The Bib Monster

As a wee chap, getting Espen into a bib was like trying to slow dance with a hungry coyote. Great care was required, to say nothing of focused intention. I figured we'd just circle each other warily until he grew out of toddler eating messes, but recently, something miraculous has happened.

Espen was also a passionately independent little fellow, often rocketing into stranger's arms instead of hanging with mom. And then one day, the sky fell.

Suddenly, I find myself with a little boy who demands both his mother and his bibs at the drop of a hat. Whereas, not two weeks ago, going bibless was like handing him a candy bar, now he looks at me with disbelief and shock when I show up with food sans bib. He jabs at his chest, furiously motioning to his tummy and trousers and insists on, "Bee! Bee!" And silly me, I spend about 5 minutes trying to figure out what he wants so desperately. 

Instead of being that kid in a cafe that runs laughing from their mother, he has become my tiny cling-on, hysterically wailing, "Mom-eeeee! Mom-eeee!" when he gets out of sight. That is strangely heart warming and breaking as I had nearly reconciled myself to being content with the occasional "More berries Mom!" for our emotional contact. 

All this to say, while this might be a phase, it has taught me that what goes around comes around in ways I might never dream possible. At this rate, he'll be playing the piano, dancing and enjoying textile field trips by the time he is 9. I'll keep you posted.