“Mommy Magic”
by Rebecca on February 7, 2012
My 4-year-old is a little dramatic. Like most 4-year-olds, she bumps and bruises herself all day long. Just yesterday, on her frantic way out of our bedroom to some pretend land in another part of the house, she ran smack into the giant bed post. I laughed out loud, because… well… sometimes I’m just not a very supportive mom. Plus, it was hilarious.
But my sweet little dear tends to cry (LOUDLY) over any and every teeny tiny scratch or bump. It gets exhausting, especially when I know the pain vanished almost immediately, and the cries are hovering in their aggravating form for the simple sake of attention.
I have noticed she loves to hear stories, so when I’m feeling nice and un-rushed, I will kiss her boo-boo, hold her close and tell her a story when a similar thing happened to me as a little girl. She always quiets down for the stories, but she immediately begins whimpering when the story is over.
Hoping to put an end to the drama one day after a non-hurtful fall, I told her all about “Mommy Magic.” You see, mommies all have special magic dust. When their baby is hurt, they simply sprinkle the “Mommy Magic” on the owie, and all is well. She listened to the story, let me sprinkle my invisible dust on her arm, and immediately began whimpering for more attention when I pronounced her all healed.
I was sure my “Mommy Magic” had seen its first and final gig.
The next day, I told her that magic isn’t real. She asked about a non-related magic issue, and I felt I had to be truthful. I did tell her it’s fun to pretend that magic is real, though. I crush dreams, but I do it gently.
Later that day, when I had sequestered myself in the bathroom for some peace, there was a knock at the door, followed by dramatic gasps and sobs. I knew nothing was wrong — it was just another ploy for attention. I felt my blood boiling, and was about to let my little dear know she was headed for a consequence when her timid voice said through the door, “Can I please have some Mommy Magic?”
Immediately sorry for my angry thoughts, I rushed out to scoop up my little sweetheart and sprinkle my “Mommy Magic” on her non-owie. She stopped crying right away, and her good friend “the whimper” didn’t even think of coming to the party.
I now sprinkle invisible “Mommy Magic” on invisible hurts all day long. We have even developed a ritual where she must close her eyes while I sprinkle the magic, and the magic must be sealed with a kiss. It works every single time, and I am loving that her little mind forgot that I told her magic isn’t real. I still hope she can become more able to roll with the punches, but I won’t complain at this opportunity during this tiny time when she looks to me as the answer to her worries and hurts.
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The first and the second child
by Rebecca on February 2, 2012
The first child is hard. Everything is new, which leads to a lack of confidence. You start the day with questions, find a few answers scattered along the way, but end up scooping up even more questions than you originally started with.
The first child is easy. You have time. Time to hold and snuggle. Time to lie on the floor and teach the first child how to roll over. Time to videotape every milestone, time to photograph millions of smiles. Time to read and research and figure out how to do this parenting thing. Time to be in the moment and absorb. Time to develop confidence, and realize this parenting thing can sometimes be easy when you take it one step at a time.
The second child is hard. Your time is divided. Your first child is vocal with words and arguments. Your second child is vocal with cries. The second child doesn’t get as much instruction in the art of rolling over.
The second child is easy. You know what to do; you’ve been here before. You know by now that it’s ok to ignore the vacuuming, and instead focus on snuggling your little precious. Your first child both suddenly and gradually becomes more independent as you require more of her. You stand back and let your first child develop into her personality while you grab each dwindling moment of fleeting time with your second child, your baby.
The first and second child together are hard. The oldest wants your attention while you give an emergency bath to the second child after a blow-out of epic proportions. The youngest grows, and needs more entertainment, making that clear by her squawks from the floor while you try to teach your oldest how to measure peanut butter.
The first and second child together are easy. They love each other; it is obvious. The oldest stops what she is doing to speak baby-talk to the youngest. The youngest feverishly turns her head to find the oldest while the oldest dances around the room, and the youngest finally grants the oldest a smile of all smiles when the oldest notices her.
The first and second child and the husband and wife all together are hard. The oldest gets louder and louder to compete for attention. The youngest does the same. The wife gets frustrated, and wants just one stinkin’ minute of silence so she can talk to the love of her life. The husband feels torn in three directions as the girls of his life each want to soak up every second of his brief moments at home.
The first and second child and the husband and wife all together are easy. They lounge in the big bed of the husband and the wife, climbing all over each other, laughing at the silly things the oldest child does for attention. The husband, wife, and the oldest child all cheer together with real joy as the youngest child smiles, laughs, sits on her own, or rolls over. They all compete to get the baby to laugh the hardest, smile the biggest. And the husband and the wife look at each other over the heads of the oldest and the youngest with a look they both understand: this moment right here is bliss.
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