Toddlerhood in our house is, among other things, intense. The joy, excitement, and laughter abound. The things he finds funny are actually funny – like playing chase, rolling around on the ground, or waving DanO’s gloves or oven mitts around on his hands.
When we’re happy, we’re really really happy.
He is so quick to share that joy, too. If he had the words “Look what I can do!” he would use them non-stop.
(Please do not talk to me about how much my son needs a haircut. I know. I do. I’m just. I can’t do it. not yet. ::wipes tears:: He’s still my baby.)
(I think this stage is called denial. But that’s a whole other post.)
(O My 80’s, my boy has a mullet. I’m kind of ashamed.)
Yes, the shrieks of joy and the endless curiosity he emits are the very definition of intense.
As are his other emotions.
For example, he is not a fan of being told no, you may not hit mommy with the oven mitt.
Not a fan at all. Intensely dislikes being told no. Intensely.
I get it, I really do. I’m not being apathetic; I understand that he is just learning about and discovering these emotions and events as much as he is learning about and discovering positive events. All of this is learning and I don’t mean to imply that he is overreacting.
I can only imagine how it feels to be small and not feel like you are in control of your world because you don’t yet understand how it works. His feelings are valid.
But they are also intense. And change often.
Which means my day-to-day is intense. And changes often. It’s exhausting and unpredictable.
In fact, some days I just want to join right in and throw myself on the ground in despair and frustration.
It feels good, actually. Have you tried it lately? Get down there on the rug and kick your legs around a bit. It relieves a multitude of stresses. I highly recommend it.
And so does OBaby.