He Got It From His Mama

This is going to sound ridiculous, but I used to find myself being envious of my cats. I would be leaving for work in the morning after having stayed up too late writing/watching late night TV and there they would be, cuddled on the bed, ready to take a luxurious, uninterrupted, hours-long nap. They have no job to worry about and no bills to pay. They never have to think:

“Hmmmm, what am I going to make for dinner tonight?”

Yes. Being a well cared for, domesticated, house cat seemed to have a lot of perks until I realized that much of my life would consist of sleeping and staying in-doors and that I would have to eat the same meal every day for the rest of my life. In fact, all my decisions would be made for me, and I would be vulnerable to my steward’s whim. Then, there’s the whole having to groom oneself and the pooping in a box and the shortened life span.

All of a sudden, it’s not all apple-pie and sunshine in the life of a cat.

Now that I have Lochlan, I often find myself thinking about how great it is to be a kid. You have no real responsibilities, no job, and no bills. Your whole, big life is ahead of you, and your whole day is centered around playing. You get complimentary chauffeur service everywhere you go. People go out of their way to tell you you’re handsome and smart all the time, and when you get a little cranky, someone comes along and says...

“You really need a nap.”

Then, you are scooped up into loving arms and cuddled until you drift off to sleep. When you are having a bad day or moment, you can just emote, kicking your legs and acting like a crazed loon, and no one will call to have you committed. Instead, they’ll offer you a cookie or try to distract you with something fun.

As far as I can tell, it all seems pretty awesome in the Land of Loch.

Alas, he is not of the same opinion. He is now three years old, and he is under the impression that he is at least ten years older. If he knew the years of toil ahead, he would never want to hurry past these wonder years, but kids never seem to get that concept. So, while I am here pining away for my lost youth, he is calling me to task for all the injustices he suffers at my mighty parental fist.

Lochlan has quite the list of the activities that he would like to conquer without my help (thankyouverymuch), and it is growing every day. Please note that 99% of the time, he is a well-behaved, darling little boy with good manners and plenty of kisses for his Mama. Please also note that he only has these grievances with Mama and that most other people, including his day-care provider will say, “Who? Loch? No!” if I even try to broach the subject.

He’s a sly one, my little love.

Here they are, in no particular order, just a few of the things that will upset Lochlan these days.. 

• Wearing pants. 
• Not being able to take his own shower without me in the bathroom. 
• Getting into the bath. 
• Getting out of the bath. 
• Getting dried off after the bath. 
• Not liking his pajamas. 
• Not being able to read his own bedtime story. 
• Being told he we have to move on to something else.
• Not being asked to help with day-to-day activities like making scrambled eggs, putting cream and sugar in my hot tea, folding the laundry. 

This is by no means a complete list, but rather, just a taste of the pain and suffering that it is to be a three year old boy. I wish I could warn him to enjoy this time because it is so fleeting, but he would not understand, and he probably would not take the advice even if he could. So, even though I find myself getting flustered from time to time, I know that I have to hold tight to these moments, too, because they will never pass by here again. Instead, I choose to admire his independence and his strong-will. It’s a do-it-yourself kind of world, and it cannot hurt to be a little stubborn/focused. And to these amazing and challenging, three...I take a deep, sturdy breath and say...

Bring. It. On.

After all, Lochlan gets all that fire from his mama.