Our pediatrician has asked us repeatedly about "separation anxiety". It was a milestone our kiddo never hit. Sure, he's shy when an inquisitive stranger smiles at him (generally resulting in sly smile and burying of little face into my leg). Sure, he's going through an epic "Mommy" phase which is equal parts adorable and impossible. But when it's time to part ways my son has mostly come to accept the reality that we have lives beyond one another. Or, more rightly, that he has a life beyond me and I sit in a closet all day gathering dust until it's time for me to pick him up again.
When C was six months old I went back to work full time and he started up at daycare - a wonderful family run program that incorporates a pre-school curriculum into daily activities and has really come to be a second home to all of us. Rewind two weeks before I was scheduled to head back to the office and young C to the classroom, however, and you would find a panic stricken mother who couldn't get her baby to nap without at least forty-five minutes of vigorous, swaddled rocking and who couldn't get her baby to eat from a bottle. So, unless I was able to find a way to medically detach myself from my boobs and staple C into his swaddle there were going to be some hefty changes a foot. And in the nearly six months that C and I had known each other we had come to the mutual understanding that we both suffered greatly when hungry, sleep deprived, or confronted with change. Hooray! Lo and behold, though, that the transition to daycare did not bring forth the end of the world. Nothing fell from the sky. The world continued to turn. Honestly, I think we were both a little surprised. Suddenly, the bottle was an acceptable medium for dinner and sleep training brought forth oodles of much needed hours of sleep for all involved. It was a good change for both of us. I knew it. And C knew it. And he never once cried when I dropped him there at the end of the day.
In effect that should be a good little parable. But, of course, it left me wondering if I had in some way failed him. Why wasn't he clinging to me with wild abandon begging me not to leave him? Doesn't he need me anymore? Truth? He does need me. A whole lot. And the drama free drop offs? A sign that he's a happy, well adjusted and confident little world explorer. Still, it's at least a smidge heartbreaking every time he gives me a little kiss and yells "BYE BYE MOMMY!!" as he's running off to join the other children each morning. He's two. I didn't think I'd have to see that kind of gleeful departure until he was eighteen.
Since that time our little guy has made new friends, developed his own keen interets and expanded his little world exponentially - something I don't think I managed to do until college. In the instances when C gets up in the morning and I've already left the house, he looks at G and asks: "Mommy work?" He knows where I am. He knows what it means (to some extent at least - that could still mean gathering dust in the closet next to his old jumperoo). And most importantly - he knows that I'll be back.
His vocabulary is sprouting new seeds every day - surprising the hell out of G and I every time he shoots off a new word or phrase. And, of course, being the true only child - all things belong to him. Nouns. Verbs. Adjectives. He is possessive of all of them. "My mow-mow!"(lawn mower); "My night-night!"(sleep); "My toot!"(farts - he's not just accountable for them, he's damn proud of them) and, newly added to the list, "My wiggle!"(the group the Wiggles. Somebody better inform their representation - they now legally, physically and metaphorically and otherwise belong to my child).
I also happen to think that someone explained the concept of parenting to him incorrectly. I am not now, nor have I ever been, or in any way resemble a genie in a lamp. For some reason my son seems to think that if he claps his hands that you magically materialize at which time he can make unfettered demands. "Bob - on!" (aka - put on Bob the Builder. This news stuff is crap and Daddy, the Cubs still suck.) "Daddy - mow-mow! Mommy weep!" (aka - Daddy, go mow the lawn as it amuses me endlessly. Mommy....make yourself useful and clean up the mess I made all over the kitchen floor) "Mickey - eat/march/run/deet!" (aka - you're lower on the food chain than I am dog and we both know it. So eat, march, run and sit at my command lest you want me to prod you repeatedly with my jabby finger or run you over with my fisher price lawn mower. Here's some scraps for your trouble).
Yes - my son is not lacking for confidence or independence. When he isn't busying himself with barking orders he's germanating new and exciting ways to confound G and I. Current favorite activity? Reading the "C" books (the many volumes of photo albums all starring - C! Not so interested in the ones before he was born). Current favorite word? "Park". As in "lets go to the". Last week G and I were cleverly referring to the "Parents Guide to Outsmarting Your Toddler" by spelling everything in front of C. I said, "G - it's supposed to be sunny tomorrow, that may mean it's nice enough for the P-A-R-K." C looked at us and exclaimed "PARK!" That constituted one of those moments where you realize how grossly you've underestimated your children. G and I exchanged glances and therein came to an unspoken agreement that we'd raised an evil genius - a spelling prodigy. With trembling trepidation we repeated the question over and over..."C, what does P-A-R-K spell?" "PARK PARK PARK!" It wasn't until some time later that I thought to ask..."C, what does B-A-B-Y spell?" "PARK!" "What does D-O-G spell?" "PARK" "What does D-A-D-D-Y spell?" "PARK PARK PARK" And with that we were once again wrapped in a warm blanket of reassurance that (for the time being) we were not on the verge of being surpassed in power and/or intelligence by our two year old. Of course, he may just be on to us and feigning ignorance...only time will tell.
He's definitely his own person - and I love that about him. For the first many months of his life G and I would contemplate which parts of him were derived from parts of he or I. My ears, your nose. My feet, your eyes. My laugh...your insatiable desire for mischief and destruction. It's only recently occured to me that so much of C is just that - him. His sense of humor. His dance moves. His imagination (what other kid out there has a stuffed seal named "kitty", a push wagon named "doggie", a penguin named "duck" and a family of stuffed bears all named "Nunny". Blue Nunny. Red Nunny. Baby Nunny. Oh, and Nunny Too.) He always engages us in his world of play - excited to share with us all of his wonderful creations and scenarios. And while he might skip away when it's time to part ways for the day, eager to learn and explore and grow, he always comes running for me when I pick him up. He never wants to leave us, necessarily - but his world goes on for the short times that we do. And when we're at home again, he sits in my lap and we begin my favorite time of day - when he recounts to me all of the amazing things he encountered in those parted hours with the excitement and wonder that Dorothy had upon her return from Oz. And he hugs me. And there's no place like home...no place like home...
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