I sometimes think that the relationship between parent and child is, for the child, the first great love story, which sets the stage for all others. Trust is learned now, before there is a word for it. Inside jokes and shared grins begin now, before there are punchlines that anyone else could hear. And for my part, I had loved deeply in my life before I parent, but then I fell off a cliff.
We had a really delightful weekend. It was the first little stretch that Ellie had seemed hearty and healthy in quite a while. She has been under siege with a plethora of viruses, fevers, curious rashes and a persistent ear infection that has required course after course of escalating antibiotics. Ellie has, right on schedule, begun exploring her personal autonomy. This weekend, she bandied about a new catchphrase -- "No thanks, I don't want it." She declared it alone in the sandbox, in her crib after we had left her to nap, and of course, in response to any question.
We are floored by new realizations about the extent of her reasoning abilities and understanding. I did not expect that at this age, it would be so important to her that I carefully explain how I reasoned my way to certain decisions -- we need to go inside, because Zoe needs to use the potty, and she is waiting for us to let her outside; you need to sit down, because if you fell off the chair, you would be very hurt, and mama would be so sad.
I read somewhere, in a positive discipline article, that so often when a child is misbehaving, it is because of a disconnect between the parent and the child. And so I have been teaching myself to wait, and respect Ellie's pace, whenever I can, even if it takes fifteen minutes to travel from the car to the front door, because she is collecting all of the fallen leaves in our path. She calls them leafys, and she sings the cleanup song she learned at preschool as she gathers them. Like other people, small children feel safe and whole when they feel listened to, when it seems that their opinions and needs matter, at least enough to be acknowledged, even when an adult makes a different decision.
Ellie is happening upon the twos, so sometimes, we have had trouble discerning her wishes and deciphering her moods. One of her frequent responses to yes/no questions is, "Yeah no." It typically means yes, but it is difficult to be confident. She answers questions very earnestly, with a serious expression on her face, sometimes. Her vocabulary has grown exponentially, but we still sometimes have trouble understanding what she is saying. What seems to master most to her, however, is that someone is trying to understand. She repeats herself patiently. Sometimes, when hungry, tired, or unwell in particular, things do spin out and it is hard to get back on track. She will cry, "blue one," or "hold it," repeatedly, and we will either not be able to determine what she wants, or provide it. Sometimes she will sob for milk while she is holding milk. Some meltdowns are unavoidable and become protracted, but if we are lucky, she will accept a hug or crack a smile on response to a joke, and the cycle can be broken by reconnecting.
In general, she seems to be enjoying her relationships with classmates. Sometimes, she can be very insistent about getting the attention of someone, repeating Hi Romy, Hi Romy until a child responds. She has also been known to encourage her classmates to hug her beloved lamb, Baa, very enthusiastically. But when a child took Baa, Ellie was fairly chill about it, tugging back after a minute while saying Baa. No tears, no yelling, no hitting. And when we got a call about a biting incident, I first worried that she was the biter, but it turned out that she had been bitten, and was fairly nonplussed by it. She likes her classmates, but we hear the most about her lovely teacher, Ms. Kat.
She does have moments of being more assertive. She yells No at Zoe for no reason we understand, as well as at other dogs, and occasionally, on the playground. I struggle with how to handle these exclamations. No can be an extremely important word. I do not want to create a taboo around it, exorcism with a girl.
Ellie is still very fond of hugs and cuddles, and I soak those up, knowing they will not last forever. I wish so much for more time with her. I particularly wish that I could give her shorter days of preschool and more laid back time at home with us. I never had such long days until I became involved in extracurricular activities in middle school.
There is so much I could write about her fierce spirit, her tenderness, her intelligence and humor. I need to sleep, so I have to wait. For now, I will just say, what an incredible gift to be her parents. I know we only borrow our exquisite children from the universe. But my whole heart is wrapped around this gift from the universe. To me, she is spectacular.
PostScript: It is a rainy Monday morning, and the typical mad dash ensued. The contrast between the slow weekend mornings, with long hugs and library books, with the clipped weekday mornings, a temse jumble of toothbrushing and raincoats and running late, is jarring for me. I wonder how it feels for her. I want to give her shorter days at preschool and quieter, more gentle weekday mornings. We focus on the $15,000 per year that it would cost for me to work eight hours less each week, and the effect that could have on college savings. But as I feel the distance between us widen so slightly on weekday mornings, I wonder if it is worth it. Tuition will cost, it is estimated, $140,000 per year for each child. But who will she be when she arrives at the doorstep of adulthood? Will she be firmly rooted in the foundation of our love, the comforting circle of family third ties? I want to hold her closer. I want to be sure.
