My son bit me today.It was like a demon possessed him in his complete frustration with me telling him NO. Why then and not the thousands of other times I say no throughout the day, I don't know. But for whatever reason this particular NO set him off and I watched an alien energy fill him like a balloon. He floated a million miles away. I was a stranger to him. All he saw was some outer force trying to limit him, and he lashed out. I can see that now, but then I was in shock. Awash in anger, fear, and a deep feeling of betrayal.
All this time I've felt a secret pride for raising an energetically independent but considerate child. He is kind and compassionate, wonderful to his new sister. Tells me he loves me regularly and that he misses me when I go on a run. He holds my hand so consciously. Curls up in my lap in the morning. Throws his little arm around me when he climbs in bed with us in the middle of the night. He even shuffled into the bathroom last week and patted me on the back whispering "It'll be ok mommy" while I was hugging the porcelain bowl during a particularly nasty bout with the stomach flu. This sweet, gentle soul bit me, and bit me hard. Broke the skin through my jeans. Now every time I look down at my leg I remember and suddenly I don't feel so sure.
Is this what raising children does to you? Leaves your heart dangling on your sleeve, a ridiculously easy target for the whims of life to knock it off and smash it on the ground. Just when you think you are catching on, letting yourself feel the slightest comfort that you can dance to this crazy rhythm. There's an earthquake. All the pieces shift. The familiar suddenly doesn't feel so familiar; everything's just slightly off. Guess I should know it's coming by now but it still catches me off guard. The thousand balls I have carefully timed to throw then catch and throw again start to fall one by one and the air is so knocked out of me that I just watch them fall.
Then he just goes on. Forgets and forges ahead and I'm left still picking up the pieces. Wondering if I've done it all wrong. I marvel at his happy disposition, confidence, and self awareness. But have I given him too much freedom? Have I not drawn clear enough boundaries? Do I need to assert my authority more? I pride myself in finding ways for him to participate in the many decisions that fill his day. But might I be misguiding him and setting a dangerous precedent that makes him think he is in charge and therefore not able to respect the decision of others when necessary? Handle disappointment? Or scariest, won't listen to me when his well-being and safety might most require it?
Raising a child is a dance. Sometimes we step on each others toes. Through my fear I have to remember that he's a complete person inside that little body. There's no going back once the music starts. As he grows, I have to allow him space to lash out, test his limits, and hit the wall. And I have to be that wall sometimes. But then I also get to be the arms that wrap him up when the demon has passed. As long as we don't let go of each other, it's still a dance, no matter how awkward and out of rhythm we may be sometimes. And when I think of it, that's the best preparation for life I can ever give him.
