We have dived into the deep dark depths of independence recently. There’s been snippets of wanting to do things himself for a little while now. If you leave him to put his shoes on after one attempt they are flying round his head pretending he’s a helicopter. “Stop mummy” is the response i get when reading a bed time story he gets his own book and off he goes, “ah Thomas…(inaudible blabble)…Percy, James and Dorgan… (inaudible blabble). Wipe his own bum? No problem pass me the sudocrem, in fact mummy are you going to the loo any time soon? Let me help you! Making lunch is no problem, why don’t we just eat things from the jars and chew through the packaging? His desperation to do it himself surpasses the fact that he actually can’t open these things yet. Mummy you look like you are struggling with that fork, ive managed mine no problem at all, let me feed you. I can feed Toby Cat all through out the day, even when you aren’t looking, frozen peas and a packet of crisps ok? “Come on, walk?” is monster for ‘let’s go for a walk but you aren’t allowed to bring the pushchair, hold my hand, or even walk beside me’.
His independence has become my nemesis once a week, in the supermarket. This is probably one of my worst I can’t cope moments. “No Mummy! No! Er No!” Monster shouts slapping my hand away from the shopping trolley, yeah ok you push a full trolley around the supermarket darling, queue “right *hands on hips* puuuuuush, heeeeeave” the trolley smashes into shelves/other trolleys/glass cabinets/other stray toddlers.
I don’t understand why at this moment someone elderly likes to comment about how much of a good job he’s doing, when clearly he is giving me a nervous breakdown? “Aww what a good boy! Are you helping mummy?” watch it lady, you’re about to be mowed down! He’ll sit in the trolley seat until we get in the shop, then he waits till I lean over to pick up the bread on the first shelf and he pops up like a surfer just caught a wave, Argh! Shit! He likes loading the trolley too. I’ve become a master at hiding shopping in the isles, more terrified of being caught by the monster than the shop assistants. “Mummy catch” launching tins, jars, eggs – nothing is safe – he doesn’t quite get that you shout catch BEFORE you throw something.
Independence is a wonderful learning journey. I can only hope to be balancing freedom and a supportive role with sensible boundries for optimising development. (Ooh check me out! Degree used: tick!) But man can these days be stressful! I definitely feel like pouring a glass of wine during “nap time” or crying into a slab of cake. Oh dammit *chants mantra* “I’m the reason why I’m wobbly!” Run your frustrations away and stuff face with cucumber and celery sticks! I know we are only at the beginning it’s only going to get worse. If anyone has a spare supply of patience please send it my way.