Idiosyncracy

I suppose each stage with her has its challenges. I remember when she wanted me to repeat everything over and over. Singing “The Wheels on the Bus” ten times in a row in the car made me want to go bang my head against a wall, and it felt like that would never end, but it did.

The challenges now are her idiosyncratic demands. She wants me to sit here, not there. She wants to eat this, in this particular bowl, with this color spoon. She wants her food cut up to specific dimensions. She wants her cup next to the cup holder, not in it. She wants me to tuck her in along every spot of her sides and feet when she goes to bed—woe unto me if I’ve missed a single one. She wants to unscrew her toothpaste bottle herself but wants me to put the paste on; she wants to hold the toothbrush herself but wants me to make the brushing motions for her.

It’s plain exhausting. Fail to follow her particular wishes, and I get anything from a mild protest to screaming and crying. I spend some days picking my battles from minute to minute.

I think some of this is her desire for greater independence and control—it’s the inevitable tension between wanting to do something herself, yet sometimes not being able to, and therefore wanting to tell me exactly how to do it instead. It’s like a G-rated preview of the teenage years: I want it that way!

A lot of it is also her personality: she’s always been a sophisticated and precise communicator, sensitive to and observant of her environment, and concerned about the welfare of others. Her verbal skills have extended to giving a detailed rationale for everything: she can’t be polite because her boo-boo hurts and as a result she is unable to speak. She doesn’t want to swim anymore because she spotted a gnat in the pool five feet away. She wants me to change my seat because my butt is getting sore. She needs to go upstairs right now because her bunny is crying and needs to be picked up. She doesn’t want to wear shorts in 100-degree weather because she needs to cover up the boo-boo that she got two months ago that isn’t even visible anymore.

Maybe one day I’ll look back and find all this charming, but right now I mostly find it hard not to lose my patience. I navigate between explaining, distracting, bribing, ordering, and yielding. At least he doesn’t say much. He just sits staring, eyes big with wonder as he listens to her explanations: don’t eat that, dee-dee, you might choke. Don’t be scared of that bug; sister’s here with you. I won’t leave you, don’t worry. Mommy’s going to get rice cereal for you; she’ll be back. You should play with this toy, not that one…