Why Parents Need Laryngitis

I'm pretty convinced that all parents need to come down with a case of laryngitis.  Really, it should be a mandatory part of parenting.

Today was one of those days where one wakes up smack in the middle of a cold. As it happens, my cold decided to take my voice and replace it with... nothing.

The day went by just like any other day, nothing too extraordinary. But the end of the day came and I commented (via whispering and texting) to my husband that he would have been so proud of J – he had been so good today.

Later on I was thinking about it, and realized that the only REAL difference in the day was in MY behavior. I didn't yell (because I couldn't). I was forced to calmly whisper every request to J today, to get his attention by waving, or by whispering his name. 

 You know what? He could hear me.

I learned that he doesn't need me to yell, and that he has, in fact, learned to ignore me when I do. Super effective parenting does NOT come from raising one's voice, after all.

And I know he could hear me quite well. He requested I read his bedtime story, even though it was a whisper. He didn't complain, and he snuggled nice and close, maybe so he could hear better, I don't know.

He heard me best when I couldn't talk at all.   And that is why every parent should contract laryngitis at least once in the course of toddlerhood.

Groundhog Day

A friend of mine and I were talking about parenting the other day. She said sometimes she feels like she is in the movie Groundhog Day. And it's true. Every day we do the exact same thing--dirty dishes, scrub floors, wipe noses--not one detail changes from day to day, right down to the post-nap fuss. 

It's easy to get caught up in the "life is a living torment that I created for myself" grouchy pessimism when a certain toddler is sent screaming to his room for the umpteenth time in a morning.  Just like the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, and....

But that's not how the movie ends. 

Some days, I wake up and something has changed. Big time. 

This morning my son got out of bed, walked into my room, and crawled into bed with me to cuddle before it was officially "up and awake" time. 

And I realized this was a vastly different morning than a typical morning from two years ago. 

Suddenly my baby is a little boy running around like crazy trying to keep up with his older cousins. He negotiates stairs on his own. He demonstrates a very (too?) strong will. He has an inordinate love for all things fire truck. He rides his balance bike. 

Somehow, the seemingly endless tedium doesn't seem so tedious anymore. Yes, often the days are the same, but then there are the days when time seems to go by too fast. It's those days when I notice the big changes that change me--for the better, I hope. They stir that desire to be ever-present to my son's life. To not take him for granted, and to not lose patience. He is growing up, and every day I have the privilege of being there to witness it. 

What new miracle will happen tomorrow?