Big Girl Pants
I don’t know how you parents do it! Handle any type of rejection from your children, that is.
I’ve been staying the week with one of my brothers and his family near Chicago. He and my sister-in-law have two small boys, ages 55 months and 33 months (for all the parents out there who still recite ages in those terms). Since we live so far apart, I’m really only able to see them about once a year; which is like a decade in kid-world. So I really can’t blame them for taking a while to warm up to Auntie Beff, a.k.a. Mr. Narney-head. After all, a good stranger-danger-ometer is an important tool for every child to possess.
The pathetic part is that I’ve had to remind myself several times that I am the adult. No, I should not give them the silent treatment when they don’t want to give me a hug before nap time. No, I should not shove them onto the floor after they accidentally mash my fingers in the midst of an epic toy car crash. No, I should not burst into uncontrollable tears when they don’t want me to be the one to slice their hot dog at the dinner table. It turns out that the biggest baby is none other than yours truly, the 376 month-old.
It has taken me a few days, but I’m finally seeing that I need to put on my big-girl pants. Which means that I get to cherish the awesome moments I’ve already had. Like my nephews waiting for me outside the bathroom door so we can play together some more. And like last night, when I got to put them both to bed. There was no making fun of my wobbly voice singing “Jesus Loves Me.” They both wanted me to pull up the covers nice and tight. No stuffed animals were chucked in my direction after I professed my love to the sleepy-eyed duo. So I’m pretty sure I can call that a success.