My son and I have a vastly different relationship than he and my wife do. It’s pretty simple, really. Brant listens to her, he does not listen to me.
When I go to change him in the morning to get ready for daycare, he often crawls under the table and sits there. He’s hiding, of course. Not very well, of course, because he can’t quite get that his feet still stick out from under the table cover.
So I drag him out and then the real fun starts. It’s like wrestling a wet fish trying to get his diaper changed and put his clothes on. Every day it ends with crying, usually it’s him, but once in a while (maybe every other day) it’s me.
Always putting in a shift
Even though Brant is on the verge of 2, I’ve long since been resigned to the fact that he digs his mom more than me. It’s okay. He’ll come around, I keep telling myself. Eventually he’s going to want to throw the football and this guy’s gonna swoop in and be heroic.
But for now it’s a battle. When I come home from work, Brant hears the back door open. He starts yelling ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” as he races around the corner. I kneel to catch the biggest hug in the world and he takes off in the other direction without ever slowing down.
One thing Brant does like to do with me is talk, though. I’ve written a couple of times that he is tough to understand because he doesn’t know a ton of words. That has never stopped a Bowman child from talking however. He is getting better, which means we can have enough of a conversation to get something accomplished. The other day my wife asked if he was ready for bed and he yelled ‘No way!” Uh, yes way, kiddo.
The world is built for people who lack self-awareness and that’s what it is like having a conversation with little Brant. On Thursday we were walking out of daycare and I asked how his day was. Nine out of 10 times, it’s “good,” but now with his ever expanding vocabulary, he told me about his day from start to finish. He talked from the second I put his hat on, through one door, down the hall, through another door, down another hall, out the front door, across the parking lot, the entire time I buckled him in the car seat. He was talking when I shut the door to walk around the car and was still talking when I opened my door to get in.
So from ‘how was your day’ he talked for at least 3 minutes. I understood the following: Good, Jaxson, Cars, babies, blocks, and yellow. Other than that, I have no idea how his day was.
But at least we talked. And he even held my hand.