It’s a good thing I’m all recharged after my Mommies’ Weekend Away. I
definitely needed the extra energy this past week. With Hubs traveling for
work, I’m taking care of Q-man on my own for a short while.
Solo parenting in December presents additional challenges,
as I have to “accomplish Christmas” during Q’s nap time and late at night after
he goes to bed. And “late at night” usually turns into “wee hours of the
morning,” which usually turns into “Mommy needs a Red Bull pronto lest she pass
out face first into her cereal.”
Luckily, I have a sweet
little boy who is well behaved and sleeps like a champ. This almost
makes up for him not eating anything
except blueberries, Goldfish crackers and whatever I will let him drown in
maple syrup.
A good friend
took pity on me and invited us over for dinner one evening last week, and all
Quinn ate was a piece of buttered toast and some sunflower seeds. He literally
ate like a bird. He repeated this performance a few nights later at another good friend’s house by
only eating graham crackers for dinner.
I’m trying not to spin. Really, I am. But it’s so hard. I know lots of children are picky eaters, and
everyone has a story about a kid that would only eat one or two things and they
turned out fine, and that makes me feel so much better.
But in that moment, at
the table, after I’ve spent an hour cooking dinner (which shouldn’t have taken
an hour but it does when the adult-to-toddler ratio is 1:1), and Q won’t eat
anything I’ve prepared, and defeat once again settles into my chest – it’s hard
to remember that lots of children won’t eat and turn out fine.
“What’s wrong with me that I can’t feed my baby?” I ask
myself at two-o’-clock in the morning when I’m not even yet trying to sleep. “What am I
doing wrong? Or is something really wrong with Quinn...?”
But Friday night made up for all that spin. After a long
day, we got home late and decided to skip his bath. We were both exhausted and
ready for some quiet snuggle time before bed. As he often does, Quinn decided
that cuddled up against me in the darkness was the perfect time to amaze me with how grown-up he can be. Completely
unprompted, he said to me:
“I dud you.”
That’s Quinn-ese for “I love you.” He’s never said that to
me before. When Q tells his Daddy goodnight, I always tell him to say “I love
you” after Hubs says it to him, so I’ve heard Q say the words many times. But
he’s never directed them to me, and he’s never said them without encouragement.
There in the rocking chair with my little boy curled up in
my arms the best way he can now that he’s getting so big, my heart melted.
“I love you, too, Quinn,” I told him. Love swelled in my
chest, pushing out the defeat from dinner and calming the spin in my head.
“Mommy. Here,” he said, poking my shoulder in the dark.
“Yes, baby. Mommy’s here,” I assure him.
“Daddy?” He asked for the thousandth time that week. “Miss Daddy.”
The tears that had been burning my eyes finally fell at the
words of a little boy missing his father. “I know, sweetie. I miss Daddy, too. And
I know he misses you very much. But he’ll be home soon. I promise.”
For the two days since then, Quinn’s been saying “I dud you”
constantly. I always reply with “I love you, too.” Sometimes I just say “I love
you,” and Quinn will earnestly say “too”
and remind me of my line.
This kid turns me into a puddle. I “dud” him so much, I can’t
stand it.
Quinn’s not only sweet, but he’s also hilarious. I put him
in the bathtub the other night, and as usual, all the sock fuzz from between
his toes began to float freely in water. Quinn thinks it’s great fun to catch
the pieces of fuzz and hand them to me. Awesome.
One particularly large fuzz floated in front of him and
hovered over his belly.
“Sock fuzz. On. NENIS!!” Quinn exclaimed. I don’t know if he
was more delighted that he could get out a complete sentence or that the
sentence included the word “penis.”
Tears gushed down my cheeks again, but this time from laughter.
Ah, what’s not to “dud?”
