My child stages a protest in the hallway while I study patterns.
Which is fitting, if you think about it, because there is a wider, more overarching pattern taking place in our lives which warrants study. It's the move-then-act-like-a-total-shit pattern.
We've moved about for billion times in the past six weeks or so, and while each successive move has become easier, we're still facing daily reminders that this is hard work for my kid. (Where a reminder is throwing one's body on the floor and screaming, or alternately, bolting down the hallway early on a Sunday morning, and banging on a stranger's hotel room door with enough force and din to rouse even the ghosts. Oh geeze.)
Still, things are getting easier for her, and they're getting easier for me. I recognize a pattern, and know that there will be an end.
Now, I recognize my total jerkitude for mocking my two year old for having a hard time adjusting to the enormity of upheaval she's faced in the past oh, two months. And honestly, this kid has been a total champ. So much has changed in her little world and still, she's more bright and vibrant and hilarious than ever. Her language, which had been so slow to develop (not a consonant until she was just days away from one) is surging forth. My girl's social skills and her confidence are swelling: she says good morning; and waves to greet people; and lets strangers pick her up. At the beginning of the summer, my cautious wee one teetered and toddled. Now, she runs, and is a hair away from full-throttle jumping.
Still, I must say that sit-ins, temper tantrums, and darting away into the vast unknown are frustrating. As is having to say the sentence, "We pee-pee in the potty, not on Mama." For the third time. In a day.