Power struggles. I didn’t think we would come upon it so soon, but my quickly developing 10 month boy already knows how to demand for things. He also gets frustrated easily, a trait that I remember carrying as a child and young adult. He has my family’s fire, and it’s my turn to learn how to flow with it. Yesterday, a melt-down ensued over a juice pouch. I had handed it to him for one second so that I could grab something out of the car. I would normally hold it while he sucked on the end. By handing it to him, he felt what it was like to have power and control.
When I tried to take it back thirty seconds later because his strong tiny hands were squeezing the juice everywhere, he got his diapers in a twist. He refused to suck on the straw while I held it. He started actual-crying, with tears and all. Every time I came near him with the pouch, he pushed my hands away, kicking in distraught. Tiny hands flew up in the air and grabbed at the side of his head, as if I was causing him a migraine. Then he would grab tufts of hair on both sides and pull outwards, like he was going crazy. In fact, he WAS going crazy! Also, where did he learn that?? When the pouch came near his face, he would yank it out of my hands, which would accidentally squirt more juice onto my beautiful Nordic rug, my favorite sweater, and the glass door. Imagine a horror film with juice.
So of course, I tried to gently take it back and help him again. I tried to put it away in the fridge so that he would forget (he didn’t forget). I tried to ignore his cries and walk away from him, but he flailed more in the high chair and I’m just not sure ours (this one) could withstand a flailing 22-pound wild child. So back I came, and took him down. On the floor, he upturned my cat’s bowl, kicked the rug, and continued to thrash on the floor. So I pulled the pouch out of the fridge, which made him WILDER! Why did we think that middle name was cute??
I finally succumbed to his tear-stained face and drenched onesie (from all the drool that resulted from crying). I handed him his pouch and he calmed down. He then continued to spill juice all over the house, sticking his grubby finger in the straw trying to, I suppose, figure out how and why it comes out of the packet. To end the power struggle, I had to be the first to stop. Which is a life lesson for me, as my fire never stops burning. I’m a person trying to optimize and win. But I don’t want to be an authoritarian like my parents were. I remind myself that I want him to experience the world on his own terms and form his own opinions. In the moment, it was hard not to worry about the mess. Once I let go, I realized that the struggle was really a reflection of me. Just another case of the mondaze.
