Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Being the Grown-Up

It wasn't long after we started having him spend the weekends when the Wee One, The Fella's son, said "I am supposed to ask a grown up before I something something something." I don't remember what it was that he wanted permission to do; it's completely escaped me because he was looking at me when he asked.

Because I was supposed to grant or deny permission.

Because ... and this is so weird ... I was the grown up.

Now, those of you who have children all of the time, who signed up for parenthood legally or who had a child exit her body (or who is the proud partner of someone who did) are probably laughing your ass off at the idea that while the Wee One was looking for me to reply,  I was looking around to see who else would be qualified to say "yes" or "no" or "maybe later" because I did not want those doe eyes staring at me, expecting that I would know what to do in any situation, let alone EVERY situation.

Or maybe you're not laughing. Maybe you're nodding sympathetically because you've been there too. Like when they sent you home with your own wee one for the first time without an instruction manual or a supervising adult because -- guess what? That's YOU now! GOOD LUCK HAHAHAHAHA!

I keep thinking maybe it's easier if the wee ones don't arrive in your life kind of sudden-like, if you have time to get used to the idea. "Okay, in about forty weeks there's going to be a child.  Okay. Um. I need to ...buy some stuff. And read some books and watch some videos and ....ewwwww, okay, no more videos... and, you know, prepare for this. But an infant won't know that I'm winging it, and by the time she's old enough to figure it out maybe I'll be, err, LESS winging it. Which would be good, since I totally don't want this kid to realize right away that I am TERRIFIED right now."

Sometimes I am terrified, even though, as the Wee One himself has pointed out, I'm not his mom. I'm his Yellie. We're both figuring out what that means, but here's what I know for sure:

It means that he expects me to know answers.

It means that I have Legos in my purse for when he's having a super good day.

It means that he wants me to read him stories sometimes.

It means that I worry about his schooling and what the future holds for him.

It means that he thinks I am an excellent baker.

It means that I've sucked it up and started to bake things.

It means that he snuggles up to me on the love seat.

It means that I love his little face.

It means that he thinks I'm a grown up.

And it means ... that I think I'm learning how to be one.

Sort of.


In the meantime, if you want to play with some Legos, I've got some in my purse.

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