Leaps and Bounds

Gus is growing and changing and learning SO fast. It feels like he makes these giant leaps in ability and logic almost overnight. I know that isn't true, that all of these things are simmering in the background until the day he puts them together outwardly, but it feels so amazingly out of the blue sometimes. It's exciting to think about the millions of neural connections he's making all the time. (exciting for a geeky girl like me, at least)

He understands so much language and makes these really cool associations. (All animals are in the same category and called "Cat" - except he will say "Dog". All fruit is in the same category and called "App" - apple - but we are working on "Ba" - banana. I told him the other day that the dishwasher was hot. He looked at it, then toddled over and gingerly put his hand on the oven and said "Hot"!) He surprises me with the things he can do, but then again, I'm not surprised one bit. (I can ask him to meet me at the bottom of the stairs and he can navigate them slowly and safely (backwards). I can ask him to pick out socks and he will walk over, open the drawer, stand on his tippy toes, reach in and pull out a pair of socks.) He is independent but still craves snuggles. (At the park, he'll climb up the play structure on his own, run across the bridge, go down the slide or stairs, and then run over and give me a hug. So adorable and makes my heart melt.)

Of course, it's not all easy and fun stuff. He definitely has his opinions about what he wants and doesn't want, and they grow stronger everyday as we hurtle decidedly into toddlerhood. And sure, in the middle of a struggle to get his shoes on or to stop him from pulling on the cat or to keep him from throwing food - enter any boundary here - it's a little harder to be jazzed about how much he's growing. But stepping back, it's amazing to see that he is really coming into himself and growing into an independent and mostly happy kid. (Feel free to remind me I've said this when I have smoke coming out of my ears during a "mommy time-out" mid-tantrum)

I don't want to squelch that. That independence, that confidence. So even though it is extremely, extremely difficult sometimes (Oh, I'll definitely screw it up. Lots.), I'm committed to being as mindful as I can be of him as a person in making boundaries lovingly. Not punishing him for doing what he was born to do and being who he was born to be. Not crushing that bright, self-assured, jubilant spirit of his. And hopefully in so doing, I can grow by leaps and bounds too.

Learning to Walk

Gussie is walking! Like really, really doing it. Letting go of the furniture, standing up from the floor by himself, walking. It is amazing.  It happened practically overnight. He had taken a few steps tentatively from one of us to the other a month or so ago, but then lost interest. Who can blame him? His funny little one-leg-tucked crawl is fast. He's perfected it. It's his preferred way to travel.

So last week, he started taking a few steps away from the furniture to try to get the cat. He'd been walking around holding onto the furniture but showing no interest in letting go for awhile. Anytime he realized he was standing up by himself, he'd look around like, "WTF?" and slowly lower himself to the ground. But the cats, the cats were just too tempting. Indie was just a few feet away from the couch, and well, Gus just let go! The look on his face when he realized what he'd done was so cool. I clapped and said, "Good job!" and he broke out into the world's biggest grin. It was super fast after that. He kept doing these little journeys from various pieces of furniture out into the wide world. He got more and more adept. (He went from looking like Baby Godzilla to looking only slightly drunk in less than a week.) If we weren't there or didn't realize quickly enough to clap for him, he clapped for himself!! How awesome is that?

The reactions I've gotten to his new "talent" have been mixed. It seems to be some variation of one of two things. People in the first camp say "OMG! Watch out. Your life just got way harder. Get your running shoes." People in the second camp say "That's so great. He has so much more independence now." I find it very interesting. The first one is more about the parents, the second one more about the kid. I know it may complicate things in some ways, but I'm so happy. Because he is happy. I saw it in his eyes. And that helped me see it through his eyes. I hope he can always be that joyful and confident and proud of his accomplishments!

And He is so proud! I think it's really cool. I have a lot of trouble feeling proud. I even had arguments in my head with myself about whether it was okay to feel proud of him for walking (it was my first reaction). I thought, "that's just what babies do and why am I feeling proud?" Then a friend of mine told me that I totally had every right to feel proud. That I was here for him and loving him and that (Shelley and) I had a lot to do with how joyfully and confidently he took those first steps. I'm working on believing that.

Sometimes I think that raising children, in addition to being about evolution of the species, is about the parents' evolution. At least for me it feels that way. This gig is hard. As I've said before I know I think a lot, but I doubt I'm the only person that has shit come up for them when raising a kid. It makes you face your demons. Partly because you want so badly to banish them so your kid doesn't have to fight them, partly because you want them out of the way for your own sake, so you can just enjoy this amazing little person in front of you. I think learning to walk is a good metaphor for it. You take a few tentative steps. You fall down. A lot. You keep getting back up and trying again. You are unsteady on your feet but so excited about your newfound freedom. Then, you get more confident, more steady. Perhaps even start running. But you always are on the lookout for something in your path, waiting to trip you up. Maybe, just maybe, I'll have it mastered by the time he's 30.

Mirror, Mirror

Parenthood feels to me like a giant effin' mirror being thrust in my face all the time. I examine, and re-examine, and over-examine almost every decision I make during a day with Gus. I guess it's not totally fair to blame it all on the parenting. Some of it (okay a lot of it) is just me. But it does feel like decisions are more dire now. Before, if I forgot to eat or chose to eat badly, eh - it's only affecting me (and maybe Shelley cuz I'm supercrank when my blood sugar's low). But now, it's also affecting little dude. In multiple ways. There's cranky mom and also bad-model mom. I don't want to be grumpy with him for no reason. I also want him to learn to eat well. Anyway, you get the point.

The thing about mirrors, though, is that sometimes they can be distorted. Sometimes the glass is warpy or there's a crack that throws off the whole reflection. And, no matter how perfectly the reflection is coming through, it's also about what I choose to see when I look. I'm kind of a master at seeing all the wrinkles and flaws. But for Gus's sake, I need to get better at seeing the good stuff. I don't want him to necessarily experience the world in the way that I do. I want him to experience it in his own way. I want to be careful not to distort what he sees with my own warpy glass.

And, I am a mirror to him. I try to mirror back at him what I see on his face. If he's joyful or grieving or proud or whatever, I try to be attuned to that. I want him to feel felt and known. I want him to be as satisfied with the reflection of himself that he sees in me as he is with the one he sees in the mirror.

'Cause right now, he LOVES what he sees when he looks in a mirror. He smiles. He laughs. He leans forward and kisses his reflection. It is the cutest thing I've ever seen. And, I must confess, I'm freakin jealous! I wish I could look at my reflection and be that happy with it. I think, for his sake, I have to find a way.

The great thing, though, is that he's a little mirror, too. And the reflection I see of myself in his eyes blows me away! He doesn't care what I look like on the outside. He doesn't see all the flaws (inner and outer) that I do. All he seems to see is awesome. And needs met. And love. I'm sure as he gets older he will see things he doesn't particularly like. But that's okay too. All of what he sees is Mama.

Obstacles? I don't see any obstacles.

I've been thinking about obstacles while watching my son. He doesn't know what they are. Something is on the floor in your way? No matter, you crawl over it, force your way under it. There is a step, or a piece of furniture, or a cat in your path? Just keep going. If only it were that easy for the rest of us. One of his favorite games at the moment is to have Mama (me) crawl around behind him on the floor. He crawls a few feet, then stops and turns to make sure I'm following. I'm usually closer than he expects, I guess, and he bursts into peals of laughter, his right cheek dimple on full display. Then he takes off again. Usually under the dining room table and chairs. Despite the bruises on my knees and the pain in my wrists, I kind of love it. But I can't make my way through the chairs like he does, I have to move them. I can't fly across the floor with abandon - I need to move the toys and pots and pans. I choose to go around the cats.

Psychologically speaking, I feel like I come up against a lot of obstacles. Many I put there myself. (I'm working on this) Some were put there for me. Some, quite frankly, are put there by this kid - the one who seems so rarely hindered. I'm not necessarily complaining about this. It's all a learning opportunity - and on the days where I'm feeling okay and I've had enough quiet, introverted time to myself and I've eaten as often as I should, I dig learning opportunities. But obstacles are still hard. They trip us up. Make us falter in our stride. Change direction.

As much as I sometimes think, "How can I encourage him to continue to be blind to obstacles?" I ultimately think that would be doing him a disservice. Not everything should be easy. Learning opportunities are vital to growth. Changing direction is how we deal, how we stay alive, really. But I do hope that he will continue to be mostly unfazed by them, or at least that they won't throw him as far off his path as they sometimes do me. I want him to learn. To grow. To cope. And to get up and keep going if (and, most assuredly, when) he falls down. I hope I can foster in him an ability to meet his obstacles with less anxiety than I meet mine. I hope he will always be willing to try. If his personality now is any indication, I think (fingers crossed) it's a real possibility.

What do you mean I don't fit under here with this pack on my back?