, I’ve watched children who, a year ago, ran into nursery without a backward glance become hesitant to move away from those they have been so deeply connected to, while others have very clearly refused to separate. It feels a bit like Groundhog Day and a repeat and relearning of a process we thought we had moved beyond. And add to that the complication of adults wearing masks and you have a real problem in the making.

There is a nursery near where I live and I’m fortunate enough to have been given a bird’s eye view of the what’s going on both past and present. There’s a complete mixture of children with some parents dropping off their children from top-of-the-range cars while others drop off from around the corner, pushing the little ones in their buggies or giving them a helping hand via a scooter.

There’s a delay in the time the children arrive and the time the nursery opens. I see some parents chatting, laughing and chasing their child and/or children’s friends and really engaging in the moment. That’s a privilege and gives me a cheerful start to my day.

Others - I’m afraid I’ve particularly noticed mums doing it - are glued to their smart phones. A child may be walking near a tree or a bit of the garden and trying to point something out to said mother who continues, engrossed, with earpiece in ear, phone in hand and absolute disconnection with child. Gradually, the child gives up the attempt to engage with the adult and seems to begin a withdrawal process. I recognise what’s happening by the child’s body language as it closes in on itself. 

That’s what’s been happening to everyone this past year. Those of us with connections to little people need to keep this in mind. Put the phone to one side, concentrate on who you have in front of you and relearn the language. Make eye contact, use nursery rhymes to help the memory get going again and be there for them. Right now, small children need a very great deal of adult help to reconnect with the rest of us. 

By Lulu Sinclair

First photo: Colin Maynard on Unsplash

Second photo: Atikah Akhtar on Unsplash

 

The Body Remembers

How are you feeling about facing a new lockdown? It seems as though we might be heading that way even if we're still at the "bespoke" stage.

Personally, I’m concerned. As a counsellor and, I hope, a caring member of society, I am worried about what emotional damage another lockdown would do to us. Will it really save us from this pernicious virus? Is it even right?

We are living in traumatic times. Babette Rothschild’s definitive book: The Body Remembers tells us that experiences of trauma can remain as a body memory long after the reality has faded. My fear is that those in charge have not given much thought how this trauma may affect its citizens of the future. 

I'd like to share a personal story which explains my views.

For almost two years, I have been a devoted carer to a small child. I visited once a week as a family member until she was nine months old and then took over her care for two full days a week while her parents worked. 

The arrangement came to an end in December of last year (to the relief of my body, at least) when she went to nursery full-time but I still collected and delivered and she came to my house so the steady, loving relationship continued.

Until March 23 of this year and lockdown when the relationship was abruptly severed and FaceTime became the “new norm”, a far-from-normal two-dimensional substitute. 

She was puzzled; I was upset but we persevered. She enjoyed pressing the red button at the end and was fairly overanxious to use it. She wasn’t speaking so we were limited to my chatting and waving and her waving hesitantly back until she became distracted elsewhere. It was unsatisfying but better than nothing. This went on for five weeks.

Then came Barnard Castle and the trip by the elusive Dominic Cummings when everything changed. I decided, like many others, if he could interpret the rules in his favour, so could I. The child's father finally agreed that I could come and see her and take her for a walk as long as we were outside the house. That was okay by me. It was Spring and I could do with the exercise. It was agreed I would do that twice a week.

Now for the interesting part. 

I drove over, parked the car outside the house and dropped off two bags of flour (remember the days when everyone was trying to bake and there was no flour around? I found a secret supplier) and went to drive off to park the car round the corner. By chance, I looked up and there was my little girl standing at her bedroom window looking out at me with a slightly puzzled gaze. She put her lovely chubby hand towards the window and hesitantly waved. I waved back with greater enthusiasm and then opened the door to get into the car. She continued to wave and then started to blow kisses. I drove off.

Some minutes later, I saw her in her full three-dimensional glory before she saw me. She was in her pushchair happily babbling to her father without a care in the world. 

Her father stopped walking and she looked around with some surprise. Then she saw me and there was a slow dawning recognition as she gave a joyful gasp. This little person who is usually quite reserved and, at that time, hard to coax a smile from, was so overjoyed at our reunion that she tried to scramble out of the buggy and fling her arms round my neck. It was a wonderful moment for both of us.

Her father left us (socially distanced at all times) and we reverted to our easy one-to-one relationship. When it was time to go, her father met us and walked back with me to my car. As I said goodbye, she began screaming and tried again to get out of the buggy. I was distraught, too, but kept my screaming to myself.

This pattern continued for some weeks and there were difficulties, though not with me. She was desperate for the swings, saying: "Peeese" in the hope that, if she asked nicely enough, I'd open the gate. I explained but she didn't understand of course. When the gate was officially opened, she was hesitant, holding back, uncertain about other children and the greater expanse of play area. 

We settled down and, later, I was “allowed” inside the house because restrictions had been lifted and the social bubble extended. (As I write this, I am astonished that phrases such as social distancing and social bubbles seem so ordinary. However did that happen?). The baby and I resume our relationship and I go over at least once a week to help out. 

If the lockdown is tightened, I will still be all right, as will she. I have “carer” status so there will be no more exclusions for me. But what about everyone else. How will they - you - and your loved ones fare?

FaceTime, Zoom and other computer meet-ups can be useful and are good at times of need. But nothing beats real human contact. Three-dimensional life matters.

By: Lulu Sinclair

Photo 1 by Rod Long on Unsplash

Photo 3 by Ben Garratt on Unsplash