What happens when Mama tries to multitask, January 2014
Someone wise once said the only constant is change, and never is that truer than when you have small children.
Emry was the sweetest, mellowest baby. He would just put himself to sleep in his bouncy chair if he was tired.
But man, is he a rascally 3.5-year-old!
He’s great at entertaining himself. He will play with Legos for hours in a day, making up elaborate stories in which Zane the white ninja changes identities with Spiderman. But then he will start to get frustrated because he can’t get his ship to stay together, and soon he will totally freak out because he can’t find Spiderman’s body or Zane’s head. And then I will find them stuck in the leaves of the big houseplant we have downstairs.
He is a force of nature.
Yesterday, he and Elan were over at the house of a teenage neighbor who babysits for us. They love this boy. I was upstairs in our house when I heard the screaming start. I listened as it slowly worked its way from the neighbor’s yard, out to the sidewalk, over two houses, and down our driveway. We live near a park, so I hear a lot of kids having meltdowns on their way home, but I knew this was Emry. Isn’t it funny how mamas know the cries of their own kids? One of many mama superpowers.
I came out into the driveway and saw the teenager slowly herding Emry down the driveway, as he screamed and fought the whole way. The teen’s face was the picture of pained patience, and I thought Uh oh, wonder if he’ll keep babysitting for us after this one.
Emry had lost a little toy motorcycle at their house, and they couldn’t find it. That explained the screaming. I picked him up and he snuffled to a stop. I gave him a peanut butter sandwich and a baby bel cheese, and he devoured them.
The other day, after he polished off a yogurt post-screaming fit, he actually apologized to me. “Sorry Mama for screaming.”
If only he’d eat before he starts losing it. But he’s too busy playing.
It’s a tricky age. He’s starting to drop his nap. We’re heading into that inevitable period of he-needs-a-nap-but-then-won’t-go-to-sleep-till-ten. The road gets bumpy here. Temper tantrums are accelerating. He’s more into aggressive behavior, whacking Elan with a foam sword while Elan cries to me that Emry’s hitting him. It makes me want to laugh because Elan is twice Emry’s size. But I stuff the laughter and take the sword away from Emry. (At least most of the time I manage to stuff the laughter.)
It is impossible to get Emry dressed in the morning. He wants to stay in his sleeper all day, and on days when he doesn’t have preschool, I often let him. It’s just not something that I find worth fighting for everyday. But then he started wearing the superhero underwear I bought him. Even the smallest size is too big for him, and the leg holes gape around his every-day-lengthening legs, just like they did on Elan when he was this age.
The first day Emry wore them to school, he ran down the hall and burst through the door. “I’m wearing underwear!” he proudly announced to the class.
All the other kids were busy with their own activities. No one seemed to hear him. He glanced at me uncertainly.
“Go tell Teacher Jane,” I encouraged him.
So he tromped right up to his teacher and proclaimed his news.
Beautiful, haystack-haired, exasperating, delightful 3.5-year-old perfection.
