“Bon appetite!” Emmy says as she sets Chip’s daily helping of macaroni and cheese in front of him.
Chip pouts. “I’m not a dog.”
“Uh – what?” Emmy is confused.
“I’m not a dog! You should say cheese appetite!” Chip advises, petulantly.
French linguistics aside, Chip is doing great. We spent two afternoons at the park this week which is a great break from cooping ourselves up in the house waiting for school pick up time. Yesterday he rode his scooter around the lake at the park. On Tuesday we played on the playground before walking around the lake. We stopped at the outdoor racquetball courts and I showed him how to make echoes inside the concrete court. He kept trying to find the speakers hidden somewhere in the walls.
We have been doing a lot of reading, too. He loves The Polar Express and asks for it every afternoon. Luckily it is short.
I mention these rather mundane mother-son moments in an effort to document my motherliness. Chip is going through a heart-wrenching stage of preferring Emmy to me right now. There are many tears as Emmy leaves each afternoon; Chip begs to be taken with her, asks (and receives) multiple kisses (this only makes it harder, I want to tell her.) All of this makes me feel like shit, makes me want to shout “just take him if that is what he wants.”
I’m struggling with this and sometimes wants to be immature about it. Just as I responded to high school boys who thought they were too good for me, I feel myself pulling away from him, adopting an “I don’t care” attitude. Obviously that is a lie, just as it was 20 years ago. So I force myself to make an extra effort. I take him to the park, read him books, cuddle. Try not to yell (and fail) when he breaks something. Again.