Defeating infant terrors

Press, 12 October 1988, Page 14

Defeating infant terrors

My husband would like to explain, to anyone who happened to be passing our house last Tuesday, why our small son was up a stepladder shaking blossom from a tree and laughing nervously. It was a last-ditch effort to overcome his latest irrational fear.

For a harrowing threeday period our son became a fauna-phobic. This obscure phobia appeared in our nearly-three-year-old for no reason at all and without warning.

One day he was happily grading up the backyard under the trees, the next he was sent into near hysteria by leaves and blossom falling to the ground. White-faced with terror he would cling, sobbing, to the nearest adult and beg to be taken inside. Once there he would close all the doors and windows and hide under the bed. The first time this happened we put it down to

being overtired and therefore prone to go off like a firecracker at the slightest provocation. The next day, however, he would not take his usual trip to the gate to get the paper in case “a leaf got him.” This phobia was not without its humorous aspects. At night he had to watch us lock all the doors, “to keep the leaves out,” before he would settle into bed. In the morning a posse had to be sent out to check that no renegade leaves were hovering around the front door waiting to ambush him. Unfortunately his terror, although irrational, was very real. On the

third day something had to be done. Taking a chain-saw to all the trees within a 50 metre vicinity was out of the question. Instead, a step-ladder was taken into the front garden and positioned under the blossom tree. The idea was to get him close enough to the object of his fear to allow him to see that blossom was just that ... blossom. Not some weird, pinky-white fluff that was going to smother him whenever a stiff breeze blew. Getting him up the stepladder, my husband tells me, took most of the morning. Once up there it took another considerable

amount of time before he could be persuaded to unclench his little fist from his side and actually touch a branch. Finally he got to the point where he could actually give the branch a tentative shake and cover the two dogs, lying on he grass, with blossom. Once full control over the blossom was established, the terror vanished. This latest phobia follows the buzzy-flying-phobia, where everything that flew near him making a sound sent him whimpering into the garage, the spaghetti-phobia (he couldn’t eat it because the strands would get him) and the knee-phobia. Knees had to be covered at all times, preferably in his multi-coloured striped socks. These phobias, childcare experts tell me, are perfectly normal and pass very quickly. They are usually a hangover from a dream, a television programme, or an event during the day. This, naturally enough, reassured us no end. The thought of raising a child who will only wear lurid striped over-the knee socks, fights with spaghetti, and flees from leaves and bees is all too much. We await with interest to see what will trigger his next spell of terror.