A First Birthday Party

Only not. Fiona got to attend her first birthday party for a friend on Saturday. Her friend was turning three. We’ve never done this before, partially because she didn’t have friends her own age and partially because with the food allergies, I have to be pretty good friends with the mother hosting the event or else things, like cake/ice cream/goody-bags, become issues.

In this case, we were able to go. Yay!

Her little friend is adorable and as Fiona says, “My very best friend!” Her mother (my friend – Hi!) was fantastic and the whole thing was very laid back.

Fiona actually did better than I expected. I anticipated that the present part of the party would be traumatic. I mean, after all, she’s only ever been to parties where the presents were for her. I thought that she was going to lose it over not getting presents.

So, I coached her. And coached her. And coached her. I told her the order things would happen in. I told her that it was her friend’s birthday, not hers and that hers would come in July. I told her that there would presents, but that they were ALL for her friend. And that it was our job to be happy for her friend and wish her Happy Birthday.

And when the time came? She did great! I was so proud of her.

On the other hand, later when a little boy took a toy from her, she tried to bite him. More coaching is needed for that…

It was so much stimulation for her, though. There were toys, a bouncy house, an enchanted forest, and tons of new people and kids. I’m so surprised that she didn’t lose it while we were there. She didn’t, but it was a near thing. She lost it one foot outside of the front door as we were leaving. For the entire trip home she cried.

Then she sat in my lap and cried for another twenty minutes. When I tried to figure out why she was crying she just told me she wanted to play with her friend “for always never.”  Which I think roughly translates out of toddler to “forever”.

I asked her some questions about the party. Did she have fun in the bouncy house? Did she have fun in the enchanted forest? Did she have fun at the party? All of which had the answer of yes.

Then she started laughing, hysterically, mixed with a little crying, for another ten minutes.

So, so, so tired and over-stimulated. But really, that’s all the world requires of us. It’s not that we can’t lose it. We just have to wait until we’re alone, or at home, to lose our stuffing.

She did good.

Primitive

“I play Angry Bird game!” She orders in her best little tyrant voice. “Now!” She adds with a special attitude of complete authority, which seems only marginally out of place on her small toddler self.

“No. Not right now, Baby.” I say calmly, though I already know the reaction it will produce.

AHHHHHHHH!  Her tiny face is scrunched into a teeth-bared snarl of pure infantile rage. Disappointment isn’t an emotion she knows how to cope with. Yet.

“No.” I say as calmly as I can. I resist the urge to scream back at her, even though the impulse is there. I remind myself, internally, that I am an adult, that I am her role-model, that it will make my throat hurt, and that it would not help. Even if it would feel good.

“Now!” She balls up her little baby fists and tries to hit me.

I hold those tiny pummeling fists as gently as I can. “No.” I lower my voice and speak more firmly, “And, no hitting. Mommy does not like to be hit. Hands are for gentle.”

Her whole tiny body becomes possessed by a spasm of rage that causes her to throw herself in every direction. She almost falls off the chair she is standing on, but I catch her in my arms. She flings her head forward, aiming for the junction of my neck and shoulder.
I hold her out at arms length quickly, “No! No biting!”  I say and my voice definitely is loosing is calm tone. “Biting hurts!”

She screams loud and long and adds still in a scream, “I play Angry Birds, NOW!!!!!!!!!”

I snicker. I don’t mean to. I know I shouldn’t, but I find myself laughing because there is no way on God’s green earth that I’m going to let her anywhere near the Angry Bird game again today.

She begins to scream and sob simultaneously.

I decide it’s time to do something I’ve been considering for a while. “Okay. Fiona, you may not play Angry Birds. You may not yell at Mommy. You may not hit Mommy. You may not bite Mommy.” I settle her in a chair on the far side of the room. “You need to take a time out. You’re going to sit in this chair for the next two minutes so that you can calm down.”

I walk into the kitchen and set the timer on the stove for two minutes. My hands shake just a little. I don’t like conflict. I go back to preparing dinner, reminding her, firmly, to sit in the chair just once during the two minutes. The timer dings and I go over to her.

“I love you, Fiona.” I say, and I hug her.

“I love you, too, Mama.” She sniffles.

“Are you listening?” I ask, and she touches her ear to show that she is. “No yelling. No hitting. No biting. You have to treat Mommy nicely.”  I hug her again, “And Mommy is going to keep working really hard not to yell at Fiona, too.”

She smiles at me, all teary, and says, “Okay, Mama. I sorry, Mama. You forgive me?”

I smile at her. “Of course, I forgive you, Baby! I love you.”

She wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tight and I hold that little toddler body close and feel myself tear up. It’s worth it. It’s so hard, but it’s worth it.

Parenting is tough. We often find ourselves wanting to be reduced to our most primitive selves. We find the impulses to hit, to yell, to ignore, and to humiliate. It’s not easy being the adult. It’s not easy finding calm and patience while you juggle and stress and don’t sleep and feel ill and worry and worry and worry that you’re not doing it right.

It would be easier to give in to the primitive. It would be easier, more natural, to yell and to spank. It would come naturally.

It would also be wrong.  I’m trying to teach her to be more than just that demanding, primitive proto-human. I’m trying to teach her to be calm, polite, gentle, empathetic, and rational.  I’m trying to teach her to be human. For that to work, I have to be all of those things, because what she learns isn’t what I say, it’s what I do.

She lifts her head off my shoulder and says, in the sweetest tone of voice, “I play Angry Bird Game, please?”

I feel my eyebrows rise, and she looks at my face and answers her own question, “Maybe later. Maybe tomorrow.”