Monday, December 11, 2006

Some More Firsts (of an Emotional Nature)

I'm the kind of mother who is always squeezing, hugging, and kissing my sons. They generally love to cuddle together with us on the sofa or in bed, but I know that these tender moments will start to become rarer as they grow. We're lucky that our oldest (4 years 9 months) is a very "cuddly" kind of person (he's carinhoso or chameguento, we say, in Portuguese).

My little one (who is two and a half), contrary to his brother, doesn't like to go on anyone's lap but mine, takes a long time to warm up to people, and is only cuddly with me (or my father). So, two weeks ago, I was giving him many kisses while I strapped him on the car seat (something very usual of me) when he turned to me and said: "No more kisses Mama!" A very sad first...


Then, last Wednesday I had to be particularly stern with my oldest son because he was just nagging too much and not wanting to get dressed to go out. (I have to confess that I'm not particularly good at disciplining. "Authority" doesn't come naturally to me, I prefer to be their "friend," but I know that they need a mother, and they need limits.) The consequences of my sternness were felt almost immediately.

We often play this little game, in the style of Guess How Much I Love You, usually started by him. When I tell him I love him, he replies that he loves me even more than I do, that he loves me 1o9 times. When I offer 109,000 he asks whether that's more or less -- he still doesn't grasp quantities over 100. He has even done a really cute thing -- grabbed a very thick book, proceeded to find the very last page and asked me:

"Mama, what number is this?"
"635" I replied.
"So that's how much I love you!"he said.
"Wow, sweetie, that's a lot!" I replied smiling and hugging him.

So, today, after I had to be tough with him, when I told him I loved him, he turned to me and said:
"I don't love you."

I demonstrated some surprise and immediately remembered Andi Buchanan's essay in It's a Girl, "Learning to Write." It it, Emi is having a hard time writing words that she doesn't yet know, but in a burst of indignation with her mother she writes "I don't like you" ("I_DTLiKE_YoU" in her spelling). Andi's first reaction, feeling sad and hurt and saying, "That hurts my feelings," frustrates Emi, and then Andi realizes that she has to give her daughter space to express her negative feelings. And this part of the essay is worth quoting:
my initial hurt gives way to the realization that my work as a mother . . . is not to be liked by her, but to love her. I am supposed to be her safe place -- the one person to whom she can vent, who she knows for sure will not leave. (223)
So I responded, "Oh, OK, but I still love you."
And not only that. I also said: "I love you 'infinitely,' [infinitamente] " which is generally my ultimate response when we start the escalating amounts of our "how much I love you" game. And he immediately countered,
"Then I don't love you infinitely."
"Wow," I said, "OK, that's too bad, but you can feel whatever you want."

Thanks Andi, for your essay. It helped me a lot, it made this first "I don't love you" much easier to bear. From your words (even though you got so emotional at that Mother Talk reading that you couldn't get to this part of the essay) I was able to approach this event in a rational and not emotional manner, to view it as a developmental milestone, and not as the very first act of rebellion of many that will follow (although that is true). I need to know that my son will have to learn to separate from me and that this is a first and necessary step in that direction.

Nothing like a day after the other, though! Two days later he said he loved me. Infinitely. And it was not after a round of our usual game, it was his very first statement. I know that in a day or two he'll change his mind again, that just means he's growing up!

8 comments:

Breena Ronan said...

Wow! I hope a can be all calm and mature when I'm a mom!

Lioness said...

Too bad we can't wring their little necks in a parallel universe, that would devastate me as well. I think you're amazing and true, he's just testing the world and your love. Yours will be some fine children, linda. And chameguento?? SO funny, we don't use that!

(Psst, check my blog, there's something for you there.)

Tracy said...

It stings a little when they say stuff like that, doesn't it? I think you handled it well.

Whenever N is angry with me (usually for the horrible sin of not allowing him to eat candy for breakfast!), he'll look at me very sternly and say, "Well, Mom, I'm NOT your best friend anymore and I don't like you AT ALL."

I usually reply with, "Well, all right. I guess I'll get over it."

A few minutes pass by and then he says, timidly, "Hey Mom? Can we still be best friends?"

Emily said...

I am so not looking forward to that. It was interesting to read what you thought in order to process it. It makes complete sense. We are here to protect their feelings, not the other way around. The other way around is where the duty, obligation and guilt trips come in. When they slot into place then children start to be other people away from their parents and be the people they think their parents want when they go home. THis is when the gap between parents and children really grows.

I prefer your way.

Aliki2006 said...

Ugh--I so clearly remember the first time Liam said he didn't love me...it does hurt, there's no getting around it. But you're right--calmly saying "Well, I love *you* no matter what" is the best response. They do need to know that you'll always love them, no matter what.

AcadeMama said...

My oldest daughter, H, did that to me at just about the same age. It took me a minute to realize that this wasn't about *me* though. This was about her trying to get a reaction out of me, and in turn, hopefully get what she wants. Needless to say, it didn't work. I just said, "I'm sorry you feel that way." Within minutes, she was apologizing because she knew she'd said something hurtful, even if I didn't show it.

She's 7 now, and she still says the occasional "I'm not your best friend" kind-of-thing... I make a joke out of it now by explaining to her:
"It's not my job to be your best friend. It's my job to be your mother."

Our kids will always have their peers to be best friends with, but they only get one mother. Though they may test you, they'll learn that no hurtful word, misbehavior, or angry remark can stop you from loving them.

P.S. thank you for your kind words on my blog! I read your story, and I'm so sorry you had to go through that.

Anonymous said...

Ai, ai, ai...
That must be hard! But your positioning was so perfect! Taking a step back and undesrtand the meaning behind the action seems to be always the best choice...
I guess I should enjoy while my little one is just smiles...
the tuff part is yet to come!
bjinho,
Keiko

Alice said...

I think you handled it well! I hope when the time comes that I'll be able to react with the same wisdom. I too, was really moved by Andi's essay.