By Kenda - July, 5th 2012

Little Man is almost three. People who meet him think he’s four. He talks like he’s five. But even still, there are some things he does that remind me of the baby he once was. Bedtime is when most of these things happen. It’s always been the time he feels the most small and needing of Mommy or Daddy. It’s the time when he wants to be called ‘My Baby’ and not ‘Big Boy’. He wants his Doggie, his Panda, several kisses and his bottle of milk. A few nights ago that changed.

The Balance Between Big Boy and Baby

Little man had been in one of those awesome snuggle moods since dinner time. He wanted to be in my lap, asked for hugs randomly and accepted any and all kisses sent his way.

I love those times because it’s when he says, “I’m momma’s baby?” and I say, “Yes, of course you are.”

As we prepared for bed we went through the usual routine: reading a book, talking about everything we’d done that day and how we’d do it all again tomorrow, then ‘nose-forehead-cheek kisses’ (his favorite). The final step is the bottle of warm milk. It’s one of those things I have allowed him to make the decision about. I knew we wouldn’t be still making one when he’s seven, so I’d simply allowed him that security at night.

Before now I was a ‘make the choice for them’ mom. With my first child I decided when the pacifier went in the trash as well as the bottles. Potty training was promptly started at 2 years old and stuffed animals were kept to a minimum. None of that traumatized my eldest son and I was lucky that it worked well with his personality. For some reason I just wanted to do things differently the second time around. On this special night I was pleasantly surprised, and rewarded, for my patience.

I handed Little Man his bottle, kissed him once more and made my way to the door. Just before I turned out the light he said, “Momma…. I no want this bottle.” I was confused. Was there something wrong with it? Was it too cold? Too hot? Spoiled? Oh my goodness it had to be spoiled! I took the bottle from him and asked why.

“I don’t want any more bottles,” he said quietly and shrugged his little shoulders. Not wanting to talk him into changing his mind I told him that was so awesome (one of our favorite words) and his daddy would be so proud when I told him in the morning. As I turned for the door again….he started to cry softly.

“Are you sure,” I walked back and sat on the edge of his bed, “It’s so cool that you don’t want any more bottles, but it’s okay if you change your mind too. You pick.”

He seemed to think about it for a minute and then shook his head. He placed one hand over his eyes and fresh tears started.

“It’s a hard choice, huh” I asked, my own eyes watering. He nodded and said, “It’s tricky, momma.” (His version of ‘difficult’) He sat there with his hand over his eyes for a few minutes (while my heart burst into a million pieces), then took a deep shuttering breath, wiped his face and said, “Okay momma. No more bottles … and no more crying.”

I hugged him tight and whispered, “You are such a big boy.”

He looked up and said, “I’m big boy annnnnnnd momma’s baby”  And I replied, “Yes, of course you are.”

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I’ve learned to watch my teenager for signs of stress. Being 15 comes with some very heavy experiences. But, sometimes I forget that my toddler faces pressure as well. They may not seem like much when compared to my work, bills and other ‘big people’ things. But, to him, they are just as powerful. He has to overcome challenges, tests, life’s riddles and yes – even overcome his own patterns of behavior. But, unlike me, he doesn’t know how to express how he feels – how he may be struggling with the choices he’s faced with as he grows.

I’ve read books and blogs on child rearing. I’ve watched films on child behavior, 20 different types of parenting, and development. I never realized that one, lukewarm bottle would teach me more about my child’s thoughts than anything else. Now, I can only hope I’ll stay sensitive to those things so he knows I’m here for any choice he needs to make.