Someone hit me on Wednesday. Outside. A tiny hand, fuelled by frustration at my lack of compliance with a particular command proclaimed in full toddler jibberish, struck out and I was soundly punished, right in the knee. The other teachers reacted in mock horror. The child was told what a terrible act she had just perpetrated and she was duly humbled.
I stared down at a not-quite-two year old blonde head, bowed in shame before me. I was desperately trying not to laugh. Truth is, I always liked the spunky ones. I am fond of little girls who storm through the days, bold and un-fettered by social norms and stigmas, the ones who have their daddies and grand-daddies wrapped around their little fingers, whose mothers' shake their heads at, and throw up their hands.
I think that, in a time long ago and a land far away, I was a little girl like that....or at least I wanted to be.
For some reason, my work days at the Montessori school have landed me almost without fail in the toddler room. I was not accustomed to toddlers. As a matter of fact, I was sure I wasn't even really fond of them, preferring the more capable, and somewhat less mucusy, almost three and four year olds.
But these tiny little guys and gals are growing on me, not unlike the veritable banquet of germs that they spread around so unwittingly. Change happens fast and furious at this age, and a toddler that comes in wild and wordless, in no time is thrilling you with three word sentences and a magical toddler poise.
At some point, they are all napping and I survey the room filled with the sounds of babies breathing, some rustling restlessly in their cots, others, bums in the air, deeply asleep: the explosion of life force momentarily set to pause.
And I love them all intensely and I think of my daughter. And I consider the sort of life force that seems to sputter and jerk through her challenged brain and physique and I am equally awed. It is no small feat to choose living against such odds, to have to squeeze and push and eke out some form of expression every minute of every day, mostly misunderstood.
Though less capable in many ways than the toddlers in my care, she is indeed one of the spunky ones. She has my deepest love, of course, but even more my intense and abiding respect.
I remember feeling this exact way when Henry was a toddler -- instead of feeling abject that his development was quickly overtaking his older sister's, I felt awe and wonder and increased admiration for her's.
ReplyDeleteI believe that our kids continue to choose to live against all odds because someone unequivocally communicates to them that their lives are worth living...unconditional love. It the sun which allows every beautiful flower to bloom, cast seeds, and create other beautiful flowers. Good job, mom!
ReplyDeleteBack in the days when I spent time with small children, I often found the "terrible" two-year-olds the most beguiling. Serotonin levels are very high at that age; maybe that's part of the fun.
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