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Cows in the Pasture, Moo Moo Moo
Nov. 10th, 2005 08:25 pmThe newest thing with Cal is, yet again, a dichotomy...and probably that will quite likely be the pattern between he and I for the rest of our lives, God help us.;) My sweet little son has finally started to want to be read to, possibly because I got annoyed by his constant running around while I read him stuff, and started forcibly sitting him down on my lap instead. Now, I can only guess, he associates that closeness with me reading to him, which is why he's begun coming up to me with books and shoving them into my face whenever I'm doing something that excludes him: Answering email, for example, or doing laundry.
"It's like he has a magnet inside his ass that automatically repositions him to exactly where I don't need him to be at any given moment," I told Mom, a few days back; the "read to me! Why won't you read to me, mean Mommy?" thing is a variant on that, with later veins of A) wanting to read the same book over and over and OVER and OVER and OVER and also B) refusing to let me actually advance through the book sequentially, instead constantly flipping back to one particular page (the cow jumping over the moon in Goodnight Moon, par example).
I spent five minutes today explaining to him that since you can see that damn picture in the background of every picture of the whole "great green room", it's not really such a sacrifice to let me read the whole thing every once in a while. And freakishly enough, I think he understood me--in much the same way that earlier, when I said, firmly: "No, I've read Barnyard Banter three times already, so bring me another book...bring me Count, okay? It's over there, on the floor, next to How Do Dinosaurs Count to Ten", he finally went over and brought it to me. He didn't like it, but he GOT it. Which leads me to suspect that he understands a great deal more than he lets on, most of the time...
And God knows, that's probably part of why I felt so bad when I kept screaming at him to STOP IT, FRIGGING STOP IT, I AM NOT FRIGGING KIDDING YOU, CALLUM, this morning. Because he's a baby, and I'm an adult--he doesn't know what he's doing, or why it's so amazingly difficult to work around. He doesn't have to, not yet. I'm the one who has to do all the understanding, for both of us.
Yeah, shitty Mommy blues. There you go. Pretty boring, I'm sure. Certainly is to me.
"It's like he has a magnet inside his ass that automatically repositions him to exactly where I don't need him to be at any given moment," I told Mom, a few days back; the "read to me! Why won't you read to me, mean Mommy?" thing is a variant on that, with later veins of A) wanting to read the same book over and over and OVER and OVER and OVER and also B) refusing to let me actually advance through the book sequentially, instead constantly flipping back to one particular page (the cow jumping over the moon in Goodnight Moon, par example).
I spent five minutes today explaining to him that since you can see that damn picture in the background of every picture of the whole "great green room", it's not really such a sacrifice to let me read the whole thing every once in a while. And freakishly enough, I think he understood me--in much the same way that earlier, when I said, firmly: "No, I've read Barnyard Banter three times already, so bring me another book...bring me Count, okay? It's over there, on the floor, next to How Do Dinosaurs Count to Ten", he finally went over and brought it to me. He didn't like it, but he GOT it. Which leads me to suspect that he understands a great deal more than he lets on, most of the time...
And God knows, that's probably part of why I felt so bad when I kept screaming at him to STOP IT, FRIGGING STOP IT, I AM NOT FRIGGING KIDDING YOU, CALLUM, this morning. Because he's a baby, and I'm an adult--he doesn't know what he's doing, or why it's so amazingly difficult to work around. He doesn't have to, not yet. I'm the one who has to do all the understanding, for both of us.
Yeah, shitty Mommy blues. There you go. Pretty boring, I'm sure. Certainly is to me.
