and then I taught him existential angst

I’m guilty. A few times, I said it. And he picks it up in that way that he does.

He’d be crying, fighting me on something: a diaper change, buckling into the car seat, something. Locked in a battle of wills. I’d be having one of my less-strong days. Maybe I’m crying too. And I say, “Why, Jonah? Why?”

So now, EVERY time I am doing something he’d rather I not do, he wails. WAILS! Nooooooo! WHYYYYYYY?

Why are you making me nap? Why do I have to go to sleep? Why won’t you nurse me for another hour? Why must I go in the carseat? Why put a diaper on me? Why take it off me? Why do I have to eat in the high chair? Why can’t I pull the cat’s tail?

Why does he have to do those things? Because.

Scott says Jonah probably doesn’t really even know what the word means. He just knows it’s appropriate to say it with that emphasis, in that context. He probably observes that it has a certain effect beyond just “no” alone.

The word does make you stop and think. Or want to chew off a limb.

At best, it’s a reminder to stop and ask myself, how important is this thing I’m trying to force on him?

Today was a series of negotiations. After trying for over an hour, I could not get him to nap, so I put him in the car (not an overly popular activity from his point of view) and see where we go, either we’d find entertainment or he’d be asleep in five minutes, which he was.

Two hours later, he woke up and we went into Whole Foods for a little necessary grocery acquisition and mutually pleasant activity. As we shopped, we shared an apple and two warm buttery biscuits. He rode pleasantly in the cart for a long while and then he saw all the TOPS! and LIDS! on the juice bottles in that aisle and could not be consoled when I didn’t let him play with them, unless I took him out and carried him freehand. All 21 pounds of him. While still pushing the cart.

We made a deal over a bottle of peach yobaby drink that got him back into the cart. YUMMY! he pronounced. I also let him play with the LID.

We get the groceries into the car and the protests start again. He doens’t want to get in the car. No. Why???

So I ask him, Do you want to go on a walk? WALK! He says. Ergo or Stroller? GO!

So we Ergo and we go. It’s not raining when we start, but the drizzle starts before we end. He absolutely will not let either one of us wear a hood. A man smiles at us as he walks by and Jonah shouts HAPPY! and points/waves.

We get back to the store, to the car. Jonah wants to nurse. So we do. Then I put him in the car seat and as soon as he’s firmly buckled, he says, with great urgency, Poop! Diaper! Poop!

Really? Okay.

So we go into the WF bathroom, try to put him on the potty first (No!) change his wet but poop-less diaper, and go back to the car.

It’s raining when we exit the store.

Rain, he says, like a sigh. I stop. Rain falling on our bare heads, in puddles on the wet sidewalk, lit by the store’s windows. Pretty, he says.

We watch for a while. And then I turn to go.

More, he says.

Okay, more. We stand in the rain a while longer.

I try to leave again.

More.

Okay.

Finally, on the third go, I decide we really need to go. He’s not happy about it but now it’s time to do what I want to do. Perhaps we do need to get the groceries in the fridge. But perhaps I could have stood to let us stand there a few minutes more?

Parenting is like a series of yoga poses. I have to keep trying to stay in each moment just a little longer than I think I can. Even if it hurts, I’m tired, I want to quit. And then I may be able to stay in a little longer than that the next time. I may stretch, grow, and surprise myself with strength I didn’t know I had.

When we got home, there was Juice! in a Cup! with only a tiny struggle regarding the high chair. When I wasn’t looking, he turned the cup upside down and poured the remaining juice all over himself and the floor. I gave him the rest of his Yobaby and he drank some, upended that.

Each time, I wiped him off, wiped up the floor. Didn’t make a big deal out of it. I read recently that toddlers need to make a mess with their food. (Another reminder of how much I don’t really need to control.)

I stripped him down, decided to give him a try on the potty. Potty, today, is his new favorite place. We sing songs. We play with his sign language flash cards. We read books. He asked for his hairbrush and smacked his head with it a number of times. Nice! He announced (as in I’m making myself look…)

And… he pooped! I cheered, but he wasn’t even that interested in the kudos. He just wanted to keep playing. When he requested the toothbrush I drew the line. I was done. We’re done!

Pajamas were another struggle. He didn’t want to put on the shirt, he wanted to play peek-a-boo with it. Which I did, a little bit. And then I wrestled it onto his head amidst more shrieking. No! Whyyyyyyy? No!

Then it was nursing, books, more nursing, and tonight, thank goodness, he nursed himself to sleep.

I don’t think I had one more battle in me.