Worry. This is a catch-all word for emotions that can range from mild to heart-pounding, depending on whether your child is merely testing her skills on the playground or pulling out of your hand to run toward traffic.

I’m what an earlier generation liked to call a “worrywart.” I worry about almost everything, but usually succeed in communicating none of that worry to my child. I encourage her to try new things, while taking appropriate care against hazards of course.

Probably most parents are worrywarts to some extent, which is why marketers are so effective at getting us to spend a fortune baby-proofing our homes and buying safety devices.

In my in-box today was a promo for a product called the Snuza. It’s a baby monitor that clips to your infant’s diaper and monitors movement. If the device doesn’t sense a movement in 15 seconds, it stimulates the baby with a “pulsed vibration.” If no movement is sensed after another 5 seconds, an alarm goes off. On the Web site’s frequently-asked-questions page, the maker acknowledges this is not a medical device but is more akin to the heart monitors people wear while they exercise.

As I read all this over, I found myself getting angry at this company for exploiting parents’ fear of sudden infant death syndrome to sell a lifestyle gadget.

You see, my daughter, as readers of this blog know, was a preemie. When she was in the hospital for more than two months, she was hooked up to an actual medical monitor. Learning to interpret the sounds it made took a while. At first, I was worried every time it went off, but the nurses assured me that those weren’t the beeps to be concerned about. Then, one day, I was holding her when it went off with a new sound. Assuming it was one of those unimportant beeps, I ignored it. That was until a nurse quickly came up and started vigorously rubbing my baby’s back to remind her to breath. That wasn’t the only time I had that experience. I, too, learned to rub her back when the monitor went off a certain way.

Then, one day, it was time to take her home, to take her off the monitor where I could watch how fast her heart was beating, how many breaths she took a minute and how much oxygen was in her blood.

It was leap of faith. Faith in the doctors that they wouldn’t send her home before she was ready. Faith that she would be OK. And faith that I would at last get to be her mom in our own home.

I buried my worries and embraced a normal family life. If my daughter had needed a monitor, then the doctors would have sent her home with one. (As, indeed, they did for some preemies.)

What if I had given in to my darker fears and bought a contraption like the Snuza? It’s not a medical device, as the maker clearly states. If your child needed a monitor, wouldn’t you want a medical device that could actually save her life? So who is it for? The parents. To feed their worry. The Web site proclaims: “How did we cope before Snuza? It’s been a great relief to finally get a good night’s sleep.”

What kind of goodnight ritual is it when you attach a monitor to your baby’s diaper? Isn’t that saying, in effect, I don’t trust you to live until morning without this thing? Every new parent has this fear, and every new parent gets over it — except those who are reminded of it daily when they buy products like the Snuza, that is.

I am not minimizing the risk of SIDS. I can easily imagine the agony. But the American SIDS Institute does NOT list devices like the Snuza in its advice for parents, which includes placing infants on their backs to sleep without any soft coverings that can suffocate. New research also shows that having a fan in the room can also lesson the risk of SIDS.

What do you think about devices like the Snuza? More harm than help or a useful addition to the nursery?

Last summer, one of my husband’s college friends, Steve, came to visit with his wife and two children, a little boy a bit older than my daughter and a baby. They stayed with us for a couple of days and we all had a nice time, visiting the Long Island Sound and just relaxing. It was the first time I met his wife, Jennifer, and we hit if off right away. The Pumpkin fell in love with the baby. A few months later, we found out they were expecting a new baby who was due in June. But something went wrong. They’ve spent the last several days in the hospital delivering the baby, who died. We’ve been getting e-mail updates about the experience, including a last e-mail that came at 2 a.m. this morning with details about the keepsake box with a lock of hair and some photos that they brought home instead of a baby.

It’s been hard to get Jennifer and Steve out of my mind. I could easily have ended up with a similar box if it weren’t for the life-saving treatment my daughter received at White Plains Hospital Center.

Four years ago on April 20, I went into the hospital showing symptoms of preeclampsia, a disease that affects about 5 percent of pregnancies and poses risk for both mother and baby. I hadn’t read about preeclampsia before and didn’t really know what the doctors were so concerned about. I had been showing the signs of preeclampsia for a couple of weeks and had even spent a weekend on bedrest, but the doctors didn’t use that word yet. Here’s a clue: If your hands are so swollen that you lose sensation, it’s time to worry. Swollen ankles in pregnancy: Not so much.

My first night I was dazed, suffering from a horrible cold, unable to sleep. Over the next few days, the signs were clear that the doctors expected me to deliver my daughter early, but wanted to wait as long as possible. I was given steroid shots to mature my daughter’s lungs, moved to a private room and ordered to rest on my left side. In retrospect, I think I went into a bit of denial. After my cold cleared up by the weekend, I actually felt really great. It was sunny outside and I didn’t feel like staying in bed. It seemed absurd that I would actually have the baby that early, and so I discounted the idea, especially since I felt so healthy. The swelling had gone down and I didn’t have other classic symptoms, like a headache or pain in my abdomen. (I found out later that these are important symptoms of something going wrong. At the time, I just knew that nurses came into my room every four hours to ask me, “Do you have a headache? Any pain in your abdomen?”)

Every day, I rode a wheelchair down to radiology and got a look at my baby, who was healthy but tiny. Things were going so well that after a week and a half, on May 2, my doctor during rounds that morning even talked about maybe letting me go home on bedrest for a while. That was before he got the results of that morning’s blood draw. (Oh yeah, every morning I gave about five vials. Fun stuff.)

Later that afternoon, I had just showered and was sitting up in bed, making phone calls and relaxing when a phalanx of nurses from labor and delivery strode into my room with a gurney and told me I was coming with them to deliver the baby. This was a shock. My own nurse came in behind them and said the doctor had been trying to reach me, but I had been on the phone. My bloodwork showed that I had developed a complication of preeclampsia called HELLP Syndrome, which basically meant that internal organs like my liver weren’t doing so hot. The baby had to come out, or else we both would be in trouble.

After panicked calls to reach my husband to come as quickly as possible and to my sister-in-law for reassurance, I was prepped for a C-section. That evening, my daughter was born at 26 weeks, five days, gestation. She weighed just 1 pound, 13.4 ounces, or 834 grams. I didn’t even get to see her born because I was so swollen the anesthesiologist couldn’t get a needle into my spine. I had general anesthesia. I didn’t get to see her for more than 24 hours because I was stuck in bed in a haze thanks to a magnesium sulfate drip. I didn’t hold her for almost a week because she was so delicate. I just sat by her incubator, lightly touching her with my hand and talking to her. Her entire hand was the size of the tip of my pinky finger. The first days were so scary that it’s hard to even describe what it was like. The first week of a preemie’s life will determine what happens for the rest of it. And for us, the news was all good. She didn’t need a ventilator, and was breathing with just positive air pressure. No bleeding in the brain. Lots of pee. A feisty attitude. (That hasn’t changed.) I got to hold her for the first time six days after she was born. It happened to be Mother’s Day. Part of me is still in that chair, holding my swaddled baby for the first time, oblivious to everything else. One of the neonatologists walked up to me and started to talk to me about how well she was doing, but I ignored him, repeating over and over, “My baby, my baby.”

Today, she weighs about 33 pounds and is as tall as some 5-year-olds. And when she climbs into my lap for snuggles, the world still disappears and my mind repeats, “My baby, my baby.”

On Sunday, for the fourth year, I will be lacing up my sneakers and heading to White Plains to walk with hundreds of other parents who know exactly how I felt in that first moment I held my daughter. Parents of preemies never take a day or a minute for granted. We know how easily we could have come home with nothing but heartbreak. We are thrilled for the chance to help out the March of Dimes, which is committed to making sure that more babies come home with their parents. I pester my family, friends and coworkers for donations because I know that every dollar raised will go to programs to prevent premature birth and to make sure that the ones who are born early, like my Pumpkin, will live.

While I was writing this, my daughter came over to me to give me a hug and show off the blue ponytail holder her grandmother put in her (long and messy) hair today. I have never cut her hair, which is below her waist. I hadn’t realized until this moment why I haven’t, even though I know that it would be nice to have a lock of the baby blond at the tips before the whole head turns darker. I don’t need a keepsake. I have my baby. I’m marching on Sunday so that other moms can say the same.

The folks at Child Care Aware sent out a reminder that next month will bring National Provider Appreciation Day, when child care providers we entrust with our kids get honorable mention.

Not a bad idea, depending on the care the kids receive. We’ve been lucky that way, so I figured I would send CCA’s press release along for your consumption:

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, there are 11.3 million children under the age of 5 that spend some part of their week in child care. If this number includes your family, chances are you’ve added an extended family member or two to your daily routine. And you’ve selected a person that you feel will provide the best care for your child.

Child care providers put a lot of love and hard work into their careers, and they’re often rewarded with little hugs and a “thank you” every now and then. As your child spends time with his/her child care provider, a special bond begins to form. This person is an additional teacher, friend and trusted caregiver. Your child shares many special moments with the child care provider, and you enoy the benefits of these relationships on a daily basis.

This year, take some time to show your child care provider how much you appreciate what she does for your family. On Friday, May 8, 2009, the nation will celebrate National Provider Appreciation Day – a day set aside each year to honor those who are caring for our young children.

For more information on Provider Appreciation Day, go to www.providerappreciationday.org.

Sunday night, my husband and I spent about four hours at the emergency room of Northern Westchester Hospital in Mount Kisco to rule out appendicitis as the cause of the severe abdominal pains he had been experiencing. (He’s OK. Just sick.) We were there from about 9:45 p.m. until about 2 a.m., thankfully without the Pumpkin. That’s because when we spoke to the doctor on the phone, and she told us to go to the emergency room, I called my mom and said, “Can you come?” And, of course, she agreed. My mom moved to this area the year my daughter was born, first living with us while she looked for a place of her own and now renting an apartment. It has been unremittingly wonderful for us. My mom takes care of Pumpkin while I work — which is why I was able to keep my job after my daughter was born. If I hadn’t had my mom, I would have quit because I couldn’t have imagined putting my tiny little preemie in day care. The best part is I have every confidence that Pumpkin is in hands that are almost as loving as mine. The second best part is that my daughter is forming a relationship with her grandmother, not a stranger. But for my mom, there have been significant sacrifices. She left behind friends in Niagara Falls, her bowling league and the city she lived in for 70-plus years. She also left behind an affordable lifestyle. Her rent is double what she would pay in Niagara Falls — and takes almost half of her pension and Social Security every month.

My thankfulness for her presence in my life really came alive last night during the crisis. While I am always grateful when she throws a load of my laundry in the wash, it’s the willingness of a parent to drop everything and come running that makes them so special. I feel for the families who don’t have extended family nearby. Imagine a 3-year-old spending four hours plus in an ER? Yikes. But if my mom were still living in Niagara Falls, we would have had no choice but to bring Pumpkin. It must be even more challenging for single parents without family nearby. What if you are the patient? How can you expect the ER nurse to be a babysitter?

I’d like to invite Parents’ Place readers to share their own stories of events where your parents helped you out of a crisis — and to share how you coped if your mom and dad don’t live nearby or aren’t with you any longer.

What if you can’t stand your child’s pediatrician?

I remember the moment my long-simmering (but still mild) dislike of my daughter’s pediatrician boiled over into actual antipathy. We were discussing Pumpkin’s milestones at her third birthday checkup when the doctor asked if she moved into a bed yet. I said no, and added that Pumpkin loves her crib and hasn’t even tried to climb out. (And this is a child who loves to climb everything else.)

The doctor’s reaction: “Most children have moved into a bed by age 2.”

My response, with an attempt at humor: “I can’t even imagine what her room would look like in the morning if she could get up whenever she wanted. Clothes and diapers would be everywhere, and she’d probably sleep on the floor or in her glider.” Said with a smile and chuckle.

The doctor’s response: “Well, she’s going to have to go into a bed eventually.” With zero (0) humor. No smile. She wasn’t trying to be funny. She was being sarcastic.

I should have replied with something like: “Oh, really? We were hoping to keep her in the crib until college to save money on a new bed and sheets.”

But that would have been the end of our doctor-parent relationship, and I am not 100 percent certain if it should be over. Now, let me say, if this was the first instance of us disagreeing, I probably would let it go, but it’s not. Just for instance, here’s another priceless exchange from the same visit:

Doctor: How much milk does she drink?

Me: About 9 ounces in the morning. She won’t drink milk later in the day, except chocolate milk, and even then, she’ll drink perhaps a half-cup. She really doesn’t like milk or even yogurt.

Doctor: She should be drinking three to four cups a day! (With a look that suggest she thinks I’m either stupid or negligent.)

Me (silently to myself): What do you want me to do? Have you ever tried to make a toddler eat or drink something they don’t want to consume? (For the record, we have this milk conversation every time we have a checkup.) Out loud, I offered that she eats cheese. To that, the doctor replied: “Doesn’t all that cheese make her constipated?” (I never said it was a lot of cheese!)

But even these disagreements — and even her sanctimonious attitude — wouldn’t get under my skin so much if there weren’t a bigger problem: She doesn’t seem to “get” that Pumpkin is a preemie.

Our first pediatrician, who was recommended by the doctors at the White Plains Hospital NICU, was terrific. He seemed to really understand the unique needs of micro-preemies like Pumpkin, who weighed just 1 pound, 13.4 ounces at birth. He was extremely cautious when it came to Pumpkin’s health. He ordered her to avoid public spaces and to stay away from all children, even her cousins, until she weighed 15 pounds. (A milestone she didn’t reach until shortly before her first birthday.) She had monthly shots of vaccine for RSV during her first winter. For you non-preemie parents, RSV (respiratory syncytial virus) is unpleasant but not an emergency. For preemies, it’s a big deal. I appreciated his personal attention. I liked the way he plotted Pumpkin’s growth on a preemie growth chart targeted to her week of gestation at birth. I was very sorry when we had to switch doctors because we switched insurance.

Our new doctor dismisses every attempt I make to talk about Pumpkin in the context of being a preemie. Last year on Pumpkin’s second birthday, she was unhappy with her speech development and suggested an evaluation, adding that we have to judge her by her birth date rather than her due date. The speech therapist disagreed and gauged Pumpkin’s development using her due date, which is a full three months later than her birth date. She turned out to be ineligible for services because although her expressive abilities lagged, her receptive speech was actually ahead of the curve. Perhaps not so amazingly, come August of last year, just after her due date birthday of July 27, Pumpkin’s speech blossomed.

So, this year again, the doctor was unhappy with Pumpkin’s speech, adding, “Most 3-year-old girls are chatterboxes, and she hasn’t talked to me at all.” Well, Pumpkin takes a while to warm up to strange people, and what kind of pediatrician judges people this way? She’s never met a shy child before? I shared the story of what happened with the evaluation last year, including the details of the speech boom in August. Her reply, given with obvious irritation: “Well, you can wait until July, but that’s only two months, and I doubt it will make a difference.”

Plus, she only charts Pumpkin’s growth on the regular chart, where her weight is in just the 10th percentile. I’d like to know how she measures up to other preemies born in her week of gestation, but I can’t find out at that pediatrician’s office. (Parents of preemies: Do you have this problem, too?)

So, what do you all think I should do. I started writing this post as a sort of “Can this doctor-parent relationship be saved?” Maybe it’s really a “Dear Joan” letter.

The hard part: How do you pick a new doctor?

Parenting books often have advice about choosing a pediatrician, suggesting that expecting parents interview potential doctors much like you are a boss hiring someone for a job. Has anyone actually done this? Are you expected to pay for the doctor’s time in these cases? Insurance sure isn’t going to cover it, and I’d be surprised if doctors are so eager for patients (especially the potentially cranky kind that demand pre-visit interviews) that they are giving their time away.

How did you choose your pediatrician? Do you like him/her? Has s/he ever said anything that made you want to wring his/her neck?

(Also: Out of curiosity: How old was your child when you moved him/her into a bed? And was it because of a new sibling? I find it hard to believe that “most children” are in their own beds by age 2!)

So, last week I bought Pumpkin her first outfit of the spring: A darling sunflower dress with cute matching shoes and sweater at babyGap. My mom bought her the matching hat and purse. The price of all this cuteness? Let’s just say more than $100. Ah, but it’s her Easter outfit, you see. That’s how I can justify it. And because we aren’t seeing the whole family for Easter this year, I’ll be able to put her in it again a month and a half later for her birthday party. Such are my rationalizations. (And, in just three springs, it’s become a tradition to buy Pumpkin’s Easter dress at babyGap.)

I know I have spent too much on Pumpkin’s clothes in the past, at least by my husband’s and mom’s measures. But I think my sin has been more in the quantity than the quality. (Does a toddler really need 14 outfits?) I think babyGap and Gymboree offer pretty reasonable prices for very well-made clothes that hold up in the wash. And I always look for sales when possible.

At least I don’t shop at Boden! That’s what got me on this topic in the first place. I have the Boden catalog in my house, and, it must be said: The clothes are just wonderful. But wow: $28 for a T-shirt for a toddler? $30 for twill shorts? I confess I am tempted by the “Fun Applique Dress,” at right, which is nearly irresistible (and nearly affordable at $38). And, I really, really don’t shop at crewcuts, where a seersucker wrap skirt is $48 and a madras dress is $78!

What are your secret shopping indulgences when it comes to your kids? And is this something unique to parents of daughters — or do moms of sons also go nuts for cute outfits for their little ones?

So, I did it. I made a play date for today with a neighbor down the block who has a really cute 18-month-old son named Ethan. This might not seem remarkable to people who know me well and think of me as pretty outgoing, but the fact is: I have been very shy when it comes to making playmates. Pumpkin and I can count on one hand the number of play dates we’d had so far — OK, to be perfectly honest — two fingers. (And yes, I feel very guilty about this.) But there’s something about asking another mom if she wants to get together that brings out the insecure junior high school kid in me. After all, at this age, it’s not like I’m dropping Pumpkin off at the curb. A play date means the mom has to spend the time with me. “But, you’re a reporter! You should be good at talking to people!” I can hear you saying this. And, it’s true, I can pretty much walk up to anyone and interview them. But, the thing is, I don’t know if these skills carry over into the world of women’s friendships. (It doesn’t help when your play date skills get rejected. After one play date that I thought was successful, I didn’t get a second invite.)

Despite this, I got bold about today because we’re going to do something very active together — taking the kids to Leapin’ Lizards in Port Chester. Also, we won’t be tête-à-tête because it turns out Ethan already had a play date today and his buddy (and mom) will be coming along, too. Between the chaos of keeping track of three toddlers at the giant indoor play center, I think we’ll all have a good time.

I bring this topic up because I think about how much a parent’s social skills affect their children’s lives. Growing up, my mom worked, so she was never the classroom mom. She wasn’t a big joiner, either, so we didn’t have a network of community contacts. Looking back, it would have been kind of nice to have a mom involved in the school, sitting in the back of the table at bake sales, hanging around the auditorium during school plays, etc. I aspire to be that kind of mom for my daughter, but then I think to myself, “You can’t even arrange a play date without getting the willies!”

What about the rest of you parents? Are you rolling your eyes and saying, “Get over it!” Or, have you had similar qualms? Those of you with active play date schedules: How do you do it? Do you just say to a friendly face at library story hour: “Say, do you want to get these two hooligans together sometime?” Or what?

I ran into my neighbor the other morning as she she pushed a stroller containing her 3-month-old as she also tried to hold onto her 3-year-old who was bending down to scoop up snow.

The scene reminded me of when my wife and I were new parents and we strolled down the street with one of our kids in a carriage. Often, total strangers would greet and talk with us.

I hadn’t expected this. Becoming a parent was like joining a club that seemed to have members everywhere. I suddenly had a connection to huge swath of humanity: The club that decided the keep the human race going, or maybe had merely miscalculated a year or two earlier.

After a morning run with a friend a few days later, we stopped in a new cafe in the neighborhood. The place was filled with younger folks, most of them with babies in tow. So I said hi to one of the parents, just to keep the club going.

It’s 2:18 a.m. and I just made the cranberry sauce. Oh, and I threw in a load of wash. My wash, that is. I had no choice if I hope to have something fresh to wear in seven hours when it will be time to get dressed to drive to my sister-in-law’s house in Albany. Pumpkin’s dress has been ready on a hanger in her closet for weeks. Such is my life.

Some moms — and you know who you are — seem to effortlessly keep it all together. You look great. Your hair isn’t always in a ponytail. You’ve actually managed to dig out your winter clothes so you don’t have to wear a summer shirt in November. Best of all, you’re calm. You never say things like, “Sweetheart, if you go upstairs and read books quietly with Grandma while mommy tries to write a story, I’ll give you pudding later.” Then there are moms like me. Perennially running late. Trying to do too much and getting only five out of 10 things accomplished. So, tomorrow while Pumpkin will be wearing a cute blue velvet holiday dress, I’ll be schlepping in some jeans. Jeans that aren’t loose like I’d hoped because I haven’t strictly followed the South Beach Diet or gotten back on the treadmill. I won’t be wearing any makeup because in a cleaning fit I threw away all the old stuff I bought back in spring 2005 and I haven’t replaced it. (Or used the gift certificate for Sephora my mom gave me in April 2006.)

Running my house and my family is a full-time job. The only problem is I have another full time job: This one. And when something’s got to give, it’s usually taking care of me. But yet, but yet, even though it’s now 2:25 a.m. and I probably won’t sleep more than four hours. And even though I’ll be the sloppiest mom at my family’s Thanksgiving party. And even though I know I’m far from perfect, I can’t help but sit here and feel so grateful for this messed up, harried life. My child is sleeping in her crib snuggled up with her Elmo doll. My husband will be waking at 5:30 to clean the car and make a dent on the toy litter that’s stretching from my office through the living and dining rooms all the way to the kitchen. My mom will probably come a half hour early this morning and I can get her to file Pumpkin’s fingernails. Most of all, I’m simply thankful to be a mom to Pumpkin, who has been in this world for three years this month. Granted, she was smaller than a grain of rice three years ago, but still — she was alive and my world was changed forever, even if I didn’t know it yet.

So, on this Thanksgiving, I want to say thank you to whoever is reading this blog. Thank you for joining our little community of parents who just want to share the miracle that is our everyday lives. My theory is that parents like to complain about our long days (and occasional nights) and the hard parts because if we talked about what it’s really like, we’d sound like lunatics. “I am so happy to be changing this dirty diaper” don’t sound like the words of a normal person to somebody who hasn’t been a mom or dad. But I remember on the day we brought Pumpkin home from the hospital after she spent nine weeks in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit when she was born three months early. I said into the camcorder: “You need a diaper change. I am so happy to be changing your diaper.” It was me and not a nurse who got to wipe that little bum. I was finally going to be Pumpkin’s full-time mom. And so when she comes to me and says, “Mama, poop,” I’m still that happy. I get to be a mom. If sometimes my other full-time job means that I have to make cranberry sauce at 2 in the morning, so be it.

So, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I’ll share my secret recipe for cranberry sauce. As for life, I can only say: Be grateful for the diapers because where there’s poop, there’s a child.

Julie’s Cranberry Sauce

1 12 ounce container frozen apple juice concentrate
1 package fresh cranberries
1/2 cup port wine
1/2 cup sugar (If you like it really sweet, make it 3/4 cup)
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon nutmeg

Mix apple juice, cranberries, wine and sugar in a stainless steel pot. Bring to boil. Lower heat and simmer for 10 to 13 minutes, until syrup starts to look gel-ish. Remove from heat. Add spices. Pour into a heat-safe dish. Cool. Refrigerate until ready to use. (I’ll also add, pour yourself a glass of port and eat a small dish of the runny sauce while it’s hot. Yum.)

It starts before our kids are born when we limit our tuna fish sandwiches to one a week and doesn’t end until … ever, I think. Keeping our children safe is job No. 1 for mom and dad. Yes, we’re supposed to teach them to read, sing, love animals and all the rest, but the most important gift we give our children is a healthy and safe childhood. In today’s world, where there seem to be weekly blasts on the news about lead in imported toys, parents can feel powerless to prevent risks to their kids — and that’s even before they get a driver’s license!

Today’s Questions & Parents feature, or Q&P for short, is with Irvington resident Jamie Schaefer-Wilson. Jamie is a child safety expert, author and consultant at Consumer Reports magazine in Yonkers. She has a long history of advocating in a wide variety of ways to keep kids safe. She co-wrote “The Baby Rules: The Insider’s Guide to Raising Your Parents,” a safety manual for parents with a humorous touch. She serves on several juvenile products committees for the American Society of Testing and Materials (ASTM International), where she advocates for safer juvenile product standards. She works with the nonprofit Kids and Cars, which is pushing for a rear visibility performance standard to prevent backovers. She has contributed to a safety column on iVillage.com and is the author of “Safety 1st’s Essential Home & Travel Childproofing Guide.” She’s also written the upcoming “The Consumer Reports Guide to Childproofing & Safety: Tips to Protect your Baby and Child from Injury at Home and on the Go,” scheduled for publication in May. In between being a safety guru, Jamie is also busy as the mother of Cydney and Samantha.

Q: Let’s start with the question on everyone’s mind these days: Can I safely buy my child a toy that’s made in China?

P: It isn’t necessarily a China problem, it is a manufacturer problem. We need better quality control, tougher import inspections and more attention to potential design flaws. Some of these problems are predictable, therefore they are preventable. There have been so many problems brought to the forefront lately from lead paint to small parts detaching and magnets falling out of toys. While we should be able to trust the toys in the marketplace, I think we all need to be tougher consumers and decide if we want to stay away from painted toys, jewelry and magnets.

Q: When the first Mattel recall was announced on Aug. 1, you feared that your child had a defective Elmo toy. Can you describe what that experience was like?

P: It was scary. It was a toy my daughter was playing with every day. It has a microphone that naturally she was always putting in her mouth and we didn’t know which portion of the toy contained the lead-based paint. I recognized the photo of the toy instantly and this particular toy was shown on several news reports. I checked the model number and was relieved that mine was purchased before the batch that had lead-based paint.

Q: Is all this focus on toys from China potentially distracting our attention from more dangerous, or even deadly, hazards?

P: No. I think people are looking more stringently at many more products now. We need to continue down this path and do a lot more questioning about all products — no matter where they are made.

Q: What are some of the hidden hazards we all have around our homes that we don’t think about?

P: We sometimes tend to overlook everyday items and things we do everyday. Take the kitchen. It is the room we are in most frequently. There are several dangers from the hot oven, water boiling on the stove or even the dishwasher. The dishwasher seems benign once the knives and forks are removed, but it is filled with spikes and if a child falls they will fall face first. Also, tipping hazards: Children tend to open several drawers at one time, sometimes causing furniture to tip onto them. It is very simple to install a tip resistant strap to furniture, and this should be installed to TV stands as well as book cases, armoires and dressers. Another danger is water hazards. Drownings are a leading cause of death every year. When your child is in the bath you need to keep him or her within arm’s reach at all times. It only takes a second for something to go wrong. The same is true of a swimming pool. Many children often slip outside unnoticed and you may not hear them fall into the pool.

Q: What are some safety tips you can share based on your own family?

P: Gates and safety locks: Those are two very important items that you should purchase and use. My 2-year-old wants to follow me everywhere and open every drawer. I feel I need eyes in the back of my head. My first daughter wasn’t as daring, but my second daughter wants to experiment with everything. I find it easier to remove and safeguard the hazards rather than take a chance. You can remove gates and locks when they are older, but the scar from an injury will be permanent.

Q: Can you tell me about any close calls you might have had?

P: When my 6-year-old was younger, we were at a restaurant and they had given us a folding high chair. The waiter opened it and we put our daughter inside, but it started to collapse the moment we placed her in the high chair. My daughter was screaming. I tried grabbing her, but she was stuck. My husband and I were pulling her and the waiter was trying to open the chair. It was very scary. Needless to say, I always check that high chairs are fully opened and locked and I now know never to take for granted that someone else may have done taken these measures.

Q: New moms often buy books on babyproofing, but what about parents of older kids? What safety worries are out there when your child reaches grade school, middle school and beyond?

P: Safety issues just change and expand as your child gets older. Child passenger safety is always at the forefront. Keeping your child in the right child-restraint seat until he or she is the right height, weight and age is one of the most important things you can do for your child. As they get older you need to focus on bicycle safety/helmet safety and stranger danger as well.

Q: What can you do if a fellow parent doesn’t take safety as seriously as you do? What if, for example, a mom doesn’t think about buckling a child into a safety seat because it’s “only a few blocks” or is casual about other risks?

P: I have had parents tell me just that: “Oh, it’s only a few blocks.â€? Most vehicle crashes happen within a few blocks of our homes since it is where we spend the most time. Some parents don’t like to hear the possibilities of what could happen and others ask a lot of questions. Questions are a great — they can save a life. If another mother offers to pick up my daughter, I always ask what type of car seat she has, and many times I end up installing my seat in her vehicle. I am happy to take the few minutes and do it.

Q: It seems to me the best way to keep a child safe might be to instill a sense of caution in the child. What advice do you have for doing that without turning your kid into a nervous nelly?

P: Caution is good, but you’re right, you don’t want to overdo it. So much of this is in your hands. Your child doesn’t need to know everything about the car seat they are in — just that they need to be in it. I often hear that a child can’t wait to get to a booster seat or get out of one. Most children wouldn’t even know that there is a day that they won’t need the booster seat — we instill this in them. You handle the safety and let them be a kid. You’ll feel more at ease about it. Every mom only wants what is best for her children.

Thank you very much to Jamie for sharing her knowledge by doing a Q&P! If you would like to be featured, or you know any parents who have expertise to share, please comment here on the blog or send me e-mail at jalterio@lohud.com.

And, in case you missed them, here are links to earlier Q&P features. There are interviews with more than a dozen moms and dads, including a dog trainer dad, financial planner mom, writer mom, mathematician mom, baker mom, drug counselor mom and pediatric dentist mom.

With yet another toy recall in the news, I began wondering: What exactly will I be buying for holiday gifts for my nephews, who live in North Carolina?

Sure, I can be the “un-fun” auntie and get them clothes, but they’re 9 and 6! And Old Navy box probably won’t get the joint jumping. But with all the recalls, I don’t know what’s safe and what’s not, particularly when I’m buying online. I suppose I can consult some Web sites to find out which toys manufacturers are likely to use safe paints and parts, but I would bet that severely limit my choices.

My own kids, who are 13 and 9, are stuck on video games, clothes and a board game here and there, so I’m not as concerned. Plus, when I buy for them, I can look at the item, touch it, smell it and feel it, so I feel like I might make a better—and hopefully—safer choice. But when I’m buying online, I’m buying somewhat blindly.

What are you planning to buy for the children in your life? And have the many toy recalls affected your choices?

Last year, when my family took a trip to Costa Rica, my sons applied for passports for the first time. While the wait to receive it was slightly long—about six weeks—the process was pretty painless, although the cost created a pinch to our pockets.

But as rules around applying for and requiring a passport become more stringent, people who travel with children may want to take note of some of the basic protocols according to a pamphlet issued by Westchester County Clerk Tim Idoni:

• Don’t wait until the last minute to apply. Beginning in early 2008, passports will be needed to travel by land or sea from Canada, Mexico, Central and South America, the Caribbean and Bermuda. So if you need one, apply now.


• Be aware of special requirements for children under 14: All children, even newborns, must have their own passport. And children’s passports need to be renewed every five years. When applying for a chid’s passport, children must be there in person. If possible, both parents should appear together and sign the application for a child who is under 14. If only one parent appears, the parent must provide a notarized form proving consent from the other parent.


• When you apply for a passport, please be sure to bring the right documents: Proof of US Citizenship (previous passport, naturalization certificate, original or certified copy of your birth certificate, or a Consular Report of Birth Abroad), Proof of Identity (a valid driver’s license or government/military ID card) and the fees (typically $97 for an adult passport and $82 for children under 16). If you need a passport in a hurry, the application can be expedited for an additional $60. Cash, checks and credit cards can be used to pay the fees.

Fall is here, and it’s time for new shoes. Even though she loves them and practically lived in them this summer, Pumpkin can’t wear her purple Crocs in the cold and wet. Instead of lugging Pumpkin to the mall, I decided to shop at home using handy sizing charts from our favorite brands. What’s nice about this option is you can go online, download and print the chart, measure your child and buy the shoes in a fraction of the time it takes to visit a store. What’s even better is you’ll get instant feedback about whether the size you need is in stock.

My first stop was Stride Rite to replace the sneakers I bought last spring with a larger size. I kept to the same style because it’s a simple white sneaker with modest pink trim. She can wear it with any color and it doesn’t clash. Another plus: The shoe is one of the least expensive in the store. When you get to the Stride Rite home page, just click on e-fit to find the chart for your child’s age and gender. It turns out one of Pumpkin’s feet measured a size 7 and the other a size 7 1/2. I ordered a size 8 to give her some growing room.

Then I went to Robeez. Pumpkin wears Robeez in the house in the cooler months when socks aren’t warm enough. They are soft and slip-proof and stay on snugly. Here is a link to their downloadable sizing chart. It turns out that she still fits in the 18-24 month size, so I was able to buy this adorable cat shoe.

I couldn’t help but visit Crocs to see what the company’s offerings are for winter. Here is a link to the Crocs sizing chart. I also printed out the Baby Gap sizing chart.

I have to admit that I didn’t buy any of the shoes from the company sites. Instead I went to Zappos, found the Stride Rite sneakers and Robeez and got free shipping. Please share your shoe-shopping tips. And if you try the downloadable charts, let us know how it works out for you!

When Pumpkin was born three months early, we had in our possession exactly one sundress and one ironic hipster onesie. The future nursery was still a guest room with a futon couch. We hadn’t bought even a rattle. Thanks to the generous help of family and dear friends, we were just about ready when it was time to bring Pumpkin home nine weeks later. But even on the morning we were picking her up from the hospital, I was squeezing a sheet on her cradle mattress while my husband was stocking the changing table with diapers and wipes.

Most women’s pregnancies don’t end early, but many still could use some help getting the nursery ready. Vera Kessler, a Scarsdale mom of 11-month-old Jeremy, was laid low by morning — and afternoon and evening — sickness during her pregnancy. She told me she sometimes went to bed at 4 o’clock. After her baby was born and she quit her job as a gradeschool teacher, Vera got an idea for a new career as a consultant to help expectant parents get their nurseries in shape. Since starting up in July, she’s helped more than two dozen moms with tasks as varied as cleaning and organizing the nursery to setting up custom gift registries to figuring out which baby swing’s rocking motion is most soothing. I wrote about her business, which is called Nursery 101, for today’s paper. You can read my story here. (Above is a picture taken by my colleague Tom Nycz of Vera organizing the closet of mom Sandrine Grab of Mount Kisco, who has a 6-week-old baby at home.)

What did the rest of you moms and dads do when it was time to get ready for baby? Did you find yourself wishing for an extra pair of hands? Would you ever hire a nursery consultant?

This morning, after reading this story this story, I found myself talking aloud. To myself.

The case, briefly: Collette A. Barnes, who has a home day care businesses in Stamford, Conn. is free on bail, after being charged with a number of crimes, including leaving her 14-year-old daughter in charge of a whole bunch of kids, hosting a child care facility in a house in need of cleaning and serious repairs (not to mention the possibility of lead paint in the home), and bunch of other problems. It gets worse: Apparently Barnes left her day care business in another adult’s hands while she went to Florida to bring her father to NY for a visit. The adult backed out of the deal and then Barnes’ mother was supposed to take over. But when inspectors paid a surprise visit to the home, no adult was with the kids and the 14-year-old was in charge.

No doubt, this is bad. And if I had a kid there, I would probably take him out. Pronto. But a parent interviewed for the story, who leaves four children in Barnes’ care, says she has very few other options for care. At least care that she can afford and that will work with her fluctuating work schedule. She’s considering sending her kids to her mother in Florida if she can’t find care while Barnes’ business is shut down.

I empathized with this parent: She feels, despite all evidence to the contrary, this is good care for her kids. Barnes reads to the kids and helps them with potty training, she says. Those are good qualities, yes. But then Barnes leaves the state without a responsible adult in charge of her business? That’s unfathomable, in my view. Yet, when your options are limited, you overlook a lot of things.

Still, Barnes faces the possibility of going to jail for 48 years, if she’s found guilty of all the charges. Certainly, I thought to myself, she should never operated a day care facility again and should find another line of work. She made gross errors and poor judgment calls all around. And, as a police officer investigating the case said, she’s just very fortunate that this didn’t end disastrously. But 48 years in prison? I don’t know.

What do you think?