My latest project is to think of a strategy for homing devices. No technology for me. Just mapping my son's route. The little one has an uncanny knack of smelling me out. No jokes, I mean smelling me out. One moment he is this bubbly, cheerful, active, playful little doll. All that I have to do to unleash his Mr Hyde is to walk into the room / walk past him / walk towards him / talk to him / leave him playing oh-so cutely and quietly. He homes in on me.
Then the wailing starts making me feel as if I have been torturing the poor dear. After approximately 35 seconds of resistance, I have to and will pick him up.
My routine activities are a hide-and seek. I tiptoe from room to room trying to walk past him, behind him, so he does not realize what is happening. Very often he still catches on. And proceeds to crawl after me with of course, the wail in place.
And so my movements around the house are tempered with this little lovable being trailing me, waiting for a chance to be picked up, looking up with "big sad soulful eyes". Sometimes, he even sits himself on the floor by my feet as I eat, whining away. Sometimes absentmindedly I even feed him little tit-bits and then shake myself in remembrance that it is my son seated not a puppy.
All this talk about spoiling children by picking them up or relenting when they wail, or giving in to their every whim... ah well. The sheer joy of seeing him crooning or burying his face in my neck or his baby babble are enough to keep all these reservations at bay. I know that I will keep picking him up every time and enjoy the little one and his love. After all, that is what parenting is all about.
Then the wailing starts making me feel as if I have been torturing the poor dear. After approximately 35 seconds of resistance, I have to and will pick him up.
My routine activities are a hide-and seek. I tiptoe from room to room trying to walk past him, behind him, so he does not realize what is happening. Very often he still catches on. And proceeds to crawl after me with of course, the wail in place.
And so my movements around the house are tempered with this little lovable being trailing me, waiting for a chance to be picked up, looking up with "big sad soulful eyes". Sometimes, he even sits himself on the floor by my feet as I eat, whining away. Sometimes absentmindedly I even feed him little tit-bits and then shake myself in remembrance that it is my son seated not a puppy.
All this talk about spoiling children by picking them up or relenting when they wail, or giving in to their every whim... ah well. The sheer joy of seeing him crooning or burying his face in my neck or his baby babble are enough to keep all these reservations at bay. I know that I will keep picking him up every time and enjoy the little one and his love. After all, that is what parenting is all about.
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