Kabobs & Apple Pie

Personality

Last night I was watching Azita play, babbling as she stacked her blocks, ran around the living room, and climbed on the furniture. She looked up at me studying on the couch and decided she wanted to join me with a book of her own.

Soon we were both sitting there reading together, and she talked the entire time, pointing to things in the book, asking me questions. I didn’t really understand everything she was saying, but there was cadence and inflection in her voice. She was clearly communicating. I asked her about things in the book and she pointed to them, adding commentary of her own. Occasionally, she would say something and laugh hysterically at what she said.

At that moment I realized that Azita has a personality. I mean, I know she has personality. That has always been obvious. But she has an actual personality now, as in, she is a person. Who is separate from me. With her own thoughts.

Somewhere along the way she stopped being a baby. When she was a baby we were so attached. Literally. She spent most of her time on my chest wrapped snugly in a sling. It seemed as if she was still a part of me, like she had never left my womb.

Now she is a little girl who knows what she wants, what she likes, what she doesn’t like. She makes her opinion known, and not by crying or screaming, but by talking. I can’t remember the last time she slept on my chest.

I’m a little bit heartbroken, but proud at the same time. When I see her do and say amazing things, things I had no idea she could do or say, I can’t help but beam with pride, even as my eyes well up with tears. From the moment our babies are born, they start leaving us. I knew this, but I didn’t really know this I guess.

Before I know it she will be gone, but last night she reminded me that she is here for now, even if she is her own person. After she read her book, she climbed onto my lap, clasped the sides of my head in her hand, and mushed her face into mine. We looked into each others eyes and giggled as she slobbered on my cheek as she did when she was a baby.

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zahra, October 6th 2010 | Tags: growing up, personality, separation anxiety
Posted in Parenthood + Childhood

Weighing Our Hurts

Most people if they think back to when they were a kid can remember at least one time being told, “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.” In most cases that was a load of bull. I can definitely attest to that. But in some cases, maybe it’s true.

I’ve been a very lucky work-outside-the-home mother. Azita has a generally sunny disposition, and not only does she have a natural attachment to me but she is pretty secure in that attachment. She’s always known that I will be there for her. There was a very brief period of separation anxiety when she learned how to crawl, but I expected it. Everything I read and was told had prepared me for this, and when it did occur it was so mild. It really only lasted about 4 days. Only 4 painful daycare drop-offs, and actually they were not so bad. She did not seem SO upset.

Something has happened in the past week, however. Azita still barrels into daycare. She still steals a hug from her daycare provider and makes googly eyes at her little buddies and still grabs the nearest toy she can find. But she does all of this with a careful eye on me and my movements. At the first sign of movement towards the door, it begins.

First she says runs over and gives me a hug. Of course I stoop down and give her a hug and a kiss and tell her that maman loves her and will be back soon.

Then she tries a different tactic — saying bye to everyone in the room as she runs to the door and tries to make her way out of there with me. As if she will make me believe it is really pickup and not drop-off time.

When she sees trickery isn’t working, she pulls out the big guns:

Crying for Maman

This isn’t at daycare, but you get the idea. To make matters worse, she does the holding on to my leg for dear life thing as I try to walk out the door. Now I’m trying to walk out the door as fast as I can because I don’t want to cry in front of her. And you better believe I cry. I cry as soon as we are down the street and beyond all sight lines from the daycare windows. And I continue to cry until we are within sight of my office.

Good friends and family remind me that Azita probably stops crying within minutes of my departure (and her daycare provider confirms this), and that in the end this really does hurt me more than it hurts her. I know this is true. But for now, I’m glad I always apply my (very limited) makeup in the car, so I’m a little less of a mess when I walk into the office every morning. The last thing I need to accompany the snot and remnants of Azita’s breakfast that usually coat my top is rivulets of smeared makeup on my cheeks.

And that concludes the glass sixteenth full portion of this blog. I will now return to my regularly programmed complaining. Oh wait. I was complaining, wasn’t I?

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zahra, March 22nd 2010 | Tags: daycare drop-off, separation anxiety, toddlers
Posted in Parenthood + Childhood

Bathroom Breaks

Yesterday when I picked up Azita from daycare, she pulled away from me, reaching out for her caretaker, Miss Gail, and started whining just short of a real cry. I know she was tired because she refused to nap at all yesterday, but it still stung. And, it’s not exactly a one-time thing either since this morning, she wriggled out of my arms as soon as we set foot in the door. She didn’t look back in my general direction as she crawled away. She didn’t look up and smile when I said bye-bye and waved my arms around like a maniac. She showed no indication that she remembered me. My daughter is leaving the nest already, and she’s not even a year old. And all I can do about it is take a few breaks at work to hang out in a bathroom stall and cry.