No one would ever accuse me of having been a quiet child. No one would ever accuse me of having been a mellow child. I have, and have always had FEELINGS. ALL OF THE FEELINGS!
When I found out I was having a boy child, I expected that he would be more temperamentally matched to his father–his father being a boy and all. I did not expect to find myself staring down at myself as I, in tiny boy form, tried to explain the weight, and the heft, and the width, and the breadth of my FEELS.
Darice, Irene and I were emailing today, and I remembered one of my favorite Baby Thor stories.
When he was 2, he ran up against the same separation anxiety a lot of toddlers face. Daycare was a necessity for us, so every day I would drop him off, and every day we would go through a ritual of goodbyes. But somewhere around 2.25, he’d had enough of that.
After a display of histrionics that would win an Oscar, I managed to get away from him and run out the front door.
I mean, Nancy Kerrigan didn’t set up such a cry.
And I dare you not to laugh. Because I laughed.
Not the daycare window, which is why this 2 year old Thor is not demanding answers to perceived injustices.
To this day, I have no idea where he came up with that phrase. It’s not something anyone in our family says. Lightning McQueen never said it, and Curious George couldn’t speak English.
All I can guess is that somewhere in his genetic makeup, there is a chromosome marked for drama that generates its own dialog.
When he’s old enough, I’m teaching him lines from The Merchant of Venice.