Sunday, February 26, 2006
Center of the Universe
A couple of nights ago, Max earned himself an early bedtime by tormenting his brother one time too many. Max didn't protest his punishment; in fact, he was serene and cooperative as he tucked himself into bed. I had the feeling he was relieved his day was over.
As I kissed him gooodnight, Max asked, "Did you and daddy have me because you wanted a baby?"
"Yes, we wanted a baby more than anything, and we're so very glad we got you." Whatever Max was working through in his mind, I was certain this explanation would reassure and comfort him.
"Then why did you have Boo?"
(As someone who came in second in birth order, I've never pondered the psychological conundrum that confronts the first child. "If my parents really think I'm the bee's knees, why are they calling in the second stringer?" When we were expecting Boo, my mother-in-law couched the firstborn's understandable confusion in these terms: Imagine Lee were to come home this evening and tell you that he loved you so much that in a few months, he'd be bringing home another wife. Oh, but there's more. You are going to love her. And she will be your best friend. Uh, not so fast, buster....)
When I recounted Max's question to my favorite mental health professional, his retort was swift: "So you would grow up knowing that you aren't the only person in the world."
Now that's a good answer. So far, though, Boo's existence doesn't seem to have produced that effect on Max.
Take, for instance, our dialogue this evening as Max and Boo were settling into bed after an exhausting day at the ranch. Last night, the boys were indulged with an unexpected treat. Not only did Babee babysit; she actually spent the night. On a futon between the boys' beds. With Boo snuggled against her right side and Max draped across her left.
Because we've been gone all day, I hadn't secreted the futon in the hall closet before the boys got in bed tonight. The implication of that futon lying smack in the middle of their room was obvious. The only question was which child would ask.
Boo: "Mommy, will you sleep on the floor with us?"
Max: "Yeah, mommy, will you? Will you?"
Me: "You guys had a great time having a sleepover with Babee last night, but I'm going to sleep in my bed tonight and you're going to sleep in your beds."
Max: "Wait! I could have a sleepover at Babee's house tonight."
Me: "Well, Max, I'm sure Babee would love for you to have a sleepover at her house soon, but not tonight. It's bedtime."
Max: "Hey! I have a great idea! We could go Babee....Max....Babee....Max."
Me: "Hmmm, that sounds like a pattern."
And an interesting one at that, the idea of Max alternating between one night at Babee's house and the next at home.
Max: "Yeah, Babee could sleep over here one night, and then I could sleep over there the next night, and then she could come back over here."
And in Max's world, it was indeed a perfect idea. As if no one else might have any feelings about that arrangement at all--not Poppi, neither his dad nor I, not even Babee herself.
If you're big enough for the job of Center of the Universe, why, really, would you want to do anything else?
As I kissed him gooodnight, Max asked, "Did you and daddy have me because you wanted a baby?"
"Yes, we wanted a baby more than anything, and we're so very glad we got you." Whatever Max was working through in his mind, I was certain this explanation would reassure and comfort him.
"Then why did you have Boo?"
(As someone who came in second in birth order, I've never pondered the psychological conundrum that confronts the first child. "If my parents really think I'm the bee's knees, why are they calling in the second stringer?" When we were expecting Boo, my mother-in-law couched the firstborn's understandable confusion in these terms: Imagine Lee were to come home this evening and tell you that he loved you so much that in a few months, he'd be bringing home another wife. Oh, but there's more. You are going to love her. And she will be your best friend. Uh, not so fast, buster....)
When I recounted Max's question to my favorite mental health professional, his retort was swift: "So you would grow up knowing that you aren't the only person in the world."
Now that's a good answer. So far, though, Boo's existence doesn't seem to have produced that effect on Max.
Take, for instance, our dialogue this evening as Max and Boo were settling into bed after an exhausting day at the ranch. Last night, the boys were indulged with an unexpected treat. Not only did Babee babysit; she actually spent the night. On a futon between the boys' beds. With Boo snuggled against her right side and Max draped across her left.
Because we've been gone all day, I hadn't secreted the futon in the hall closet before the boys got in bed tonight. The implication of that futon lying smack in the middle of their room was obvious. The only question was which child would ask.
Boo: "Mommy, will you sleep on the floor with us?"
Max: "Yeah, mommy, will you? Will you?"
Me: "You guys had a great time having a sleepover with Babee last night, but I'm going to sleep in my bed tonight and you're going to sleep in your beds."
Max: "Wait! I could have a sleepover at Babee's house tonight."
Me: "Well, Max, I'm sure Babee would love for you to have a sleepover at her house soon, but not tonight. It's bedtime."
Max: "Hey! I have a great idea! We could go Babee....Max....Babee....Max."
Me: "Hmmm, that sounds like a pattern."
And an interesting one at that, the idea of Max alternating between one night at Babee's house and the next at home.
Max: "Yeah, Babee could sleep over here one night, and then I could sleep over there the next night, and then she could come back over here."
And in Max's world, it was indeed a perfect idea. As if no one else might have any feelings about that arrangement at all--not Poppi, neither his dad nor I, not even Babee herself.
If you're big enough for the job of Center of the Universe, why, really, would you want to do anything else?
1 Comments:
Your posts often make me smile, but this one made me laugh out loud, especially at Max's idea of the perfect sleeping arrangement.
Your favorite mental health professional is a very smart man.
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