M has been a lot less independent these days. It’s a bit of a shock for me, seeing as she’s the anti-cuddle baby, but she is suddenly wanting to spend an inordinate amount of time in my arms. This means the Ergo and Maya have been brought in from the car, where I usually leave them for use while running errands. Since she is the most clingy upon waking, I usually prepare both breakfast and dinner while wearing M, and while it’s a bit inconvenient, I have to say it warms my heart to see how happy she is, snuggled against me. And damn am I glad I have carriers that work with an 18 month old!

But even when she’s willing to be down on the ground, she still wants a lot more from me than usual. I am no longer allowed to be on the computer unless she’s in my lap, and you can guess how well that goes (picture sippy cup banging on keyboard). Admittedly, I have drastically cut down my computer time in front of her anyway, since my internet addiction is not exactly a behavior I want to model. But it’s a bit of a pain in the ass when I’m trying to type an email while simultaneously keeping a toddler out of reach of the keyboard.

So although she used to be happy to play independently for long stretches of time, she now needs me close to her throughout much of the day. And so it was that I was sitting on the floor with her today while she threaded her stacking rings, over and over and over. She was content that I was merely sitting there, observing her … and so was I. Until she had trouble lining up a ring. She slid it back and forth, but I could see she was nowhere near the hole. My hand crept forward, but I pulled it back, a bit surprised by my need to “help” her. Then she started to get frustrated. Her movements grew jerkier, and she started to whine. I realized that my breathing was rapid and shallow, and my anxiety levels were rapidly climbing. She threw the ring down, picked up another and successfully guided it on. I felt myself relax, but then she started having trouble again, and my stress levels spiked even though she wasn’t even frustrated yet.

I watched this happen over and over … as soon as she had the slightest bit of trouble, I would get anxious and have to resist the urge to help her. If she couldn’t get the ring on and her irritation bloomed, my desire to intervene was so strong I thought I was going to jump out of my skin.

What was going on?

I have consciously adopted a philosophy of not helping M with a task unless I feel it’s really warranted. I want her to feel free to explore her environment, and I don’t want to give her the message that there is only one right way of doing things (my way). I also want her to have faith in her ability to figure things out. Trial and error is a wonderful teaching mechanism. So what if she’s trying to put a square block through the round hole of the shape sorter? She’ll figure it out soon enough, and learning on her own will be much more valuable than me guiding her hand to the solution.

Life is not easy, and it’s very common to run into obstacles and roadblocks – be they internally or externally generated. I hope to nurture within her a certain comfort level with the resultant feelings of frustration. I personally find them so abhorrent that I usually choose to abandon tasks as soon as the slightest difficulty arises, rather than sit with them. I don’t want M to be this way, and I don’t want her turning to me for help the second things don’t go her way. Not because I don’t want to help her, but because I want her to believe in herself.

As usual, I find that being a parent teaches me more about myself and the lessons left for me to learn, than it does about my child. Despite my anxiety, I was absolutely fascinated by my reaction to her struggles. I think some of it is simply human nature … who among you would not reach out a hand to help a child? But for me I know it goes beyond that. How much of it ties into my intense fear of failure, the need to always be perfect? Am I projecting that onto her, needing her to be perfect for me? Am I blurring the lines between us? Am I fearful for what might happen to her if she makes a “mistake”?

I don’t know all the answers to these questions, although I’m not convinced it particularly matters. The important thing is that I saw what was going on, saw that I was encroaching on her space, and I stopped myself. I took deep, even breaths whenever the urge to intervene arose. I pulled myself back into my body, my heart, and created an easy, open space just for her. I didn’t step in and steal away her burden. Instead I was witness to her struggle … honoring it, but not rescuing her. When she grew angry and handed me a ring, I said, “That one doesn’t want to go on, does it?” And I set it on the floor.

I am learning that when one feels forgiveness for another, it is easier to forgive yourself. When you love another, you love yourself. What you give to another, you can give to yourself. Will accepting M just the way she is, shedding my need for her to do things “just so”, allow me to do the same for myself?

Like stacking rings, I am building myself into a parent … into a new person.