September 16, 2011
Wild Child
Did you know that when he was born, Matthew couldn’t breathe on his own? Did you know that he spent over 2 months on a ventilator, the first three days of his life on an oscillating ventilator? This is a machine that only two NICUs in the whole state even have. As true as this is, this is how I would justify his loud outbursts in stores, church or other public places. If he got loud and crazy, and people looked at us disapprovingly, I would really say – out loud, “Can you believe when he was born, he couldn’t breathe?” Cue the gasp, “Oh!” and end of judgment. Maybe even replaced with pity, or if my hopes were realized, appreciation for their own healthy child, grandchild, family member.
Now-a-days, he doesn’t stop talking. He sings his alphabet; identifies letters, numbers, and shapes. A lot of the time, it would still be interpreted as his own secret language, but I always feel a sense of personal accomplishment when I figure out the word he is actually trying to say. He helpfully facilitates my discovery by repeating the word ad nauseum until I repeat the correct word back to him. Today for example, it was “computer.” Luckily, his toy Winnie the Pooh laptop was right in front of him at the time.
His sister started at a new school this year and we take her to school every morning and wait with her and her classmates outside until it is time to say the Pledge of Allegiance and sing a patriotic song. I love it, being out there with all the kids of her school. They laugh and play and when its time, they line up; get quiet; and do exactly what they are expected to do. Matthew falls out and acts like a fool. He wants to run through the parking lot…he wants to lay down on the pavement…he wants to dig in the dirt. And when I try to wrangle him in, he screams and yells, and makes himself spaghetti when I pick him up. He throws his jacket/sunglasses/hat/insert whatever-he-can-remove-himself on the ground. On Monday, they did a 9/11 tribute. I had to take him away because as the principal was trying to explain this tragedy – that happened before most of the children she was speaking to were even alive – Matthew was screaming and wailing.
Ai-yai-yai! Which he happily repeats every time I say it…which is often…shocker… Today as he was acting a fool yet again, one of Lala’s classmates asked me, “What’s wrong with him?” I said, “Do you mean, why is he acting this way? Because he is two, and he is a boy.” Just the other day, I said that I love to be out somewhere and hear another kid screaming because I think, “That’s NOT my kid this time!” We usually just write it off saying, He is such a monkey! But today, when I had to leave a conversation with a group of adults because I couldn’t contain him, it occurred to me for the first time: People Might Think That He is Bad. Could that really be? People who just see us, who don’t “know” us. People who don’t know his story. They just see this cute, ornery kid, and probably think that 1) he is bad; naughty and 2) I can’t control my child. What kind of mother am I?
Having a boy is tough business. Having a sick kid is tough business. Having a 2 year old is tough business. Trifecta? Do I indulge him? Certainly. To his detriment? I’m starting to wonder. I am out of my league on so many levels. Lala has always been a dream. She rarely misbehaves and is easily corrected if she ever does get out of line. I used to judge people who would write off their child’s poor behavior with a nonchalant, “Oh, he is just being a boy.” But now I see. I see so clearly. I do my best to correct him, but he isn’t old enough to really get it yet. He throws his fork/plate/mat on the floor and then cheerily says, “Oops!” I take it all away, as I’m supposed to…but I still have to bolus him.
Is he really bad? I find myself saying “No” and “Naughty” far more than I ever wanted to or thought I would. And then what does he do? He looks at me with his amazingly cute face and big brown eyes and says, “I horry, Mama.” And I melt. Inwardly, I melt. Outwardly, I try my best to stay strong. I tell him that I forgive him and ask him not to do it again and he says, “Okay, Mama.” So that every interaction, no matter how frustrating, ends with my heart full of love for him.
I only know a handful of kids who deserved to be spoiled, at least a little. But I am a very firm believer that it is my responsibility as a parent to raise my kids in a way that makes them accepted members of society.
So if we have ever been at the store with you, or at school with you, or at church with you and he has acted like a monkey. Well, feel blessed to know him, would you? “This is age appropriate behavior,” I hear in the voice of my bestie (who happens to love him just slightly less than I do). That will work for me for now… But then, maybe I’m just a sucker…
