Wessy says...

"If you bad, you consequences."

Tahoe!

The Big Oh-Three

   Wessy has been three for over a month now, so I guess now is as good a time as any to write a blog post about it?  Three years old, for some reason, feels like a real solid kid age.  I read some books about child development by Alison Gopnik, and in her mind, she defines babies as anyone under three.  So I always had it in my mind that when Wesley turned three, he would officially be Not a Baby Anymore.  Mind you, this is very different from Not MY Baby Anymore, which is something he will never, ever be.



   In HIS mind, Wessy is DEFINITELY NOT A BABY ANYMORE.  If you say anything about him being a baby, or owning baby things, or doing baby things, he will immediately and emphatically correct you:  SOY UN NINYO GRANDE MAMA.  Once he saw a picture of a baby rattle in a book and asked me what it was.  I told him, "That's a baby rattle.  You had one when you were a baby." He sighed at my ignorance and corrected me, "MAMA, I HAD A BIG BOY RATTLE."



  If I get all mushy and sentimental and tell him he's my little baby, he will quickly point out, that, no, PLANTAS ES TU BEBE. SOY TU NINYO GRANDE.  Usually I'm too overcome by the cuteness of this to argue the above point about him never not being my baby and/or go into the fact that he and Plantas are both, in fact, my babies and always will be, so I just acquiesce and agree that he's a big boy and Plantas is a fetus-baby and everyone is happy.



  Speaking of Plantas, Wessy's understanding of Plantas seems to have evolved.  He previously had asked me and Stevo who Plantas's parents were, uncomprehending of the fact that he could share his parents.  Now he readily accepts that we are able to be parents to him and Plantas both.  Correspondingly, he is accepting, if not entirely embracing, of his big brother role.  He uses it to bolster his I'm-not-a-baby case (Stevo said that a week ago he told him, "I'm not a baby because I'm three and I'm going to be a big brother").  He also accepts big brotherhood as an important facet of family life--so important, in fact, that a few days ago he asked me, "MAMA QUIEN FUE MI HERMANO MAYOR CUANDO YO ERA BEBE?"



 Granted, he has not been unwavering in his endorsement of having a little sibling.  He has also told me on occasion, very politely but emphatically, that he would prefer that Plantas just stayed inside forever.  Sorry buddy, but that is NOT a plan that I can get behind.  Then again, yesterday he told me that he was excited for Plantas to come.  Three year olds are nothing if not mercurial, and I have no doubt that this rapid-fire changing of opinion is an accurate foreshadowing of their sibling relationship.


Apart from negotiating the baby-big boy divide and anticipating the arrival of a sibling, the next biggest thing going on in Wessy's three year-old world is getting used to his new preschool.  We are a month in, and preschool seems to be getting easier for Wessy, which is not to say that it's going super smoothly yet.  He still resists going to school in the mornings, but does seem to relax and do well once he's there--at least from what we can gather from the many pictures and videos the teachers dutifully send us almost daily.



  Generally, the first thing out of his mouth in the morning is "I don't want to go to school."  Part of me knows this is just (expected) adjustment phase and that things are going to get easier for him as he understands more Chinese and gets to know his classmates better.  Another part of me doesn't want him to dislike going to school, even a little bit, when he's only three.   As someone who complained that she hated school for many years (and I really did) to parents who never did much about it, I don't want to give him the impression I'm dismissing his concerns when I tell him that it's okay and it will get better. 


    And of course, there is the part of me that ALSO doesn't want to just throw in the towel because it's hard right now, because I'm fairly confident that he will really like school once he understands more Chinese. AND I don't want him to learn that the way to solve one's issues is to just give up or leave the situation entirely rather than adapting and trying to make it work.   



We definitely see little glimmers of hope come out here and there--he came home a few days ago singing Happy Birthday in Chinese, and he will sometimes spontaneously bust out Kung Fu moves.  So I know that he is participating at school and absorbing all kinds of new things that I hope are enjoyable and interesting to him. In fact, yesterday when Jeje went to pick him up, he told her that he didn't want to leave yet! And then this morning...back to "I don't want to go to school today." Sigh.


So, there is Wessy's three year-old world for you...learning to be a brand-new big boy, adjusting the idea of becoming a big brother and hopefully hating preschool a little less each day.  We love him desperately.  We just want him to be happy and to learn to negotiate all these changes with as much resilience and good humor as possible, but it's hard to see him struggle (even in ways that are safe and not a huge deal in the scheme of things). 

Gwynn Valley

Last month we returned to the place it all started, Gwynn Valley.  Olivia and I met there 12 years ago.   We'd been back a few times for a brief visit, but wessy had never even set foot in North Carolina much less been to camp.  He was enthusiastic from the start, given that the trip began with a ride on an airplane.  The flight was a great success.  We bought him these toddler headphones, which may have been good for an hour or so of entertainment.  We had positioned ourselves with seats near the rear toilet, and wessy was happy to make use of it.



The trip started with a visit to auntie Ray and uncle Kevin's house in Atlanta.  We took the MARTA rail which wessy dubbed "el BART."  Understandable mistake.  The rolling stock is the same for both systems, and the trains even make a similar humming noise as they roll.



At camp, Wessy's favorite activity by far was picking up rocks and sticks in the many streams.



Picking leaves off the plants and tree was also a hit.









Of course, Wessy enjoyed the farm and the horses.

It should be noted that while several of these pics show me leading Wessy around camp, almost all of the Wessy-containment duties fell to mommy, as I was perpetually being called to some minor "emergency" or another.  We were actually there putatively so I could be the camp doctor, but it seemed more like we were there to enjoy the mountains of NC on a pseudo-vacation.

Most of the medical issues that arose were fairly prosaic: mystery rashes, bug bites, etc.  We did have some broken bones, and a rather scary episode involving a pitchfork vs a hand.  I'll leave it at that.



I had requested that we have a separate room for Wessy (declined), but this turned out to be completely unnecessary.  Wessy slept in his portable crib in the corner of our room, and slept remarkably well (usually in bed by 8, babbling until 9 or 10, and then up at 8 AM).   Not too shabby.



We stayed at camp the entire time except one foray into Asheville to celebrate Rob's birthday.







On the way home, we came back to see Wessy's cousins one more time and return Ray's car.  Wessy got some time to play with his cousin Ada, which mostly involved wessy splashing Ada and enjoying the novelty of running around outside shirtless.

Hurtling towards the future

    At least once a day, I look at Stevo and say sadly, “He’s too big.”  Stevo will sigh resignedly and say “I know. What are we going to do about it?” Of course we are asking these questions more to reflect on our own sadness that his childhood is passing, knowing that watching Wessy grow happily is infinitely preferable to any actual alternative.  It feels selfish to even resent him growing, but the fact remains that all those bastards who said that “it goes too fast” were right.

    One of the most wonderful and most terrible things about Wessy turning three is that his transformation from baby to child is rapidly concluding.  His activities as well as general developmental terminology label him firmly as a “preschooler” as opposed to a “toddler.”  He doesn’t, in fact, toddle anymore.  He runs, albeit with a straight-legged quick step that I hope never changes (but it will).

    A lot of child development teaching focuses on how children Wessy’s age have “big feelings” and he is no exception.  When we went berry picking on father’s day, he accidentally dropped a basket of blackberries.  He swiftly burst into inconsolable tears.  “I DON’T WANT THE BLACKBERRIES TO FALL.” He wasn’t upset because he was hurt, or even because we couldn’t immediately pick the blackberries back up, but only because he so strongly did not want them to fall.  In his miniature world, things I would dismiss without thinking about are full of meaning and gravity. 

     This morning, he stumbled getting out of bed and fell on his leg.  He cried quite forcefully for a short time, then announced “I DON’T WANT TO FALL.” He insisted on a re-do, climbing back into his bed and then successfully easing himself out of the bed onto the floor.  That done, he was able to move on with his day. 

    I find that Wessy is the most babylike when he sleeps.  Now that he’s potty-trained during the day, it’s the last time that he still wears a diaper.  He’s a fan of sleeping without pants on (though that has been curtailed lately due to some diaper-removal incidents).  Seeing him in a diaper with his little thighs out, blankets thrown off, his face soft, lips pursed, he still looks like his newborn self.  During the day, his sentience and speed make him seem so much bigger and older. 

   Lamentably, Wessy has not had as many struggles with enunciation as some toddlers (ahem, preschoolers).  His malaprops are somewhat limited but include “HELICOCKERO” (as opposed to helicoptero) and “CORAZONES” (rather than croissants).  Otherwise, his speech is shockingly intelligible.  He does sometimes get over-excited and his brain will outpace his mouth and he will repeat the same few words a few times until his brain catches up and he can finish the thought.  

     So far, we have about two weeks at his new preschool under our belts.  From our end, it's amazing--Jeje drops him off in the morning, he eats breakfast there, stays all day and gets lunch, a nap and a snack there too before she picks him up in the evening.  He has dance class and they often do cooking projects.  Unbeknownst to us, the teachers there even got him a little Transformers-themed playdough set for his birthday.  This morning he insisted on carrying the picture of the transformers that came in the box with him on the bus.  

  From Wessy's perspective, the transition to school has been a little less fantastic.  Overall, he seems very happy and very much himself, so we are not too worried, but he does say in the morning that he doesn't want to go to school.  If you ask him why, he will helpfully volunteer, "because I already went," or "because I want to stay home."  Jeje says that sometimes he will cry at drop-off, too, though his teachers tell us that this is short-lived and he does well once he is distracted.  

   I'm guessing some of the transition pains are due to the language change (Spanish to Mandarin) and also to the fact that now he goes to school five days a week instead of three.  Oh, and because we moved, my schedule changed and we told him he's getting a new sibling.  So really I can't blame him if he's feeling a little overcome with all the changes lately.  Every day is getting a little easier, though. 

humanoid

I remember being on a bus in Tanzania (10 years ago! Holy shit!) and watching a baboon (I think? It was some sort of large ape) sit by the side of the road and meticulously peel and eat a banana.  One of my fellow passengers remarked to his seatmate: "Anakula kama binadamu" which means "He eats like a human." 

Today at dinner I watched Wessy clutching his plastic spork in his left hand (we're 80% sure he's left-handed), eating spoonfuls of yogurt in a semi-civilized manner.  He was chatting casually, hoisting the spork to his mouth and, most remarkably, the vast majority of the yogurt was reaching its target.  And I thought: "Anakula kama binadamu." This little guy I've raised from a blastocyst is eating like a human.  He's still not as coordinated as that ape, but nor does he have opposable thumbs on his feet. 

And so, we have a little human.  I blinked once, maybe twice, and my little squishy squish now wears underpants and speaks three languages (KIND OF).  And he eats like a human. 

Ready for action