My mister dude isn’t much of a cryer. Praise be! I can count on one hand the number of times he’s opened his lungs and wailed to the heavens. I’m pretty lucky, I know. But what he does instead is make this silly little hooting nasally noise whenever he is in distress? Hoooooo! Hoooooo! Ironically, that hooting noise seems to be the one noise on the planet capable of completely undoing me and sending me into nervous twitches and driving me to chocolate, and how did he know that, I wonder? So weird.
Generally, the great thing about babies is, they’re blobs, right? They cry when they’re tired, or uncomfortable, or hungry, but not usually does one come across a baby who is crying due to some complicated string of events that have left them in the throes of depression, if you follow. That sort of thing doesn’t happen until toddlerhood? I always thought? But there has to come a point at which your baby starts to develop these complicated “desires” that lead to “frustration” that lead to “melt downs” when said “desires” are not “met,” if you follow.
Do you follow?
After the jump.
It started with licorice. I don’t know what possessed me to hand him the Twizzler, but I did it and then it was like, oh shoot. He loved the Twizzler but couldn’t really eat it (lacking of teeth at the time) and so I knew there was an expiration date to this happy occasion. Either he would get bored with it and toss it to the floor, or I would have to take it away from him, thus cuing the water works.
Spoiler alert: He didn’t get bored of it.
That was the first time he cried when he didn’t get his way. It was a milestone. Write it in the baby book! Also it was horrifying, and a little bit funny, but mildly terrifying. Is that what that means, “Like taking candy from a baby?” Because taking candy from a baby is a little bit depressing and a lot awful and sort of hysterical too, but not really “easy” much at all, unless you are Satan and/or a teenager.
Then Huck recognized the Twizzlers whenever he saw them as an object he could expect to take part in somehow. That part was the worst, because I eat Twizzlers a lot it seems. And I was all, this kid suddenly has a memory? Since when?! And the hooting when he saw those Twizzlers! Well, it was more like a grunt, really.
My husband, who generally likes to jump to the weirdest possible conclusions regarding the baby (“He’s crying! He probably has a sore throat!”), is fairly convinced that giving into him now will create a spoiled child. “Letting him cry sometimes and not going to him right away will teach him to be a man,” he once told me. And I figure, well, obviously that’s dumb, but also, obviously one day that’s smart. Obviously that day is not today, he’s only nine months. But, what day is it? Tomorrow? Tuesday? Two months from now? Three? At what point are you there and at what point are you almost there and at what point are you all, “I’ll worry about this later?”
Go for it.