Love/Hate

Hugo is getting really good at walking while holding on to my hands.  I can feel that his balance is getting there and I have one, maybe two months left before he takes off on his own.  Which brings dread to my heart.  Mostly, because it is a sign that he is not truly a baby any more (please pause for a long sigh), but also because I have a love/hate relationship with the time between walking and three years old.

I love this age because they are just learning to speak.  Each new word that comes out of their mouths is so undeniably, scumptiously, eat-them-up cute.  Their babbling is like a stream of adorableness - you want to take every wonderful word that pours out of their miraculous mouths and string it onto  some garland and hang it up at Christmas for all the world to see.  (And, in my imagings to admire in absolute awe - "Your child said that?!  Oh, how adorably cute!  Sigh.  Swoon."  Heh. Heh. Right.)

On the other hand, they may be learning to speak, but they are also learning to communicate...and let's face it - they are no good at it.  Every word, every hand gesture, every sign takes them an enormous amount of effort causing them to wail, moan, cry, and occasionally tantrum in frustration, not at themselves for being unable to make you understand, but with you for not understanding.  They can be bitter, bitter little beings when (come on!) they are so smart; just listen to what they are saying now.  And then you don't get it?!  You don't understand?!  What the heck is your problem already?!

But even worse, to me, is that with their mobility comes some of the most energy-consuming moments, heck long spans of time, in a Mother's life.  If you have read Harry Potter then you can hear Mad-Eye's voice barking at you when I say, "Constant Vigilance!"  This is my motto during toddlerhood.  Constant vigilance!  It is exhausting.  I sometimes feel like a rolling eyeball that could see in the back of my head (as well as through walls) would not be remisce. 

Lego long lost under the loveseat?  Zoink.  Attempting to waddle over the discarded baby doll?  Dive.  Look at those little legs going as fast as they possibly can.  Quick!  Caculate in your head the furthest distance you can let your child run and still catch them before they get to the end of the driveway.  Hey, why do we put these two-pronged thingy-ma-bobs- into these little holes?  Isn't that intersting?  Grab.  What's this crawling thing in the grass?  Swipe.  Hey, I can ride that bike if you can!  Reach.  Dive.  Swat.  Steal.  Grab.  Run.  Run.  Pull.  Catch.  Dive.  Run.  Dive.  Run.  Dive.  Run.

Yeah...you remember.  Or, you'll be there soon enough.  Good luck to you my friend.

And, of course, the social life you once had that has run completely dry will suddenly return in full swing.  You will be invited to picnics and birthday partys and barbeques and more birthday parties.  Will you get to talk to even one of those long lost friends?  Nope.  Here is how the conversation will go.

"Oh hi, Susan, I haven't seen you in so long!  How is little Robbie doing?  What?  He's four already?  I can't believe that!  Are you still..."  Wait.  Where'd you go?  Nice dive!!!  Only Susan doesn't even stop to admire your amazingness as you save your 15-month old's life...no, you get no praise, no glory, because she has already been distracted by little Robbie sauntering up covered in some kind of goo, wanting another snack.  You are left to toddle after your toddler and seek your fortunes elsewhere, where you will begin the whole maddening process over again.  Thirty-seven minutes later, you will come within speaking distance of Susan again and for the last time at this party.  You will give her the head nod and smile combo.  It just isn't worth it.

And this, my friends, is how we moms become socially isolated.

Meanwhile, over at the beer cooler...

So, where's the joy?

Are you kidding?  Each little finger pinch at an ant or long-distance freedom trial down the driveway is a best-selling short story.  Your only buyer may be yourself and your husband, but your coin is worth more than all the bling in the world to this child, so cash it in!  And, when you have a truly good one be sure to call Grandma.  She's always all ears because she lives, and I mean lives, to repeat that story to her bridge group.  So what that your old working friend could give two shakes about what your little man did this morning, you are his champion and this is the story of his life.  Be sure to write down a few of these morsels because though he may tire of hearing about the time he got the Cheerios and milk out on his own, when he has a two year old of his own he is going to remember that story that you have been telling everyone for the last thirty years and shake his head at the marvel that is his own child.  And the world will flip on it's head for several moments and he will see the love pouring out of you to two-year old him...even as he also remembers how you scared the mushrooms out of him screaming for him to put the gallon down.  And so it goes.