I recently posted about a mama duck.
Well, yesterday I thought about that. A lot. I have a 2 year old who is just coming down from his asthma attack. His asthma affects him by making it difficult for him to shake the congestion that accompanies a cold, his nose stays runny and he coughs longer than most do. This obviously makes sleep difficult, and when he is sick he is known to spend numerous nights being rocked to get to sleep, or even sleeping in our bed.
Which means that when he recovers he thinks he should continue to be treated in such a manner.
Because he is 2.
And the youngest.
And the last one.
So, nap times are eased back into, with a couple of laying down on the couch, maybe a fall asleep in the car, and then eventually he is made to lay in his bed, and I sit on his brother's bed in the same room. I promise to stay as long as he lays still. If he plays or wiggles around, I threaten to leave the room, and he cries.
When I want to leave the house and need him to put on his coat, I sometimes threaten to leave without him and he comes running.
I used to do that with Dustin. He's 11 now, almost 12.
And I am reaching a point where the tide will turn. I have spent years using the fact that my children love me and see me as protection and safety to my advantage. Slowly I move away from them, strategically testing the waters and limits. When we go shopping I want them to feel safe 2 or 3 feet away as a 2 year old, and maybe 10 feet away when they are 8.
It's all about to change. I am now the one who is scared, scared that they will move too far away from me. I want them to be productive, to be responsible adults, homes and families of their own. But I don't want them to move too far, and leave me.