Resisting the urge to coddle starts on the play mat

Building resiliency through tummy time and toys

Photo by Pixabay, courtesy of Pexels

At 8 a.m. Saturday day morning my three-month-old daughter, VV, was doing her reps. One to two minutes on her tummy, one minute on her back, for three rounds. She doesn't love tummy time, but her dad was couching her through it: "I know this is frustrating, VV, but you need to build your strength." "You can do this! And the hard work will pay off when you're ready to move more." "Mommy and I just want to help you be strong, so you can tackle crawling later on."

Tummy time is one of the first opportunities to build resiliency in children, and one of the first moments when the urge to coddle can overtake parents.

Watching my child struggle is difficult. When the corners of VV's mouth turn down in sadness, I melt and think—and sometimes say—"Awww, don't do that," as my own face shows signs of heartache, and my desire to remedy her pain kicks in. 

I have a strong urge to roll her onto her back when frustration sets in during tummy time, and I ultimately do, but there is a balance that I must strike: I need to let her get frustrated, but not full-on, melt-down upset, before I show her how to do for herself, whatever it is we are working on.

When I let her be, and don't immediately try to solve her problems, a magical thing begins to happen: she starts to work out how to remedy her own predicament. But this isn't magic, it's how babies, how all of us throughout life, learn.

Amidst her frustration, VV will stop and seemingly think about her strategy. She will squirm and grunt and start to cry, then she will stop, think, and try again, before repeating the cycle of frustration. It's a back-and-forth, push-and-pull struggle: thinking and trying —> frustration —> thinking and trying —> frustration. She is building physical and mental toughness, and she will eventually work it out and solve her own problem. My job is to let her go through this cycle, only interrupting when she has gone beyond her zone of proximal development. When I know her efforts will be fruitless, because she is not yet ready to roll herself over, I roll her over with a smile on my face to show how gratifying success can be.

This process of frustration then effort—and then more frustration and effort—is evident in how VV plays as well. When she has finished her tummy time reps, I get out her play mat with toys that dangle over head. In the center, hanging directly above her, is a monkey holding onto a ring, playing "You Are My Sunshine." My daughter can now reach up and touch the monkey and successfully grab onto its ring. 

Building up to this achievement, she would reach and touch, but not be able to grab a hold of the ring. This irritated her. She would lock eyes with the monkey, reach, touch, fumble around, knocking the ring from left to right and forward and back, then squirm, grunt, and bang her hands on the ground in annoyance. Laying flat on the mat staring at the monkey, she would then calm herself down and try again: make eye contact, reach, touch the ring, fumble around, give up. 

Now, she can grab the ring held by the monkey, as well as other dangling toys. But she has a new frustration: her inability to successfully put the ring into her mouth, like she does with all other things, because it's attached to the overhead poles of the play mat. So, we move on to something else, a new task.

VV's success in one task means we can move onto something more challenging, continuing to provide opportunities for her to develop the mental and physical strength she needs to eventually tackle even more arduous tasks. This, in my view, is one of the most important jobs of a parent.

By watching VV struggle, and letting her, I am helping her build resiliency. She gets upset, but she recovers. She is young, only three months old, but there is a little glimmer of joy in her eyes when she manages to get a hold of the toy or object she has been longing for. She also feels joy when I hand her things, but as she grows, being handed something without effort will not produce the same sort of joy and pride as does doing something she accomplishes on her own. 

I remember the first time I was able to do flips in gymnastics without an assist. I felt amazing, like I had truly accomplished something on my own. I beamed with pride for the rest of the day and felt ready to take on the next, more difficult challenge.