I’ve had this little obsession lately. I’m terrified of The Destroyer growing up without contact with other little people and being all maladjusted. I’m not talking about midgets, here kids. I mean other children. Although getting to hang out with a troupe of midgets all day would be kinda cool.
Maybe I won’t feel so bad once the The Destroyer, Part B arrives. There will automatically be contact and play and sharing then right? I mean, I don’t want to breed just for the sake of giving my child a playmate, but it can’t hurt, right?
And so, during the week while Daddy is busy working or sleeping after a long night shift, I bundle the little bugger up in search of playgroups. Winnipeg has a great number of community centers and churches that run playgroups for tiny monsters that are free or super cheap. I’m going in search of some playmates for my child, time for her to encounter other little kids, learn to share, copy what they do, and become more of a person and less of a baby.
Yeah. Ok. In reality, I want to entertain the little thing so the house is in one piece at the end of the day, and tire her out so she’ll nap at 2 and I can watch Dr. Phil in peace.
And guess what else? She doesn’t give a shit about the other kids. She is overwhelmed and delighted and deliriously happy about all these things to climb on and slide off and drive around. She toddles over to each new adventure, turning around to make sure I am watching, and my heart melts for her. I end up thinking ” I am at this moment the most important person in her life, and maybe I can hold on to this for a little longer.”
Because soon enough, she will notice the other children, and instead of parallel play, there will be interactive play, and she won’t care as much that I am as excited to watch as she is to play. Soon enough there will be dance class or karate, or cello lessons or whatever, and these moments won’t belong to just me anymore. Soon enough there will be makeup and training bras and boys and oh my God I don’t want her to ever grow up. Despite the complications of entertaining a toddler and carting one around with you everywhere, I want these days to last forever.
I’ll take the shitty diapers, and the screeching sound effects that come with every action, the spaghetti sauce in her hair, the middle of the night wake ups. I’ll take it all forever, if she loves me this much forever.
So maybe I should just be thankful. I get to stay home and be her Mommy for all these days while she is tiny and needy and messy and unsocialized. Who cares. She is bonded with me. I should be thankful that while so many Moms have to send their child to be cared for by someone else, I get to enjoy her craziness and littleness for a little longer.
And you know what? I’m good with that. Because maybe I’m not ready to share her just yet.