As an early childhood educator, I understand the importance of doll play, but sometimes I underestimate its power, especially for children with special needs. My daughter, who has a degenerative eye disease along with several other health problems, goes to a special school. We are blessed that the school is not too far away, and she receives free transportation, but she has to get up early to catch the van an hour before school starts. Getting ready for school can be very difficult, and some days she just won't cooperate.
Today was one of those mornings. She didn't want to get up, and she would not do anything I asked. When I tried to give her an asthma treatment, she started kicking me and hiding under the blanket. I was just about to start yelling at her, but I know from past experience that this tactic doesn't work at all, so I tried to just stop and think how to best help her. Then I spied her American Girl doll across the room, and inspiration struck. I held the inhaler in the doll's tiny hand and adopted a small, high-pitched voice that I thought might come from someone 18 inches tall. "This is Saige. Can I give you your medicine this morning?" To my amazement, it worked. My daughter stopped kicking and allowed the doll to administer her inhaler. When Saige buttered her toast, she ate it right away. She even let Saige brush and style her hair. Giving my daughter her seizure medication is one of the most difficult parts of the day, but she took it with no fuss after a warning from Saige that if she got medicine in Saige's hair, it would get ruined. She didn't spill a drop, and Saige even gave her a high-five afterward.
I was skeptical if this type of pretending would work with a nine-yr-old, but it was like magic. Having the doll help her get ready took away the element of a power struggle. My daughter was refusing to obey me because she wanted to prove that she had control, but she didn't have anything to prove to an 18-inch piece of plastic. It kind of put a buffer between me and her. "Ok, I am doing this, but not because YOU asked." Even though she knows her doll isn't real, it's comforting to pretend that she has a comrade who's on her side. I was trying to make her get ready as her mother, but the doll was able to help her as a friend.
Fifteen minutes later, my daughter happily trotted out to the van after saying goodbye to her doll, and then it was my turn to give Saige a high five. Doll play is definitely a powerful thing for children with special needs, but it is because it gives children a sense of their own power in a world that is so often out of their control and leaves them feeling helpless. Who knew 18 inches of plastic could do that?
Today was one of those mornings. She didn't want to get up, and she would not do anything I asked. When I tried to give her an asthma treatment, she started kicking me and hiding under the blanket. I was just about to start yelling at her, but I know from past experience that this tactic doesn't work at all, so I tried to just stop and think how to best help her. Then I spied her American Girl doll across the room, and inspiration struck. I held the inhaler in the doll's tiny hand and adopted a small, high-pitched voice that I thought might come from someone 18 inches tall. "This is Saige. Can I give you your medicine this morning?" To my amazement, it worked. My daughter stopped kicking and allowed the doll to administer her inhaler. When Saige buttered her toast, she ate it right away. She even let Saige brush and style her hair. Giving my daughter her seizure medication is one of the most difficult parts of the day, but she took it with no fuss after a warning from Saige that if she got medicine in Saige's hair, it would get ruined. She didn't spill a drop, and Saige even gave her a high-five afterward.
I was skeptical if this type of pretending would work with a nine-yr-old, but it was like magic. Having the doll help her get ready took away the element of a power struggle. My daughter was refusing to obey me because she wanted to prove that she had control, but she didn't have anything to prove to an 18-inch piece of plastic. It kind of put a buffer between me and her. "Ok, I am doing this, but not because YOU asked." Even though she knows her doll isn't real, it's comforting to pretend that she has a comrade who's on her side. I was trying to make her get ready as her mother, but the doll was able to help her as a friend.
Fifteen minutes later, my daughter happily trotted out to the van after saying goodbye to her doll, and then it was my turn to give Saige a high five. Doll play is definitely a powerful thing for children with special needs, but it is because it gives children a sense of their own power in a world that is so often out of their control and leaves them feeling helpless. Who knew 18 inches of plastic could do that?
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