Amanda is in the toy store playing with the Peppa Pig cuckoo clock. Trying to open the latch at the top. I let her play for a few minutes and then say “let’s go” since I’m worried about having to buy something. She turns and walks towards the playground which is in the space next door. She then stops, sits on the floor, and cries. I try to pick her up, but she goes limp. She’s dug in.
This crying pattern has become more frequent. In the car. At the playground. In the open area downstairs. When the wrong cartoon plays. Before and after sleep. And I guess I should be worried like her mom but mostly I get annoyed when she cries especially if Kobe joins the chorus. I take it as normal. A toddler’s frustration with not being able to communicate what she wants. As she’s been able to communicate better in recent weeks, it seems the crying has been reduced. And to be fair to Amanda, she is mostly a great, well content baby.
It’s been about a year since I decided to quit my job and seven months since I officially stopped. I’m adjusting. Tried meditation. Tried exercise. Still get frustrated. My personal terrible twos. Part of the frustration, I tell myself, is that my retirement activities have been delayed. The app I was going to write. Setting up my estate. Blogging the museums. Reading. Exploring. But I kind of know I’d still be frustrated. That is something I need to work through. Terrible twos. Decades.
I write this on Father’s day and know that a codependent is bound to be disappointed on holidays. Both receiving and giving. I remember trying to connect with my dad on a father’s day when he was spending the weekend on Mt. Tam with my mom (forget the name of the shared cabin). The connection I was trying to make earned no reaction. I wonder if I’m the same.
So with that, I embrace Amanda’s cries. Her expression of needs unmet. Her rational and irrational selfs. I embrace Aidan, Lydia, and Elisa as well. In good times and in bad. In communication and in silence.