Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Slow Going
Mae is so unrushable. It's infuriating. Yesterday, it was ten squillion degrees in our house (today it is, too) and, after she had the indecency to wake up early from her nap and interrupt the work I was trying to do, all I wanted to do was to get her dressed so we could go to the library, the grocery store, the pharmacy and the health food store after stopping for a coffee, then swing by the shady sandbox on the way home.
But the plan hit a snag when she didn't want to get dressed. There was a kitty to look at, and a tambourine to play with, and it was fun to wait for the split second when I took her diaper off and was reaching for a wipe to sit her poopy bum smack down in the middle of the clean sheet. And, of course, once the diaper was back on and the mess cleaned up, staying still to put on pants seemed beside the point to her. Then we had to have a bottle, which she took fifteen minutes to drink one-twentieth of while taking breaks to putter all over the living room pulling books off the shelves.
Sunscreen was next. And she always has to chew on one sunscreen bottle while I squeeze sunscreen out of the other. And she always has to close the tray on the stroller herself. And she always had to point at the light in the front hall while babbling incoherently. And she always has to take her shoes off again after I put them on.
And by the time we'd finished all of that, I had to pee... So, basically, by the time we got out the door, it was practically time for her next nap. We rushed to the pharmacy, spent five minutes at the library, stopped by the sandbox for two seconds until some kid threw sand at her, then came home.
By the time I fed her lunch and put her back to sleep, I was on the edge of snap, and it occurred to me that, really, I was the one who was approaching things all wrong.
Mae is unrushable. It's how she is. It's the hallmark of toddlerhood, which she is now entering at breathtaking speed (ironically enough). Clearly, if I don't want to go insane, I'm going to have to be the one to slow down, which is infuriating... totally infuriating... but just might end up being good for me.
But the plan hit a snag when she didn't want to get dressed. There was a kitty to look at, and a tambourine to play with, and it was fun to wait for the split second when I took her diaper off and was reaching for a wipe to sit her poopy bum smack down in the middle of the clean sheet. And, of course, once the diaper was back on and the mess cleaned up, staying still to put on pants seemed beside the point to her. Then we had to have a bottle, which she took fifteen minutes to drink one-twentieth of while taking breaks to putter all over the living room pulling books off the shelves.
Sunscreen was next. And she always has to chew on one sunscreen bottle while I squeeze sunscreen out of the other. And she always has to close the tray on the stroller herself. And she always had to point at the light in the front hall while babbling incoherently. And she always has to take her shoes off again after I put them on.
And by the time we'd finished all of that, I had to pee... So, basically, by the time we got out the door, it was practically time for her next nap. We rushed to the pharmacy, spent five minutes at the library, stopped by the sandbox for two seconds until some kid threw sand at her, then came home.
By the time I fed her lunch and put her back to sleep, I was on the edge of snap, and it occurred to me that, really, I was the one who was approaching things all wrong.
Mae is unrushable. It's how she is. It's the hallmark of toddlerhood, which she is now entering at breathtaking speed (ironically enough). Clearly, if I don't want to go insane, I'm going to have to be the one to slow down, which is infuriating... totally infuriating... but just might end up being good for me.
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You know, I really have to side with Mae on this one. The library is cool but the pharmacy and the health food store? Booooring! Obviously books, kitties, and tambourines are way more fun!
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