What Goes Up, Must Come Down
Posted in Uncategorized on February 15th, 2010 by Michele – 2 CommentsGravity has a way of humbling us. It still gets in my way a lot. It’s also a pretty hard concept to learn when you’re 11 months old. Like someone REALLY cute that we know.
Meet Lovey Bear. This is Piper’s best friend. They only hang out around nap and bed time. Lovey Bear is not allowed out of the bedrooms in the back of the house because we have vowed (for today at least–ask me again in another year how it’s going) that Piper won’t be one of those kids that has to have her Lovey Bear with her all of the time. I have friends who have been down this road before and they say it requires a lot of searches for LB when he is misplaced, lots of germs and extra washings (yes, we have two, but I fear that’s not enough), lots of tears and howling when he is left behind, etc. Just ask my mom about Gray Dog AND Blankie. Anyway, all that just doesn’t sound too appealing to us so we’re trying to set a precedence. Right now, LB just hangs out in the back of the house and waits for Pip to get sleepy. He is already very necessary in that Piper chooses NOT to sleep if she doesn’t have him with her. In direct opposition to Piper’s No Sleep Without LB Rule, she is also learning how gravity works, and delights in chunking items over the edge of everything–the bathtub, the high chair… the crib. Everything including LB.
On Friday, Piper began whimpering about 20 minutes after going down for the afternoon nap. It was discovered that LB had been the object of another gravity experiment, and LB was quickly returned to very appreciative arms and the nap was resumed. On Saturday afternoon, history repeated itself. On Sunday, it happened during the morning nap. It was clearly time for all of us to be stretched a little. So we made the decision to allow Piper to live with the consequences of her decision to throw LB over the edge. There were a lot of tears. Two of us cried, actually. When I couldn’t take any more, I finally went in and announced that the nap was over. We went in the other room where I hugged the tar out of Piper and tried to comfort her as best I could. She was understandably really upset and kept leaning her head affectionately into my arm. It was so sweet and sad, all at the same time. And the rest of the day was really tough for everyone because of the skipped nap and the lower left molar that we think MIGHT have finally poked through in the night. But we all needed for the LB Incident to happen and, thankfully, it hasn’t happened again since. We talk to her a lot about holding on tightly to LB. We talk about it while she’s playing and just before we put her down to sleep. It seems crazy, but that little girl understands a LOT of things.
Everything that I have read about child development talks about this age being big on attachment (enter Stage Left separation anxiety, etc), and how LB and other objects like him give comfort in the crib while Mom and Dad aren’t there. So I’ve just been thinking for the past 24 hours about how painful it was for me to listen to Piper crying in her crib and presumably feeling scared and alone. And all the while, I know that I could do something about it. But I also know that she wouldn’t learn anything from it if I merely remedied the situation–again. And we think she’s old enough to begin learning consequences (if you think otherwise, please feel free to let me know!) Oh, but the sadness in my heart! David and I have had a lot of (difficult!) conversations about this and think it’s best to follow through, but… I’m just praying we don’t have to let her cry it out again–especially at night.
God says He loves me even more than I love Piper Whitney Peters. A part of me kind of thinks that this is true (pretty much only because the Bible says it’s true) but it just blows my mind how that could be possible. Man, I love that little baby girl so much! So how must God feel when I choose destructive paths–even if just “testing”–that have negative consequences? Consequences that separate me from Him and leave me in pain. I mess up prolly just shy of a million times a day and He knows about every single one. Yet He gives me the will to choose, even when my choices bring both of us pain. It’s tempting to try to force Piper to behave a certain way, to strip her of her will. We all know how that kind of parenting works out, but it’s tempting nonetheless. Easier to “help” her avoid the pain for both of us. And God could’ve created all of us to be His little robots, but He didn’t. And He has like a quadrillion children of His own, stretched out over time with a googleplex of poor choices each PLUS the ensuing pain from those choices. How in the world does He do it? How stinkin’ big is His heart? And how broken does it get each second of every day?
I think about how much I am dreading the pain of a repeat performance from Pip. And that’s not even a drop in the bucket.