When we got married, Number 1 was seven, and Number 2 was four years old. I got pregnant with Number 3 approximately 15 minutes after we got married. So he was our 3rd, but he was the first child I gave birth to.
I love all my kids, whether they came out of my vagina or not. But Number 3 really did a number on me. It may be cliche, but it’s totally true when people say you can’t comprehend how much you will love your kids until you have your own. I would often burst into tears just looking at him I was so overwhelmed with emotion.
I took that kid everywhere I went. I didn’t want to share him. I fed him about 4000 times a day. I picked him up whenever he cried. And, in the process, I made about a million mistakes.
He’s a very anxious kid. I think that results from a combination of me being a psycho when he was a baby and him just being born sensitive and prone to worry.
Once I realized this anxiety had become an issue, I started to stress about it, which I think he picked up on, and then it became a vicious cycle. The more I worried, the more he worried, and in trying to make it better, initially, I think I made it worse.
He was almost paralyzed with fear if I wasn’t in his sight. If I had him strapped into his car seat and had to run back into the house for something I forgot really quickly, he would FAAAAHHRREEEAAAKK out. Like big time. Hysterical crying and clawing at the straps to get out of his seat.
I signed him up for basketball at the Y when he was 3, and he literally clung to me and refused to ever participate.
When I took him to the kindergarten orientation/walkthrough where the kids get to check out the school, meet the teachers and see the classrooms, he would not go in the building. And I don’t mean he just said “no.” I mean he lay down on the sidewalk outside the building and had a complete meltdown. Kicking/screaming/crying and totally panicking. You can only imagine the looks I got from the parents walking into the building with their very eager, excited and unanxious preschool students. It was awful.
The more this happened the more I thought of my dad’s cousin who is like 55, never married, and still living at home with his mom.
Not good.
I realized I had to relax a little. Pushing things wasn’t going to help.
Over the past two years, he has gradually gotten better. But even yesterday, when it was “pajama day” at school, he could not turn off the worry. This was the conversation in the car on the drive there:
“Mom, did you e-mail Mrs. L about pajama day?”
“No, it’s written on the calendar.”
“But are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes. Just relax.”
“Mom, why did you put my hair in ponytails? I don’t want ponytails. Everyone always says I look so cute with my hair that way,” Number 4 chimed in.
“But Mom,” said Number 3. “What if they changed it? Are you sure it was today?”
“What’s wrong with looking cute?” I said to Number 4, ignoring Number 3.
“I don’t want to look cute, I want to look beautiful.”
Ugh.
“MOM. ARE YOU SURE IT’S TODAY?”
“Yes, ” I said through clenched teeth.
We got to the drop off line.
“Mom. He’s not wearing pajamas. WHY ISN’T HEEEE WEARING PAJAMAS???”
Thank goodness the next kid he saw go in the building had pajamas on.
“But Mom. What about slippers. WAS I SUPPOSED TO WEAR SLIPPERS???”
Oh my God. This kid. He’s a mess.
“You are perfect. You don’t need slippers. I love you. Have a great pajama day.”
Well anyway, last night there was a baseball clinic being held for kids who will move up to Rookies from t-ball next year. The first of four to be held over the next 4 Mondays. I mentioned it to him when he got home from school. He was practically lacing up his cleats before I even finished my sentence.
On the way there he asked what they would be doing. I told him I really didn’t know — he’d have to wait and see. Usually that would induce major amounts of stress.
But not this time.
I parked the car.
The coaches were different.
The kids were different.
And it didn’t bother him at all.
He sprinted out to where everyone was. Didn’t look back. Didn’t ask me where I would be sitting. Nothing. Just pure excitement and confidence. He looked like every other kid there.
No one would have batted an eyelash, but for me, this was a monumental moment.
Score one for Number 3!!!
Oh. And, look out, Yankees 😉
Stefanie says
Love this!
not your average mom says
Thank you 🙂
tonya says
Haha I have one of those too! My son panics every time there’s a field trip. Even though he’s the one who turns in his permission slip and money in an envelope I carefully mark he still asks over and over if everything is taken care of. He also used to be a serious clinger and I worried he’d end up being my adult son living in the basement…but at 8 he’s gotten better at being independent and now says he’ll just live next door to me. Maybe that means at least one of my three kids will take care of me when I’m old 😉