RR’s middle name is not Grace – both literally and figuratively. She is finally working out all of the physical coordination that goes into being a kid – the climbing, the running, the escaping our clutches in favor of danger! danger! She’s free-range. Cage-free, if you will. At 100 miles an hour. With not enough sense…yet.
Whereas I understand that this is all well and good with growing up, and we keep the first aid kit on hand for every tumble down the concrete path she takes, I’m finding that my patience as a parent to watch her struggle and learn and fall and get back up (bloodied, scraped, bruised) is very thin. This leads me to literally hovering over her at a playground, while she says, “I got it!” over and over, making her way up and down the stairs.
My wife and I have different philosophies. I am of the, “no standing on the couch.” and she is of the, “the BEST way to get on the couch so that you can stand up is to put your foot here… then push… now, here’s how to get onto the back so that you can see out the window…” So instead of actively holding her back, I hover, or more likely when my wife is on duty helping her learn, I look away. Like it’s a car accident waiting to happen.
Her most impressive wounds haven’t happened on our watch, but the watch of her daytime providers. We’re doing a good job. Rather, my wife is doing a great job, and I’m nervously biting my lip from the sidelines.
She’s gaining confidence, though. Strength. Balance. I’m gaining trust, patience, and the understanding that her development trumps my nervous Nellies. Parenting lesson number… oh, I don’t know… 1,453?