"If we are to reach real peace in this world and if we are to carry out a real war against war, we shall have to begin with children; and if they will grow up in their natural innocence, we won't have to struggle; we won't have to pass fruitless idle resolutions, but we shall go from love to love, and peace to peace until at last all corners of the world are covered with that peace and love for which conciously or unconciosuly the whole world is hungering."
-Mahatma Ghandi
No one prepared me for THIS, was all I could think as I stared at my adorable, bright, and stubborn-as-a-mule 21 month old son. Stomping his foot, he wrenched his diaper clad body away from me. All limbs and dimpled knees, his round belly prodruded comically as he paraded around the room announcing, "No-no-no-no-no!"
"It's time to change your diaper, buddy," I repeated, "It stinks."
It had been a LONG morning. After being up with a congested nose for a good portion of the night, Landon was beyond tired....and so was I!
My son's green eyes locked with mine.
Showdown time.
I gingerly moved forward, trying to sell him with my non-chalant smile
Why did this have to be so hard, I thought, I'm just trying to HELP you!
Grabbing under his arms, Landon kicked his legs so fursiously that one connected right with my chin.
Pow!
And he was free again.
I burried my face in my hands.
There was a time when I would have considered this a moment to puff up my feathers in indignant and insecure anger and show Landon who was boss. I could use my size advantage (despite the mess caused by kicking legs and a messy, messy diaper), I could punish, I could bribe.
With fingers pressed to my cheeks, I shook my head and peered up.
What was I to do?
Landon began stomping his feet and bobbing his head to some imaginary beat, his face full of concentration. He stopped abruptly, and leaned forward extending one leg behind him into a comical yoga-like pose....saggy, full diaper and all.
As he stretched and preened, I could feel the last bits of my composure slipping away.
Landon pursed his lips and craned his neck like some strange hybrid toddler-peacock....
And that was all it took.
I. Completely. Lost. It.
Like 'I-belong-in-the-loony-bin lost it'.
Erupting into laughter, I threw my hands up in surrender.
My sweet son, wild eyed and confused....cocked his head to the side and cracked a half smile...not sure if his mom had indeed finally gone crazy.
Soon, though, the hysteria spread like wildfire and even my very reserved, very careful son couldn't keep the cap on. Those baby giggles began peppering the air and mixing with my own, breaking up the tension like bubbles bursting.
We laughed and laughed until our sore stomach muscles and tear laden eyes begged for a rest.
Reaching forward, I scooped Landon into my arms and hugged him tight, imagining my love washing over him like a warm wave.
Leaning back and looking him in the eye, I repeated the same words as before.
"It's time to change your diaper, buddy."
And yet they were not the same.
Those words had now somewhow transformed into something that sounded more like a confident invitation rather than an obligated, annoyed question.
It was magic.
And just like that, he calmly followed my lead and FINALLY that diaper got changed.
Oh happy day!
Parenting is such HARD work sometimes. There are no easy fixes or one-size-fits-all instructions to follow. Landon still has plenty of days when he fights, cries, or screams when it comes time for [diaper change/to get in the car-seat/to go inside after playing/ etc.] fill in the blank with many, many other scenarios.
But, if there is anything that I learned from our day of diaper-changing hysterics, it is that attitude is EVERYTHING. My son has had less than 2 years to learn to deal with his feelings of frustration.
I've had 30.
There will be many, many situations where I don't understand Landon, when his BIG emotions take over and he does something he later regrets (I have a nice scratch on my neck from last night's meltdown to prove that!) or when I just plain mess-up as a parent.
But unlike my passionate toddler [whose 'emotional center' of the brain is developing rapid-fire while his frontal-cortex (....that which controls reasoning/rational thought/emotional regulation....big surprise there!) is completely underdeveloped]; I am ABLE to make the choice to do better.
I am able to chose how I look at the situation.
I am able to take a breath, calm down, and even find humor.
I am able to model for my son how to navigate the stormy waters of frustration and anger in a productive way.
I am able to reassure my son that, until the day I die, I will constantly reach out to him....endlessly making the concioius effort to connect with him. No. Matter. What.
Above all...even when my biggest doubts creep in....I am able to chose love over fear.
As Ghandi said, "If we are to reach real peace in this world...we shall have to begin with children."
Peace begins in the home. It lives in subtle exchanges and expressions of grace. It shines as those who are bigger/older/more powerful treat those who are most vulnerable with dignity and respect.
Parenting can indeed be such hard, thankless work.
But, as my son wraps his warm, soft arms around my neck and squeezes tight, I am utterly convinced that it is the highest calling there is.
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