During T’s infancy I dreamed about the day he would say ‘Mama’ and then someday ‘Mommy’. It was every bit as amazing as I’d hoped when it finally happened. He couldn’t say it enough for me back then. Every time I heard it I felt a tiny bit more like a Mom.
Moms I knew with older kids would occasionally complain about the chorus of ‘Mommies’ that constantly punctuated their days. I read several blog posts on the topic as well and I was completely incredulous. How could you ever get tired of hearing your child call you Mommy? You see where I’m going here…
He whines it, he makes it into 14 distinct syllables, he says it over and over and over no matter what I’m doing. Yesterday I wanted to pee alone. And by alone I mean with just one of my children. I can’t leave them together unsupervised. C is climbing up on everything, T seems to be constantly attempting to maim C. And not to be graphic, but I have my fucking period, so I wasn’t feeling like welcoming an audience in the can. I literally ran to the bathroom with C in my arms, trailed by T. I turned the lock and for the next 90 seconds T pounded his fists on the door, wept, explained to me that he needed to be with me while I peed, and somehow managed to scream “Mommy” about 50 times.
People. I just want to urinate in relative peace.
This kid is driving me up the fucking wall. That is, until I’m not with him. Then I miss him so much my heart actually aches. The class I am taking has been awesome so far, and it is a wonderful break from the stay at home mom-ness of my life. During the most recent class I heard someone call “Mom” several times. Turns out one of the Chefs has a son who has a work study job in the department and he was there and needed her. It made me miss T so much that tears started to well in my eyes.
T started preschool again last week. He’s going a lot this year-Monday-Friday from 9-2:30. Big change from twice a week for 3 hours. His teacher and Z assured me he was ready for so much. And deep down I know he is, it’s just that I’m not. I’m not ready to have him gone for lunch 5 days a week forever. Because we aren’t going to suddenly have him to go preschool less next year. And the year after that is kindergarden, and next thing we know he’ll be off to fucking college. I’m being flip, but it’s true. As much as little man is sapping my will to live, um, I mean challenging me right now I’m still struggling with the fact that he is becoming his own person. It’s time to start practicing sending him off into the world. Isn’t that what school, sleepovers, camp is? Him practicing his independence from us, us practicing letting him go a little?
Damn, it’s hard. His preschool has a kind of ease into things day where a parent accompanies each child to the room for an hour to get to know the teachers with about 6 other students. This year I took T. We played with the diggers (of course) and the cool sparkly play dough. And I noticed I could not keep my hands off of him. As we sat on the floor I had him pulled into my lap, I smelled his sweet little head and stroked his hair. I rubbed his back, I kissed him over and over. And then I sort of caught myself. Looked around. Noticed none of the other parents were doing it. Realized I was because it was either that or cry. I missed him already.
This three year old thing is kicking my butt. Zeke’s, too. Half the time T is the sweetest kid on the planet, the other half the time he’s a sociopath. We aren’t worried about it because every three year old we know is the exact same way. There is a big part of me that is breathing a huge sigh of relief about school starting. He can be someone else’s nightmare for a bunch of hours every week day. I’ve been ready for him to go back since about the week after school ended last spring. So it has surprised the hell out of me that it’s also been this hard. Yet another lesson I’ve learned since becoming a parent-I can fervently love and adore the largest pain in my ass while wanting to strangle him. It’s a good thing. It’s nature’s way of making sure I don’t feed him to the wolves.