Baby Cale

Baby Cale

Sometimes I get mad at my baby. Not a fast, lose my temper kind of mad. It's more of a quiet and deep-seated "it wasn't supposed to be this way" kind of mad. Why? Well, mainly because HE'S NOT A BABY. He's three and a half. THREE AND A HALF. But he acts like a baby. Actually, that's not even really a good description because one can communicate effectively with a baby.

I just got done scrubbing fruit smoothie of of my walls, molding, table, chairs, and kitchen blinds because he threw an entire glass of it into the wall which promptly exploded onto everything within smoothie spray reach.

The words, "He's functioning at the level of an 18 month old," rang in my head as I scrubbed. This is somewhat acceptable behavior for an eighteen month. The difference is that a fairly loud, "NO," will usually produce enough bad energy that a normal child gets the idea. It doesn't usually stop the behavior right away but it does eventually. I've been telling Cale, "NO," (and using a variety of other disciplinary techniques) to throwing food (and other things) for two and half years now.

When I got done scrubbing, I heard the water running upstairs. Someone left the bathroom door open again so I ran double step up the stairs to stop him because he doesn't feel it when the water is hot. I've found him, before, sitting in a sink of water that was uncomfortably hot for my hands. I've got locks on the outsides of all the bathroom doors now but sometimes my other two kids go potty and forget to lock the door back up. I pulled him out of the sink, left his wet clothes on him (because maybe one day he'll get the freakin' picture), and then went back downstairs to sweep the floor (he had dug the dirt out of a plant earlier and it was all over the living room).

Mid sweeping I found him on the table again digging dirt out of the same plant (I had just swept there). I put the plant up in my room and locked the door and came back downstairs to find him up on the counter. He likes to climb onto the counter and throw glasses (and anything else that might shatter and make interesting sounds) onto the floor. His diaper was poopy so I took him upstairs to change him.

He'd destroyed his room at nap time. The changing pad was on the floor buried in stuff. He'd pulled open all his drawers and his toy box, spread his stuff out all over the room, and pulled his closet doors off their sliders again. I dug through the stuff (wrestling with him so he didn't escape me) and found his changing pad. I put it back on the dresser, put him on it (still wrestling), and pulled open the drawer (one handed, the other hand hanging on to him) to quickly get out wipes and a diaper. There was nothing in the drawer and I burst into tears.

Eighteen months is my least favorite age in a child. It's because, by this age, they're physically fairly sophisticated. Yet, mentally, they're still babies. They don't quite have a sense of safety awareness and they need almost constant supervision at all times.

By two and a half, they're usually well on their way out of this stage and verbal communication is in full swing. Even if they don't talk well yet, they can still understand you almost perfectly. Well, Cale is as physically advanced as that of a three year (he can open doors, climb, and really destroy things). Mentally, though, it isn't really even fair to compare him to an eighteen month old because you can communicate with an eighteen month old.

Cale doesn't understand differences in emotion. He can feel the intensity of an emotion, but doesn't understand the difference between angry and really playfully happy. Even really yelling, "NO!" and slapping his hands is consistently met with laughing. And it isn't a defiant laughing. He really, genuinely, believes that I'm playing with him. He looks at me with his sweet smile and bear hugs me. He's very sweet and very snugly but he NEVER stops moving. He also gets frustrated and rips kitchen cupboard doors off their hinges.

Sometimes I say to God, "Thank you for giving me such a sweet baby." It's really an honor that God thinks enough of me to think I can handle kids like this. Other times (like right now), I say, "I've had babies for six and a half years straight. I didn't sign up to have a toddler for the rest of my life."