“Hi! What’s your name?”
My two-year-old Quinn happily walks up to another little boy
on playground, another prospective friend, to introduce himself. My sweet boy,
so innocent, believes that everyone is as friendly as he is. I watch Q’s smile
disappear and face crumble as the other boy returns pleasantries by shoving him
as hard as he can.
Q is a little older and bigger than the other boy, so his
balance is barely disrupted by the unexpected shove. But even though he’s not
in any physical pain, I can see he is hurt.
His lower lip quivers. His eyes well up. “Why he do that, Mommy?” he asks me. I
hug him hard. It’s never dawned on him before this moment to hit, kick or push
another person, so someone doing anything like that to him is unfathomable. He
feels stunned and confused…
… and sad…
… and rejected.
The other boy’s mom runs up bursting with apologies. “I’m sorry. He just started doing this. Out
of the blue….” We walk away as Q muffles his whimpers into my shoulder, our
hearts breaking in unison. In this moment, I would do anything to protect him, to take his pain away, to
somehow make him unlearn what rejection feels like.
This is the burden of a mother – to watch her child’s heart
break and not be able to fix it.
Situations like this are happening more often. Quinn will ask
another child who has more than one toy if he will share. “I have that toy, please?” I’m so proud of him for asking nicely
and relieved that he’s not ripping the toy out of the child’s hand, as he often
does, but the knot in my stomach tightens. I pray that this positive, polite
behavior I’m trying so hard to encourage will be rewarded.
But usually the other child doesn’t share because he’s still
learning, too, and Quinn cries out in confusion. Sharing is a tough concept
when you’re two-years-old. (Hell, I know grown-ups who are selfish jerks that suck
at sharing.) Q doesn’t understand why he’s getting his feelings hurt even
though he did everything right.
I know toddlers just being toddlers are mini-heartbreaks, but they seem so big and devastating when you're two.
I know toddlers just being toddlers are mini-heartbreaks, but they seem so big and devastating when you're two.
Don’t get me wrong. Q also has a hard time sharing. He often
takes toys from other kids or cries when another child starts playing with a
toy that he wasn’t even playing with.
But he’s learning. I see the wheels turning in his head, and his behavior is
starting to change.
Quinn’s not physically aggressive, though. He’s never hauled
off and hit or kicked another child or knocked someone over. He’s never intended
to inflict pain on someone. He’s kind, innocent, naïve and sweet. His gentle
soul warms my heart and often brings me to tears. As much as I adore all of these
lovable qualities about my son, I’m not as naïve. I know it’s usually the
gentlest of souls that endure the most pain.
I know I can’t protect Quinn from everything all the time. I
know that experiencing disappointment and rejection and dealing with
not-so-nice people are part of life. These tough situations will shape his
character and make him a stronger person. I know this is just the beginning of the
many heartbreaks Q will experience.
Maybe a group of kids won’t play
with him at school.
Maybe the coach won’t put him in the game, or maybe he
won’t make the team at all.
Maybe his gentle nature will be
mistaken for weakness and attract bullies.
(And may Heaven help the bully [and the bully’s mother] who targets my son. I’ll
try not to be that mom, but Mama Bear
is fierce, and I make no promises.)
Maybe a girl won’t go to the dance
with him.
Maybe he won’t get into the college
he had his heart set on.
Maybe the woman he eventually gives
his heart to won’t be kind with it.
And every time his heart breaks, mine will break, too.