Swaddling my six year old

Yesterday morning, I spent 45 minutes wrapping my younger son, William (6) in a huge, fuzzy green blanket on the floor of my mom’s house in Arizona. William had asked me to “burrito” him in the blanket for coziness (and proprioceptive input) and then it evolved into him asking for a true swaddle, just like I did when he was an infant.

I laid out the huge blanket and wrapped him tight, pressing his wriggling arms to his sides while he giggled. As soon as the swaddle was complete, he would break out laughing hysterically, asking me to do it again.

This scene yesterday reminded me so much of the type of “play” that my PDA son, Cooper (now 10), loved when he was in burnout five years ago. After quitting my job at a large non-profit in Washington D.C., I stayed home full time with Cooper for two years. In the early days – and because I am an intense human who needs structure (ha!) - I set a goal for myself to dedicate one full hour a day to “playing” with him with no distractions.

I would leave my phone outside of the room and attempt to engage him. I always felt like I was doing an awkward blend of “improv” and silly entertainment, while he corrected me or directed me to do things.

The hours I spent were tedious and long, and I truly didn’t know what I was doing. The first months of “play sessions” were spent with Cooper just jumping on the bed, me throwing stuffies up in the air for an hour, or him climbing in and out of his old crib with my help.

Over time, a theme emerged related to his infancy and toddler years. Cooper would get in his old crib, pretend to nap (for 5 seconds, just long enough for my eyes to also close), climb out of the crib, and ask me to (pretend) change his diaper and feed him a bottle. Then back to the crib he went for a nap. He would repeat this over and over, dozens and dozens of times in an hour. It was as if he was replaying his toddler years and re-learning again to eat, sleep, walk, and climb.

Before I started working with other parents of PDA children and teens, I felt that this type of play was strange and unique to Cooper. However, 100s of parents – and some therapists – have shared that when given autonomy, their PDA children gravitate towards this type of play. Many have shared that their children pretend to be babies that needed to learn to walk or eat, or say that they are a baby puppy, polar bear, or animal that is orphaned and needs care.

I wonder, was this true for your PDA child when they were young? Is it true now?

Although I spent YEARS engaging in this type of play, Cooper now almost never asks for it. He has moved on to making friends his own age, playing tackle football, fishing, and skiing. All things that still surprise me when I think back to how small and restricted our world was in burnout. Those years when he barely left the house at all, and then only for 30 minutes at a time.

Now, when Cooper does ask for “baby puppies in the basement” it feels like a bid for connection, a return to our little bubble. A little bubble that felt SO HARD as a parent because of the discomfort of being controlled and engaging in tedious repetition, but that now feels like a reservoir of trust that we can draw on as he moves into his pre-teen years.

If you are in a small and tedious bubble with your PDAer – whatever it looks like – I want to send you love and let you know that you will get through this.

Keep on keeping on!