While one whirling dervish flung himself off stacks of mats and hurled himself up and over a balance structure twice his height – proudly chanting “POMMEL HORSE” at the top of his lungs, our other son was quiet.
This was not our most stellar gymnastics class outing.
It started out promising enough. As we waited for class to start, I noticed Search swinging from the flip bar – typically his arch nemesis of the tumbling arena.
“Look at you swinging!” I praised (as his brother took a flying leap across the bars station from atop the parallel bars).
“I wanted to,” Search replied simply.
Warm-ups were all downhill. Search flopped to the floor and refused to budge. Jon tried to reason with him – get him to listen to his coach (the cute girl Destroy loves to impress).
Search was not interested. “I do it when *I* want.”
He stared back up at us – his intent crystal clear. “There will be no reasoning or logic upon my person.”
The kid is stubborn. He is determined. He’s been rolling his eyes like the best of them since age negative 2 months.
He is the child born long before he should, attempting army crawl escapes from his incubator, and pushing me to my limits by learning to breathe by his own schedule. He never ceases to show his fighting spirit and independent availability to accomplish whatever he wants. So long as it is according to his own timeline.
“I do it when *I* want.”
This is the attitude that will eventually serve him well in life – creating a formidable force against any task that dare stand in his way.
It’s a bit of a nightmare for parents.
I’ve been told age three is the start of the tough times, as little ones embrace their burgeoning independence and communication skills (ability to talk back).
Jon looked at me, “He’s being a total brat.”
Well no, I explained. He’s being a little me.
I can hear karma laughing. Loudly.