Toddler behavior? Not much of that going on here. She’s a lady. At the 90th height percentile of her age group, hair that now falls practically all the way down to her butt and language skills that challenge some of the 5-year olds in my sister’s Kindergarten class (according to my sister, the Kindergarten teacher)… she’s quite a little lady. Except she’s not. She’s TWO (ok, two-and-almost-three-quarters).
And I can’t seem to remember it. SHE’S TWO. I must repeat it to myself to stop my fails.
Are we sure she’s TWO?
LadyP is my first baby and I’m just like many other busy new moms: I’m ignorant. I don’t know the nuanced details of toddler emotional development regarding language, size and emotions. I don’t know what’s supposed to happen when, what size their supposed to be, how long an average toddler’s hair is. She is who she is, and I just go with it. The only thing I concern myself with is “Are we having fun today” and learning new things as they come up. Our latest obsession is Disney’s Dumbo (which I can’t seem to get through now without weeping, but that’s another story).
We play alphabet puzzles on the floor together. We have in-depth chats about the latest My Little Pony storyline. We have full-on conversations with waitresses. Without me asking, she’ll quickly pick up little sister’s sippy cup when it gets thrown to the floor in an effort to be funny. She has tantrums (like any toddler) but then miraculously pull it back together after five minutes. And now that I examine it all, I’ve realized that I might be expecting too much out of LadyP. I can’t seem to remember that she’s a toddler. I think her long hair and tall body is throwing me off. She’s looks four. So I treat her like she’s four, or even five. But she’s TWO.
Today set me off: For the last year, we’ve taken a fabulous little dance class that initially started as a way to have a standing, productive “appointment” to get out of the house with my girls. (And yeah, dance was my very first love. Thank you Danceworks Unlimited.) At one-and-half back when we started, LadyP caught on quick: Not one cry for “Mommy,” instant love for our incredible teacher Miss Carly and she was the first little one to run into class every week and then run out to demand to change into “Ballet shoes, Mommy!” when it was time.
Not. Exactly. Happy.
So why the HELL did go ballistic about dressing in her dance costume today when it was time to go for our big end-of-year photo? (It was so bad, I had to put her in the car naked with just her diaper and tights on and dress her in the parking lot.) Why did she scream bloody murder when the whole class loaded in to pose for the shot? The banging on the door to get to me in the waiting room, the dripping snot, the hyperventilating, the clinging onto my shoulders “Hold me! Hold me Mommy!” I was disoriented. I think the other dance moms were a little shocked too… she’d never had any separation issues (except for that recent episode at Marie, but they didn’t see that one). Maybe it was the strange dark room (for the photos). Maybe it’s because she’s one of the youngest in class. It pained me to see her like that (especially in a place that she’s had so much fun in) and it also hurt ME (for this to happen in an atmosphere that I love so much).
I. WANTED. TO. CRY. (Actually, I wanted her to stop crying first because I felt so bad for her.) But truly, I was deflated and disappointed. Point your fingers and call me a stage mom. I won’t fight ya. What if she’s scarred now and never wants to take another dance class again? (Why did I waste the money on the dance costume if there’s a chance we’re not even going to perform in it?!?!?!?!) What if what if what if… Obviously, I’ll need to cope and accept that she might not like all the things I lived and breathed as a kid (and then be her biggest cheerleader). And then my own mom reminded me of a simple reality as my cracking voice told her the story over the phone:
“Jill, she’s TWO. You’re expecting too much.” Oh yeah.
I’m telling you, it’s that long hair. It’s TRICKING me into thinking she’s older and more mature than she actually is. SHE’S TWO. MY FAIL.
So we came home and watched Dumbo’s dancing elephants on parade… naked. Like a real two year old.
Elephants dancing are way better.
DO YOU SOMETIMES EXPECT TOO MUCH FROM YOUR TOTS?
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