I'm reading this book, Raising Boys
, to make sure that I'm not really screwing up my kids. Actually, until now I've just been winging it in terms of meeting my kids needs....food, water, shelter, a few good nursery rhymes and Dr. Seuss books seemed sufficient. In the last few months, however, G has made references to relatively distant events that he remembers (like where he received a particular cheetah toy that he never plays with - a birthday party at Chuck E Cheese 11 months ago) or has given me insights into parts of his personality ("I like to wear the same pants, Mommy, because I get nervous when I leave the house.")
that make me realize that my kids are living, breathing human beings. (OK, OK, I knew that, but when the only feedback you get is a few giggles, grunts, and cries, it's a bit surprising when they begin expressing thoughts and feelings.)
So, I did what I do whenever the going gets tough or I feel unprepared...I grab a glass of wine. No, seriously. Wait, I am serious. I also get a book. Raising Boys seemed to fit my needs for better understanding the emotional and other needs of the toddler/preschooler set. It's a pretty basic book, but gives good insights and reminders that resonate with me.
Of greatest interest is how the relationship between a mother and son can shape a boy's relationship with women as an adult. Gulp. That's a lot of pressure. And, in fact, I'm quite nervous. You see, as the book also points out, boys at the preschooler age have a lot of need for physical activity. Running, jumping, throwing, tossing, wrestling, etc. All things "boy." It has something to do with testosterone and what not. G fits this to a T. He's constantly moving and throwing and running and launching himself off of high surfaces. His favorite is to climb into the picture window and hurl himself out onto the ottoman a good 6 feet away.
As his mother I try to both keep him safe and engage with him on this particular activity, but the truth is I really don't know what to do except to protect MYSELF from being physically harmed by the objects he hurls across the room, including his own body. I often find myself crouching for fear of losing an eye, or jumping out of the way of his flailing body, or grabbing a pillow to protect myself from his big noggin.
I really hope his future relationships with women in no way resemble the one he's experiencing right now with his mama!
(Note: That last statement isn't entirely true.....he still loves to climb in bed at the wee hours and cuddle, and thankfully those moments balance the ones where I fear for my life!)