Toddlerhood is the time you’ll see your child’s true personality come to the fore, offering a glimpse of who they might be when they grow up.
You’ll see how all those times you made them say ‘please’ has paid off. You’ll see them put their bowl in the sink and do a happy dance because all that encouragement is working. You’ll see them show kindness to another child and be so damn proud because YOU taught them that.
You’ll see all the characteristics you hoped you’d pass on to your child: confidence, determination, a strong sense of right and wrong, a take-no-prisoners zest for life and a refusal to care what anyone else thinks.
You’re so proud. You admire all of these qualities.
You are so dumb for realising how hard this would make your life.
Yes, you want your child to be confident. But could they be confident at a lower volume, and maybe with fewer words and a tiny bit of respect for the fact you might know some things?
Yes, you want your child to be determined. Unless you’re trying to get them to do anything. Anything at all.
Yes, you want your child to have a strong sense of right and wrong … when they figure out what is actually right and wrong and not when they are arguing with the fervour of a meth-head that having a bath is the wrongest of the wrongs.
Of course you want your child to take no prisoners. One day. Not today, when you’re the one in the firing line.
You absolutely want your child to be a free spirit who doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. In the future, though, because right now she really needs to care that you think it’s time for bed.
And while you’ve been actively trying to influence your child to copy all your good traits, you’ll soon realise that they’ve been watching EVERYTHING. All the time. Including all the things you never wanted them to learn.
Like when your child rolls his eyes and talks about those ‘wankers’ across the road who don’t know how to park their car.
Or when your three year old struggles to open a box, sighs and mutters to himself, ‘For f#@&’s sake, why aren’t I getting this?’
Or when your mini-me disciplines you with your own words: ‘We don’t yell in this house, Mummy!’ Rightio, goody-two-shoes.
Or when your former baby argues with you and her point is completely valid and the horror hits you: this is a person with opinions and ideas and a right to express them and holy mother of god, why are you questioning my decisions? Surely I am owed more time as the omnipotent one in this house? RESPECT MY AUTHORITY, SMALL CHILD!
But you’ll also see how much good your influence can do.
My daughter and I were walking home, my son and husband not far behind us. My little girl told me, with a touch of defeat in her voice, that the boys would beat us home. I looked at my tiny three year old and said with a grin, ‘NO WAY. We are GIRLS. We are SUPERGIRLS! We are FAST AND STRONG!’ and I held up my nonexistent bicep to show her.
Right before my eyes I saw my daughter change: from a girl who’d somehow already got it in her head that boys were faster than girls to a SUPERGIRL. Her gloomy little eyes smiled with hope: Really? Are we supergirls? Her mouth twitched: I can’t believe it—that’s so cool!
‘Supergirls?’ she asked, excitement building.
‘SUPERGIRLS!’ I yelled. ‘FAST AND STRONG.’
‘FAST AND STRONG!’ she yelled back.
And of course we beat those boys home.
The next day I’d forgotten all about it when she walked up to me and whispered, ‘You say it, Mummy.’
‘Say what, darling?’
‘Supergirls,’ she said, with a twinkle in her eyes.
I leapt up, non-biceps blazing, leading the chorus ‘WE ARE SUPERGIRLS, FAST AND STRONG!’
She’d remembered. It had made an impact. With a few little words, her thinking had started to change. That’s all it takes sometimes—a few little words and they’re bumped onto a different path that stretches out for years to come.
It’s empowering, it’s exciting, and it’s actually the most terrifying part of parenting: all the tiny ways we can change them. And all the tiny ways we can stuff them up.