The Little One

I fully believe that we never stop learning important lessons from life. Some come at us pretty hard, and others can be subtle, yet impactful. Every day, the Universe delivers little care packages of opportunity to increase our knowledge and improve our consciousness. As a parent, however, I feel like I am constantly learning something new about life, and about myself. And one evening, while doing the dishes, the Universe decided she was going to deliver a tiny package of hard learning.

Frantic, and clearly upset, my toddler ran up to me needing my immediate assistance. “Mommy, mommy, the little one. I can’t find it.” Of course this is toddler talk, so understanding the words that spewed from her vocal cords took two years of Toddler Talk Training, also know as parenting. For you, I am translating.

As a result from a previous lesson I learned, I was working on giving my daughter my undivided attention; especially during a time of crisis. I shut off the water, and dried off my hands. I responded. “What little one, pumpkin?”

“Over there, the little one. It’s gone!” The concern in her voice appeared to be escalating to panic. Trying my best to be engaged in my toddlers time of need, I calmly said, “I want to help you find it. I am just not sure what the little one is.” This back and forth exchange between my daughter and me went on for about five minutes. I could see the frustration growing in her face, just as it was rising in my chest. Her frustration turned to anger as she began to scream out, “THE LITTLE ONE! THE LITTLE ONE!” She then proceeded to toss every toy, she could get her little hands on, across the room.

Any attempt to be that patient, understanding, mom of the year was slipping from any crack it could seep out of. I could feel the anger circulate and my face began to heat up. It was coming, the yell. The unnecessary, knee jerk reaction that could potentially place another black mark on my child's heart, and into her core memory bank. Another small mistake that would eventually accumulate onto a large pile of mistakes that will one day cause my daughter to need a significant amount of therapy. “WHAT LITTLE ONE!” It was there, moving from my brain to the back of my throat. I could feel my brow furrow as the bubble of insanity made it’s way to my tongue. And just as I was about to make the mistake of pushing it out into the air, I caught a glimpse of my three year old's face. She knew it was coming.

In desperation she pinched her little forefinger and thumb to gesture ‘small’ as a tear began to roll down her cheek. “Mommy, the little one. Come with me. I cant find it. Please, mommy.”

Instead of releasing it and feeling the aftermath of pure guilt, I swallowed it. I let the potential damaging affects melt in the acids of my stomach. Instead , I dropped to my knees. Lowering myself to my daughters level, I held out my arms wide, and welcomed her in to a hug we both clearly needed. She collapsed into my chest and cried out for the “little one.”

In that moment, as I was holding my daughter, I learned two very important lessons:

One: Toddlers shouldn't be expected to handle big emotions like big people.

In that moment, I felt frustrated, angry, annoyed, and overwhelmed. I, however, have had 30+ years to feel, discover, and manage these emotions. Thirty something years, yet I still don’t always process them the way that I should. So, why am I expecting a little person, who has only had three years, to chill out and act appropriately. I think if either one of us deserves a free pass at losing it, it’s the three year old. The best I can do as her mother is show her the healthy way to express those feelings as she masters each new level of her child hood.

Two: Just because it’s not important to me, doesn’t mean it's not important to someone else.

Adults spend their days worrying about keeping something else alive, jobs to support those things they keep alive, whether or not their car is going to get them to that job so that they can continue to keep those things alive, and the ending of their favorite Netflix series. Toddler concerns usually consist of getting that booger out of their nose, whether they are going to pee their pants or use the potty, and apparently small dollar store toys. Just because my daughter doesn’t pay the bills, that doesn’t mean her anxieties and worries aren’t as important as the anxieties and concerns I spend my time worrying about. Just because she doesn’t care whether or not the check engine light comes on, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about her losing some little toy she has dubbed, “the little one.”

So, instead of brushing off my child, and allowing her little world to crumble around her alone, I decided to embrace the lessons the Universe was sending me. I empathized with my daughter, and I acknowledged her tragedies as we searched her toy area for this thing she named “Little One.” I began clustering her toys in to groups,

“Is it part of your Mickey set,”

“No!”

“Okay, your makeup set?”

“No!”

“Is it one of your stuffies?”

“Yes!” Her curls jumped as she bounced in excitement because I had finally gotten warmer

“Is it one of your kitty cat’s?”

“No!”

"Your unicorns?"

“No!”

“Puppies?”

“Yes!”

As the confirmation came off her lips, I rummaged through her buckets of stuffed animals looking for what I had finally realized was the “Little One.” The dollar store, puppy, the size of my palm, was resting at the bottom, completely covered. At last, the epitome of all of our chaos; The Little One. I scooped it up and held it out to her. I had found the Little One! “Puppy!” she exclaimed and ripped it out of my hand. She snuggled her precious treasure to her face and hopped away as she shouted out. “Thank you, Mommy.”

A catastrophe diverted because I had opened up to two very important lessons my daughter was trying to teach me. Lessons that will help me be a better mom, friend, daughter, sister... Lesson’s that will continue to make me into the woman I desperately want to be. A woman my toddler can eventually look up to. We spend so many moments teaching our children important lessons. Lessons that will eventually teach them to live, grow and thrive. But how beautiful the lessons our children gift to us each and every day.