Nate has really embraced being two. He has embraced the bike. He has embraced being big. Last night we went on a family walk, and he walked. The whole way! No stroller. No bike trailer. No Goggy’s arms. He was determined to walk, and he did it.
Unfortunately, our little strong-willed boy has another determination.
Trains.
You know, the big Thomas and Friends train track of two-year-olds everywhere?
We’ve had one since Sam was two…and mildly interested in pushing the little Thomas and Gordon and Percy around the track.
Since Nate turned two, he’s embraced the trains with the will of a boy who refused to walk for the first 18 months of his life. He squeals, “CHOOO CHOOO TRAIN!” constantly. Seriously. He can’t get enough.
But…here’s the awkward part. Nate doesn’t want to play trains by himself, he wants me to play with him.
Could someone help me with how you say in toddler…”Mommy hasn’t played long and involved make-believe games since she had twins who played together for whole afternoons.”?
I know. That sounds so heartless. Don’t I love my kid? Don’t I have an active imagination? Isn’t it my duty to crouch over Gordon and Thomas and make some kind of Really Useful plot…all while building complicated tracks and personas for the different trains?
But, here’s the thing…I did all that. So did it all. For years. Seriously. The kids and I did pretend doctor’s visits with shots and shin splints and cancer and broken arms. I have been the persona of Cathy, the older sister who attends baptisms and weddings. I have been a princess and a prince and a mom who’s dropping my kids off at the babysitters (who are Catie, Sam, and Elisabeth).
Somewhere in all those games of make-believe, the kids learned how to play make-believe on their own, and I bowed out.
And now? I am an EXCELLENT patient. While the kids play doctor, I will nap on the couch, and let them take my temperature, check my reflexes, and give me vaccines. I am an eager attendee of their elaborate “shows.” And during their games of SuperHero or Wedding or whatever, I never complain about cleaning up face paint or shaving cream or whatever.
But it’s just understood that the plot line for all this pretend play belongs to them.
They feel so good about all the creativity. I feel so good about the quasi-nap I took on the couch.
How did Nate miss the memo that this is how it works?
Because he not only wants me crouched over the train table crooning, “Choo Choo!” but he wants to sit on the couch and watch. And when I inevitably snuggle up next to him, he says, “NO! Mommy play choo choo!”
What?!
So, I’m working on weaning him. I’m trying to teach him how to build his own tracks, how to crouch next to me over the table, how trains can be Really Useful.
And mostly, I’m trying to teach him how to play a rousing game of “Hey! Nate! You do a show and Mommy will watch!”
