The tantrum I created

Yesterday we went for an evening pic-nic by the lake. L. loves the lake after the holidays ("mare, mare" = "sea, sea") and watching the sunset from the lake side is a lovely way to take advantage of these last summer days.

When it was already past his dinner time Luigi went to get take-out pizzas.
L. was busy - chasing swans, running through swarms of mosquitoes, meeting strangers, falling down steps. And fishing rocks out of the water and throwing them back in, his favourite.

I knew it was getting colder and he was wet, but resisted the urge to change him into a dry diaper immediately and I limited my self to warn him that I would to do it before pizzas arrived.
I waited.

Until Luigi came back with the pizzas.
I told him, I change your diaper while the pizza gets colder. First the diaper, then the pizza.
He threw a huge tantrum, kicking and screaming and crying. I stopped, validated his feeling, waited a bit. Eventually, I tried to offer him a small bite while I was changing him. But he didn't accept it. The kicking screaming went on until Luigi helped me putting the diaper on in a way that was all but respectful.

When we were done and we gave him his pizza, he calmed down immediately. We ate together and he chatted away while the light and the lake turned from orange to blue.

But I kept thinking - why did I change his diaper? He was obviously tired and hungry, not able to cooperate.
I try. To acknowledge, to wait. But also to be firm during transition, to follow through.
These last two are much harder for me, so much that sometimes I am much more firm than what is needed. I was blinded by my idea of having to have him dry before dinner.

I just had to wait.
Wait. The magical word. Step back a little, a little more.

Don't interrupt - then why?

Yesterday morning we were enjoying the usual weekend cappuccino. Lorenzo didn't want to sit with us, and went playing with his xilophone. It was a present of his uncle, a proper instrument, and he much prefers it to the wooden one, since it's way more noisy :-)
He can't open it (it's difficult for me as well) and always ends up frustrated in the attempt. Not yesterday. Yesterday he was happily playing with its retractable legs. So I stood up from the table, I went over, and I opened it for him.
He started his music production immediately obviously, but I wondered - why did I do it?
My intervention was uncalled for and unneeded.
The overly passionate "don't-interrupt!"-advocate (me) anticipated his desire to play and his frustration but, in reality, interrupted his real activity in that moment.
It's not easy to see clearly sometimes!

Make him grow, let him grow

Lorenzo is nine months. Nine months seems like a good moment to start writing on his blog, there is a beautiful symmetry about it. Nine months ago he was born, nine months before that he started to exists. 

I don't like symmetry, but it's too long that I want to write of us, and I welcome the excuse gladly. 

We are quiet again after the granparents visits. 

Granpa was shut in Lorenzo's room for a full weekend to renovate it the way I dreamt. He disassembled, drilled, reassembled, created. A beautiful montessori little room. 

And now it's night, it's late. I look at his room. 

Mixed feelings. 

I am grateful, above all - because I could have my way, because of the skills and kindness of Lorenzo's granpa- and I am excited. For the new room, its beauty, the open possibilities. But the excitement is hesitant. It is not (only) the fear that Lorenzo might not like it. It's another fear, deeper. Lorenzo will have his room, his bed, his space. His independence - and all the means to start developing it that we, and I, so strongly wanted. 

He won't be this ball of softness that wakes us up every morning in an over-crowded bed. 

He will grow up. And we have to follow, too. But above all, we'll have to let him grow.