When JJ was born, our friends called him The Buddha Baby. At birth, he came out with his eyes wide open and looked at the world in silent amazement. As an infant, he was chubby, sweet, and amazingly mellow. I carted him around with me everywhere: restaurants, hair appointments, doctors’ offices. We did mom-and-baby yoga together, and while all the other babies were either screaming or sleeping, he would just gaze beatifically up at the ceiling fans.
Even as a toddler, he was cautious and quiet. He would sit for hours, playing with a stick. Getting him to walk anywhere required an exhausting amount of cajoling and begging. I was concerned that he wasn’t active enough, that he was doomed to be a couch potato.
I needn’t have worried. Something has happened to my formerly placid child. Suddenly, he is a cyclone of activity. The boy who used to yell at guests, “Stop climbing on the coffee table! Don’t stand on the chair! That’s not safe!” is literally bouncing off the furniture. Talk about boy energy: this kid never stops moving.
What the hell happened? Is it school? Hormones? A developmental stage? I am worn out chasing after him, reminding him to stop squirming, hauling him off the furniture, and scraping him off the ground when he falls.
I am way too old for this job.