Saturday's Child

The kind amongst us call them spirited children. The pitiless call them overactive. But whatever nomenclature one might use, it doesn’t really change the truth about kids like Chip. They are full of energy. They are high need, high maintenance children. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Triple whammy. It is enough to make you loose your mind on most days.

I suppose I knew Chip wasn’t like other babies the minute he was born. No exaggeration. The minute he was extracted from my womb he let out a cry so loud that my ears blacked out for a second. I had never thought a newborn could cry out with such intensity. But he did. And that would be the definition of Chip in one word. Intense.

He cried intensely. Hated to be constrained. When he was a few days old, he managed to wriggle his arm out of the snugly bound blanket. Kicked furiously- at what became a daily game- when he was about three months old, at the colorful store ads draped over his rocker bar until each one was vigorously tossed to the floor. Began doing his famous tummy slide at 9 months to get down the stairs. Light sleeper. We would be literally walking on eggshells when Chip was napping. The slightest sound would wake him up. Voracious eater. Hard to pacify. Ultra sensitive and fearful of sounds. Intent observer. He looked around with such curious interest that perfect strangers in restaurants and elevators would comment on how he was drinking in everything with his eyes or joke about boring a hole if he continued to look with such intensity. He would not only identify objects in books at 10mo but would also pick the correct book from half a dozen books that contained the said object. He knew his way around the mall at 18mo, knew how to get home from three different routes from an intersection two miles away. I think every time he enters a space, he makes a mental note of the exits, furniture, rooms, layout, fixtures, contents of closets and shelves and stores them away for I don’t know what. And every once in a while he references them. In the oddest of times and places.

He also has a wicked temper and is prone to tantrums. Has a hard time sharing things and transitioning from one activity to another. Stubborn. Very, very stubborn. Always wants his own way and will struggle passionately to get what he wants. Will not accept anything without a reason. An authoritative “because I said so” never cuts with him. He needs explanations, reasons. Why. When. How. Where. All kids are like that, aren’t they? Sure. But with kids like Chip, everything is amplified. It’s just more of everything. More hugs and kisses, but also more whining and tantrums. More stubborn, more persistent. More driven. More running, more jumping, more appetite. Hard to fool. Deep belly laughs. Loud tears. Dazzling memory. Hard to please. Focused. Impatient. Affectionate. Demanding. Trying. Persistent. Exacting. Insistent. Fastidious. It’s not easy. If handling your average toddler is a roller coaster ride, this is bungee jumping.

Had this been a second child, I probably would have handled it better. Or so I always think. Simply because I would not have doubted many things about me as a mother. Everyday I fear that his teacher is going to ask for a meeting and tell me he needs to be evaluated for ADD/ADHD. While other kids sit quietly when told so without questioning, Chip doesn’t. On the one hand I feel he is blessed to have so much energy within him. But it’s frightening as hell too. Because on some days it feels like I have absolutely no influence whatsoever over him. He descends like a tempest, leaving a dreadful wake behind him. On those days I bite my tongue, give him hugs aplenty and pull out my patience. And quietly wonder what magical powers did mothers of the likes of Edison had. To have such tremendous faith in their own child and to guide them. Because, what happens if Chip never finds his calling?