The Writing Mamas Daily Blog

Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.

If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.

And for that, you are a goddess.

Saturday, June 02, 2007


Going With It

Recently and suddenly, my 2 ½-year old son has become contrary. Very contrary. Here’s a typical dialogue:

“Would you like a banana?”


“Okay, you don’t have to have a banana.” [I turn away.]

“I want a banana!”

“Okay.” [I turn to him and begin to peel the banana.]

“I don’t want a banana!”

Some say that he’s looking for attention. That may be true, but as soon as I try to give him attention, he rejects it. If I extend my arms out to offer a hug, he will turn away and run into the next room.

A friend told me that his son’s temper tantrums were so intense that all he and his wife could do was make sure the kid did not bang his head against the coffee table or the tile floor. The boy was big and heavyset.

So, when my son becomes contrary or throws himself on the ground, I let him be. This morning, however, he had caca in his diapers. I could not leave him alone. I did the usual good parent thing.

“Luis, amour,” I said, “I have to change your diaper because if I don’t, you’ll get a rash. Now, where would you like me to change you? On the floor or on the couch?”

[No response.]

“Okay, then, I’ll change you on the floor.”


“Luis, hijo mío. I must do this. I am going to count to five, when I get to five, you need to be on the floor. Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco.”

I approach him and quickly place my hands on his rib cage, bend my knees deeply and swiftly lift him up. I press him against my chest, so when he arches his back he won’t go crashing to the floor. His 35 pounds feel like 100 now. I place him in the bathtub, take off his diaper, advise him that I need to wipe his bottom.


“Okay, I’ll wash you with water. “ I hold his arm firmly as he tries to collapse and pull away. I rinse his bottom only half thoroughly.

“NO! “

Then I dry him off and let him sit on the bathroom rug. There is nothing I can do. I busy myself in the room next to him (the kitchen) and leave the door ajar.


Then silence. He’s listening.

“NOOO!” he repeats.

More silence. I slide a bowl of strawberries through the doorway.


I forget the rest, but, somehow, he made it up into his booster seat at the kitchen table, without his diaper, mind you. He ate. This moment, for me, is the sweetest, because it’s when I don’t say anything at all. We just enjoy food together. No lectures about hygiene, no affirmation that he’s feeling better, no ribbing him about his bad moment. I simply allow myself to ride the wave of relief.

By Vicki Inglis


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