I love it when she calls me that. Darling. I love it more than my own name. I felt like giving her one hundred and thirty-two kisses.
(from Alvin-Ho: Allergic To Dead Bodies, Funerals, And Other Fatal Circumstances by Lenore Look)
It’s wonderful to have a three-year-old because he’s old enough to talk and start to explain what is happening in his mind, but young enough to be unashamedly sweet and loving, young enough to tell me what he wants and what he loves without being embarrassed. This quote from Alvin-Ho reminded me of my boy.
We have many little nicknames for him, lots of terms of endearment that just float around our house. But I’m starting to see that he prefers different ones for different times. The other day he was hurt. I picked him up in my lap and stroked his hair. “Are you okay?” I said. “Yeah, I’m okay. Can you call me Baby Bear and rock me?” What a precious moment. How sweet to be able to meet his needs exactly because he tells me exactly what he needs.
Another day recently he said, “Mom! I goed in the potty like such a big boy now you say I’m SOOOOO proud, Benjamin!” Sometimes when he has, ahem, a big potty accomplishment he’ll ask for a few M&Ms or mini marshmallows because we used these rewards when we first trained him. But that day he just wanted some praise, some words of affirmation, just to hear me say that I was proud of him. It was the only reward he wanted.
I can’t help but think, what would it be like if we grown-ups weren’t too cool to be vulnerable like that? What would happen if we just asked for what we need or want instead of just hoping that our friends and spouses and moms will read our minds? Sometimes people even offer to help or to comfort and we say, “Oh, I’m fine! Don’t worry about me.” We forget that we might also be causing them to miss some joy in getting to help or to hug. I’m not suggesting that we all become just like three-year-olds or whine for what we want, expecting someone to cater to our every whim. But we could stand to be more vulnerable.
I’m learning this, nine-months pregnant with a broken toe and a lot to do. I’m learning to say, “Yes! I do need someone to pick up my son for me so I can rest for a few hours.” And, “Sure–I’d love to have some help with my laundry or my sewing project.” “Oh, a drink from Sonic would be lovely if it’s on your way. Thank you!” Even, “Honey, I’m having a rough day. Do you think you could play with my hair while we talk?”