Stop and Smell The Diapers

Carter will be 2 in December.

I didn't realize until now how often I tell my son to be quiet, calm down, stop jumping, lower your voice.... the list goes on. Every time we seem to communicate, in hindsight it seems like I'm always being negative towards both of them.

I can imagine how that must seem from a three-year-old's perspective. From my point of view, I'm trying to teach him to behave appropriately. But what am I really asking of him? To be quiet, to stop using his imagination? Take that out of his mouth. To pipe down and be still? Oh how he must feel when I tell him to stop having fun.

Am I fun killer? I feel like the fun killing Mom right now. Oh hey, Mom Guilt, it's been a while!

Tonight was different, however. I really watched him, listened to him, saw him. I let him speak when I normally would've shushed him. I redirected his poking and prodding with simple movements and play instead of snipping at him about how I dislike being constantly touched.

I stopped expecting him to know... well... anything, and started trying to teach him by example instead of by correcting him.

And you know what I saw? I saw a smart, well-spoken (especially for a three-year-old!) young man who still has so much to learn about the world around him. I stopped seeing the stubborn, dramatic, hyper child I normally see, and instead appeared this wide-eyed pre-schooler. The kid that deserves my patience instead of the kid who gets my attention in all of the wrong ways.

I stopped blaming him, the kid... my kid, for being himself. I don't know where along the line I started feeling resentful for the loss of sleep and the hyperactive behaviour, the constant push and pull of motherhood, but I did. It pains me to admit it, because regardless of that I love my child so deeply it simply cannot be contained, but somewhere along the line I forgot to see him as a child instead of just as my child.

Today one of my lovely co-workers pointed out that "they're only lent to us for a short time, and once they're gone, there's no getting them back!" -- at the time it didn't mean more to me than shoes that are too small and pangs for the days of cuddling a newborn quietly on my own, but now I have a better understanding of what she meant. It's not that we'll lose them all-together, but we will lose them to the world. A lot sooner than expected. When she said it I was thinking eighteen if I was lucky, but she meant four... five... the beginning of the end.

I've been spending my days counting down to kindergarten, counting down to being finished potty training... counting down until the moment they'll finally sleep by themselves in their own beds.

 I need to stop this, now! I need to measure every moment, enjoy them while they still need me. Don't let them look back on this time and always see me rush, rush, rushing out the door and herding them upstairs so I can have a few free moments to myself. I will have more of those than I can handle soon, I'm sure.

Somehow I have become so caught up in the rushing from the entrance to the exit that I have been forgetting to enjoy the ride. So today, tomorrow and until I have to pull this post up and read it again to remind myself, I am going to give myself the gift of more patience and give my boys exactly what they deserve: my time.