Kid Amnesiac

A new season of shopping has dawned, and I’m finding my approach much changed from seasons past.

When Simon was a baby, and even more so when he was a baby-on-the-way, I was a retailer’s dream. Nothing was too good for my baby. I shopped long and hard for his crib, and I splurged on his crib bedding. I sprung for a custom glider whose upholstery matched the nursery’s color scheme. I lovingly chose his clothes and bought them at full price from high-ish end retailers. I wasn’t keeping up with Hollywood moms or socialites, but I bought the very best I could afford and spent more than was prudent.

This summer, by contrast, “it’ll do” and “good enough” are ruling the day as I outfit Simon and redo his room. That adorable shirt from Tea Collection for $35? Well, Target has a similar one for $12, and while it isn’t quite as nice, it’s certainly good enough. Anyway, for a kid who’s going to be playing in dirt all summer, I’ve decided that stuff from Target and outlet malls will do just fine. Ditto for the car collage I spotted at a local boutique. It was hand made by a local artist and had a price tag to match. I’m sure I can find something else that will do, and how likely is Simon to really care, anyway?

And then there are those transportation themed sheets from Pottery Barn Kids. The organic ones that are sold out online but have the perfect theme and color scheme for Simon’s room and that I dearly love. I held them in my hot little hands Wednesday night, admired them, and thought long and hard about buying them. I pictured them on the bed we’ve ordered, and I imagined Simon smiling and talking to me as he pointed out all the different planes, trucks, and cars on them.

Then I took in their $89 price tag and put them right back on the shelf. Eighty-nine dollars for sheets! I don’t spend that much on my own sheets, and I’m potty trained! So as much as I appreciated their quality and style, these sheets weren’t coming home with me. Not when I have summer camp to pay for. Not when I have college to save for. And not when I want to work on the deck and yard so we can all enjoy the space more. I will find something cute that will do for less money (a lot less money), and they will be good enough.

I wonder how many other moms go down a similar path? It seems hard to believe that I’m the only one who was more generous with her baby and baby-to-be than I am with an active toddler.

But it also begs two much more serious questions. The first being how much this is tied up with gender, and the second being how much this reflects the growing separation between parent and child. If Simon were a girl, would I still assume he’d be trashing his clothes and buying cheaper ones this summer, or would I splurge anyway? And to flip this, if I did spurge on Simon’s clothes and buy nicer stuff, would I then restrict his activity to protect it? A definite maybe, and a horrible realization for someone who considers herself a feminist.

As for the second question, it has not escaped my notice that I was the most generous with Simon when he was an extension of me. Now that he’s becoming his own person, I’m spending less. Or at least, less on certain things. My first thought was that this reflected poorly on me. How awful and self absorbed to tighten the purse strings as Simon becomes less attached to me. But upon further consideration—and I hope I’m not deluding myself here-I think maybe the opposite is true. That when Simon was an extension of me, I spent according to my priorities. And now that he’s developing autonomy, I’m spending on his present and future education and experiences.

That’s my story at least, and I’m sticking with it!

The boy understands the importance of timing. Three years ago Simon gave me his first real kick in utero on Mother’s Day. Two and a half years ago, he held his head up for the first time on Thanksgiving. Last year he took his first steps on Father’s Day. He called Evie “Grandma” for the first time on Christmas Eve.

The Initial Ascent

And yesterday-one day after Mother’s Day, but let’s not be too persnickety here—Simon got into his car seat all on his own. Huzzah! I knew he could do this in his grandparents’ Highlander, but our car has the seat in the middle and has a lower roof, making it more of a challenge to get in without bonking one’s head. I’ve been encouraging Simon to try for a couple of weeks, but this was no evolutionary progress.

Rejoicing at the Midway Point

Two days ago he would struggle to get into the back seat, then be immediately stymied when he looked up at the car seat. Yesterday, he was making his way into the car while I read a note school left on is backpack. Two minutes later I looked up to find Simon beaming as he settled into his seat. He knew he had done something special, and he wasn’t waiting for me to notice before the celebration began.

Success!

I won’t miss doing this task at all! I will, however, miss my pillow, which Simon took from me yesterday. Being a big boy and all, he decided he needed a real pillow during his afternoon nap and again at night, and only mine would do. He gave it back this morning, but we’ll see if the generosity sticks.

In the meantime, big boy bed or no, it’s time to go sheet shopping…..

When I was pregnant and my head filled with dreams of overly simplified Mendelian genetics, I assumed a child of mine would look like me or, if he were a boy, my brother Steve. After all, my skin and hair color are dominant, and Matt’s are recessive.

The universe had other plans: Seeing that my baby would be the fifth Goldstein grandchild but the first Whitworth one, it saw fit to give Simon a mix of all their features and mostly leave my side outside the mix. Even the thing people assume is from me isn’t. Those big dark eyes of his? Totally his Great Aunt Barb’s (and my Dad’s and brothers’). Mine are hazel.

No, the resemblance between me and Simon starts and ends with his dimples. Nor do I share his love of cars, buses, trains, trucks, tractors, or balls. Nor do I share his introverted nature. Nor do I find myself in the 75^th percentile for height. Given all these differences, it’s easy to occasionally wonder if he’s really mine and to be doubly surprised when a commonality emerges. This week, I was amused to see two make themselves known.

For one, bless his heart, the kid is wild for shoes, and that is something I understand all too well. Until this spring, Simon never seemed to notice what was on his feet. Sometime in March or April we took him to get new sneakers, and suddenly the boy had opinions and was not afraid to express them. He let us know which shoes he liked, he squealed with delight when we bought them, and he proudly carried the shopping bag out of the store like a veteran of retail therapy.

This Saturday, I ran out a for a bit and came home with two pairs of new shoes: a pair of embellished metallic flat sandals for me (very on trend!)  and a pair of Ecco fisherman’s sandals for Simon (practical and cute). When I showed them to him, his eyes lit up, his voice turned again to a squeal, and before I could finish asking him if he wanted to try them on, he was sitting down and trying to pull off his old shoes as fast as possible to make way for the new, which were quickly pronounced both “pretty” and “cool.” He could barely walk for looking down to admire them. I logged quite some time admiring my new sandals, too.

Then today, on Mother’s Day, we went out to Ce Fiore for some yummy frozen yogurt. We got Simon the acai berry, assuming it was the flavor he’d like best. I was not at all surprised when he dug his spoon into my serving of green tea flavored frozen yogurt, but I was shocked when he kept reaching over to enjoy mine at the expense of his. I had to eat fast to make sure I’d get some!

I have no idea what else the two of us will share. He’s showing an interest in the garden just as I’m getting the bug, he’s intuitively interested in and gentle with animals, and he loves family gatherings. Whatever else emerges-or doesn’t-it’s oddly comforting to know that we’ll always have a mutual appreciation for pretty shoes and green tea ice cream to look back on.

Today was our slightly delayed 2 1/2 year check-up at the pediatrician’s office. The vital stats are:

• Height: 37 1/2 inches. 75th percentile.
• Weight: 29 1/2 pounds (in heavy diaper). 40th percentile.
• No head measurement! (but struggling to get a size 3T polo over his head is telling)

All parts present and accounted for. Speech right on track if not slightly ahead of the curve. Walking, climbing, stepping, and basic cognition all demonstrated for the doctor. We’ll be back the next time he’s sick or when he’s three, whichever comes first.

So nothing new. Except Dr. Newstadt wasn’t in today, so we saw Dr. Abrams. Or, as Simon called her, “Dr. Karen.” And despite telling me he did not want to go to the doctor, telling me he was “scared”, and taking along both dirty dogs for comfort, he did not wail when she entered the room.

Nor did he wail when she listened to his chest, looked in his ears, looked down his throat, palpitated his abdomen, and made sure all his boy parts were inventoried. When the exam was over, he said a cheerful, “Thank you, Doctor Karen,” as requested.

Hm. Now, the deck was clearly stacked in Dr. Karen’s favor. He didn’t need shots. He wasn’t sick. We better prepared for this trip. We could explain everything as she was doing it, and this time he could understand. She spoke in a bright mommy voice. She’s not much older than me. She’s pretty. She has hair like mine. Her kids went to KIP, so she could ask Simon about all his teachers.

Whereas Dr. Newstadt always saw a younger, frequently sicker version of Simon; he looks nothing like Matt (but possibly a tiny bit like my oldest brother) or his teachers, and he does not speak in a bright, mommy voice. And his kids are long out out preschoool.

So while I really like Dr. Newstadt and think he’s a great clinician, I have some thinking to do about future visits.

When I was about six months pregnant with Simon, I started thinking about what his nursery would look like. I had, as no one who knows me will be surprised to learn, some ideas on the matter. The nursery had to be gender neutral. I wanted real, solid furniture the baby could grow up with. And I wanted to create an old-fashioned, timeless feeling in the room.

As Simon was in utero, he didn’t get a vote. In the end, I was very happy with my soft green walls, ivory rugs, maple sleigh crib, maple Shaker dresser, and the crib set of soft green velvet and black and white toile that vaguely recalled E.H. Shepherd drawings from The Wind in the Willows. On the walls we hung the quilt and a Tolkien illustration from The Hobbit. The room was small but lovely, it was totally me (and also totally Matt), and, save for some hand-painted letters spelling out Simon’s name and some baby photos, it has not changed since he was born.

Now he’s got a big-boy bed on order and is ¾ of the way through toddlerhood. It’s time for his room to reflect him, and the process is telling me more about myself than I bargained for.

As Simon is completely obsessed with balls, trucks, cars, planes, and trains, it was a certainty that his new, boyed-up room would feature elements of this. Many hours of shopping turned up my ideal version of the room. It sported a ducduc modern bed, like this:

ducduc alex twin

and cool transportation-themed sheets like these:

modern, cool Dwell twin duvet set

and a fun rug with beach balls on it:

fun and tasteful rug by Land of Nod

Perfect. Except the total would cost me a fortune, frankly more than I have to spend right now, and it would take an experienced eye to make that bed work in my 1910 house with its high ceilings. There was also no guarantee Simon would be a fan, as the room was clearly the application of my taste to Simon’s interests.

What Simon would no doubt like, if I’d let him choose, is this:

from the exclusive "Cars" line

It’s awful, no? I mean, it’s movie merchandising posing as interior design. To my 39-year-old, female eye, it’s ghastly and nothing I ever thought I’d have in my home.  In fact, I think it’s so awful that it would–and it deeply shames me to admit this–embarrass me.

But it’s not supposed to be about or for me, right? This time I’m not creating my dream nursery for my dream baby. I’m creating a room for a young boy who will probably squeal in delight if he gets a rug featuring his friends from Cars. After all, he’s seen the movie at least fifty times. As an added bonus, it’s on sale for $32. So there it is: I can get an expensive rug that I’d like,  or I can get over myself and order the cheap rug that will thrill my son.

I’m ordering it, of course; I’m not that far gone. And if it reminds me that Simon is his own little person with tastes and interests outside my control,  it will be $32 very well spent.

P.S. Speaking of self-growth, it also occurs to me that spending time anguishing over the choice of a rug for Simon’s room is indicative of a life with little room for complaint. I do know that. I’m not that far gone, either!