Really cool toy

Mark thought it was silly when I drove 20 minutes to go pick up a marble toy (Discovery Toys Super Marbleworks) from someone on Freecycle. But now that we’ve finally brought it out, I’m so glad I did. Not only does River love it, not only does it entertain him for long periods of time, but it requires real thought on how things are put together and how things work. I’ve even improved with a day of playing with it. The tower today is much more interesting than the one I built the first day. River quickly grasped onto how it works and was easy to understand what made the wheel turn and how to add additional pieces.

For River, 27 months seems to be the transition point to a more mature way of thinking and acting. At this point, we’re starting to be able to identify his strengths and his not so strong areas.

Mark and I are in agreement that he does not have the mark of an athlete. I will encourage him to be athletic, but we’re not counting on any sports scholarships here. His throw is not bad and he has the stamina to walk a very long way. But while other kids are bouncing all over the place, he still won’t step down a stair without someone’s hands for support.

On the flip side though, we are noticing skills in his ability to notice and remember details, the desire and ability to figure things out and a calm persistence to do so. He is kind, empathetic and interested in other children, and seems to be attracted to music.

So I’m thinking of looking into music lessons when he is three or so, will continue to focus on the languages as an intellectual challenge and skill, and am always happy to find cool toys like this one that add analytical thought to play.

Hearing my echo

It’s hard to believe that one year ago, River was not speaking much at all. We are now truly at the stage of two way communication, and it’s so pleasant.

One of the best surprises has been the word “Si,” (yes). We heard only no for so very long. He wasn’t entirely oppositional, but if we suggested something he liked, instead of Si he would say “Okay.”

“Do you want water?”

“OK water!”

Now that si has appeared, it rings beautiful and clear in my ear, full of happiness and agreement and unity.

Today I asked him if he wanted to play with the marble toy. “Si, si mi amor,” he said (yes, yes my love). I had to refrain from laughing as it was just like listening to myself. The si was new as was the “mi amor,” which I say to him all the time.

It just reminds me how much we do serve as models for him. And I was pleasantly surprised to hear my echo in such a positive light. I suppose kids who are frequently yelled at and put down reach a point at which they begin to repeat that back. His echo is happiness and light. It makes me proud and grateful.

The joy of seeing mama

What a joyous experience I had this morning to see and hear my son's pure happiness at my presence. I was about ready to head out for work as he came downstairs. He saw dad and gave him a pleasant enough hello. Then he saw me and his face lit up. Mamaaa!! he said, his eyes wide and bright, his mouth expressing both wonder and joy. Mamaa!!! he walked right past dad, no longer paying him the slighest interest. Then he stopped to point out the treasure he found. "Look, mama!" he said, to Mark, as though he should be similarly overjoyed with my presence. He then walked over to me for a hug and a kiss, twirling my hair and so content to just be near me.

I can't even describe what a wonderful feeling it is to be so loved and wanted. It does make me sad that Mark doesn't get to experience this. But I'm so very grateful that I do. It made me wish I could put off going to work for a couple more hours.

I have a friend who has a very close relationship with her mother. My friend lives overseas and as a result, her mother doesn't get to spend much time with her grandkids. One might think that would drive them apart. When I asked her what made them so close, she said it was the true happiness she heard in her mom's voice every time she called. There was never a question of why haven't you called in so long. But instead, joy and gratitude at the gift of communication.

That's what I feel right now from my son - joy and gratitude for my presence. And that makes me want to be the best mother I can be to him. I hope that as he gets older and we face our respective disappointments, that I can mirror this to him - a consistent gratitude and pleasure in his presence.

Planning

I’m starting to mentally wrap my mind around the idea of a second. I’m not really ready yet. I still don’t want to go through a pregnancy or a childbirth. I still weigh more than I’d like to before getting pregnant. My work situation is not perfect. But I also know that waiting a lot longer doesn’t make a lot of sense either. So I’m starting to get prepared.

I’m off the birth control and back to charting my cycles. I’m through one month and back to a sense of how things are working. I’m picking up a couple of free pregnancy tests from a freecycle neighbor this evening, just to have on hand. I’m setting up doctor’s appointments to for general health checks. I’m planning trips and vacations this year with the expectation that travel next year will be much more difficult with a baby in tow. And I came SO close to buying a Big Bro shirt that was on clearance at Gymboree. We haven’t even made an attempt yet and I’m already on the verge of buying clothing that makes an announcement. That, to me, is what says I am about as ready as I’m going to be.

Daddy's in the doghouse

And we don’t know why. The doctor says it’s the Oedipal complex. And perhaps she is right. She said it would last about a year, which jibes with my friend’s statement that her son started paying attention to his father when he turned three. But boy, it’s bad. I really feel sorry for Mark. And I feel especially bad trying to convince him for a second when he’s being so clearly rejected by the first. Who wants to voluntarily bring on something that requires so much work and sacrifice, but little love in return?

River will be in a happy, cheerful mood, until dad walks in the room.

“Huggies?” dad asks.

“No huggies!!!!” River shouts emphatically.

“Kissies?” dad asks.

“No kissies!”

If dad approaches and tries to get a hug or kiss, River will push him away and shout, “Nooo!”

“Stuffed bear?” dad asked, trying to find something to endear him to River.

“No stuffed bear!”

“Adios River,” dad will say. And only then River brightens up, “Adios papa.” “Adios papa,” he’ll repeat cheerfully. Then he’ll often proceed to ask me for the stuffed bear his dad had just offered me, or come give me a hug.

This morning I wouldn’t give him the bear. I figured his dad had just offered it to him and he’d said no. If he really wanted the bear, he should have taken it from his dad. Other times, when he makes a request, like mama flush the caca, mama take me down from the seat, I’ll oblige, as long as it’s not very inconvenient for the family. But man, I feel bad for Mark.

I wish there was something I could do turn on the love button for him. I’m sure it will come eventually, and I’m afraid the tables will turn one of these days. I’m so grateful that I’m not the one in the doghouse, as that would make me worry terribly about my ability as a parent. But it also hurts to see it happen to Mark.

Lucky

Last night I met a colleague whose 4-year-old son is receiving treatment for leukemia. He was diagnosed in the fall and faces another two years of chemo. She spoke of how he spent three days in the hospital last week due to an ear infection, which caused a fever.

“Any parent knows that a fever of 105 is no big deal,” she said, explaining how he was just going through a standard kid ear infection, but because of the leukemia, was held in the hospital.

I tried to not give away how I really didn’t understand, but I think my look was blank. No, I have no idea what dealing with a 105 degree fever in my child is like. I don’t know what an ear infection is like. I have never seen vomit or diarrhea from my child. Almost every parent I know has dealt with one of those things, but we have been blessedly exempt. If I can’t even fathom those simple illnesses, how can I fathom what it is like to parent a child with leukemia? Especially as a single parent of two with a half hour commute. I can’t. At all.

I can only feel an empathy so intense that if I could translate it into help for her, I would. I can only feel an intense sadness and sense of unfairness that her son has to deal with the fear of death before he has really started to live.

“One of the drugs he is getting is a derivative of mustard gas,” she said. “Who could imagine injecting that into your child? But you do what you have to do.”

It made me feel silly for worrying about chemicals on non-organic grapes, when other children are facing mustard gas derivatives.

I’m simultaneously so damned grateful that River’s hold on life and health is so strong. And I’m scared to know how tenuous that is. To realize that even what seems to be the firmest hold, can be cut so suddenly. And when something happens, we are going to be so unprepared, having had no experience. Just thinking about the possibility was so upsetting to Mark, that he didn’t want to talk about this little boy. It was clear he knew that one little flip of fate, and it could be our son.

The moments that count

It’s been a rough couple of months, with lots of self-doubt, frustration and struggles for balance. Within this, I find that the moments that make me happiest are the fun times I spend with my family. It feels wonderful to be greeted at the door with a high-pitched “Mamaaaaaaa,” and outstretched arms waiting for a hug. I
feel appreciated and validated when my presence is requested to climb on, to be witness to something or to entertain. I don’t need any special skills or talents. I’m not being compared with anyone else. I’m accepted and wanted for who I am.

That’s not to say that I don’t still get joy from other things I used to be passionate about. Upon arrival in Africa, I definitely had a “Cool, I’m in Africa!” moment, where I was thankful I could both be a mother and have that opportunity. I’m still enthusiastic about the appearance of spring buds and flowers, of clean, fresh air, of time with a good book.

But there is something special about family time that makes me feel OK about who I am. That makes me feel I’m doing a good job. And that I’m contributing something that is being appreciated.

The complex continued

Our case of the Oedipus complex continues. Usually, when Mark asks River for a hug or a kiss, River refuses. This morning, just after I’d gotten River up, Mark came in to say hi. River was sitting on his potty. When Mark asked for a hug, River said no. Then River said, “Bye, bye papa.” As in, get out of here.

I have a friend whose second child was incredibly attached to his father as a toddler. Though it was my friend who stayed home and provided 90% of the care, this tyke would go bonkers whenever his dad was home, and tail him like a God. I felt bad for my friend that she was so clearly second best when she was the one who mainly provided for this child’s needs. I was afraid of that happening to me.
Instead, it seems to have happened to Mark.

I’m leaving this weekend for a little over a week. I hope that my time away will be helpful to River and Mark in allowing them to bond without River worrying that Mark will take me away from him. Mark does a lot for River and it’s hard to see him being rejected.