You turned ten-months-old a little over a week ago. Why didn't I write this on time? You're not supposed to ask questions like that yet.
One thing that needs to be discussed right now, up front, before anything else:
Your OPINION. YOU HAVE MADE IT KNOWN.
Somewhere in the last month I crossed that line from caretaker of a baby to caretaker and disciplinarian, and I'm not so sure I'm ready for that. I definitely didn't think it would happen this soon. I read somewhere that discipline with a ten month old is all about tone of voice. So, I tested that theory out.
You were eating lunch, something you don't particularly want to do, it's more something that I have to force you to do at this point, you'd much rather be down in the floor crawling around trying to pull outlet protectors from their sockets. After much screaming, crying and arm flailing, with broccoli and chicken all over you, me, the floor and the highchair, I said in a very stern, adult voice: "Colin, that is not necessary." NOT NECESSARY? Who says that to a ten-month-old? Like you would understand perfectly that the situation called for a more appropriate response. Other mommies use words like NO and STOP to signal that someone should not do what they are doing, but not me. No, I use words like NOT NECESSARY.
But, IT WORKED. You stopped, stared at me, your arms came down...and you began your mad-at-the-world cry. You. Had. Just. Gotten. In. Trouble. How had cute, little Colin, in trouble? You must have realized how serious the situation was, because after just a few seconds of crying, you opened your mouth. And ate.
Then there is the car keys. You want those keys like nothing else. You can hear the little "tinkle tinkle" of them and come crawling and whining to them as fast as your little body can carry you. But I have to take them from you, I MUST have them to drive the car, and that makes you mad. So I give them to you as soon as we get to our destination. We went to Target a couple of weeks ago, and I gave them to you while I was getting you in the cart. Once you were settled, I took them from you. That was the first dumb thing I did, I realize now, because you just don't take away something from a baby without replacing it with something else. I guess this is what they refer to as distraction, or the phenomenon called Babies Don't Know Any Different. You threw your first ever temper tantrum, and you had to do it RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF TARGET. Thank you, Colin. So, I tried to give you your favorite rattle, and you pushed it aside. NO. I tried Lamby. NO. You wanted those freaggin' keys. But I don't want you putting them in your mouth, but after 2 minutes of temper tantrum I crumbled, and gave them to you. Then I spent the next 30 minutes telling you "Not in your mouth" and pushing them down. But, at least you were happy.
You're probably wondering at this point if I have anything good to say, and I do, I'll get to that in a minute. But there's all this other stuff that you keep throwing at me AND I NEED A MOMENT TO CATCH MY BREATH, PLEASE:
1) You've learned how to undo the velcro straps on your diapers while you're lying on the changing table.
2) You pee in the bathtub quite frequently.
3) You've learned to sit up in your crib, so now when we lay you down we have to check on you after awhile to make sure that you are 1. actually sleeping and not sitting there playing with the bumper or 2. fallen asleep in a half-sitting position because you wake up 30 minutes later, sore and mad.
4) You must be entertained at all times, or you whine.
Are we there yet? To the good parts? There have to be good parts right? And there are, Little Man. There are, like how you snuggle me and give kisses. Like the way you smile when your Daddy comes home from work. Like the way you crawl around just saying "Momma" all day. Like the sound of your laugh and how it heals my heart. Like your chunky little thighs and how you laugh the hardest when I nibble on them. Like how you love to push your balls around the floor and chase after them, hours on end. Like how you and Henry stare out the windows together. Like when I do give you my keys you don't whine for at least ten whole minutes. Like your pudgy little feet and how ticklish they are. Like how you love your books and pounding their pages. Like when you are crawling around ninety to nothing and you just stop all of a sudden, sit down, and look around, like you need a break before you start right back up again. Like how I can pick you up when you're crying and you'll put your head on my shoulder and the world is all right again.
There are so many good things, and I think we're both learning our roles as momma and son, caretaker and torturer.
Love,
Momma
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