I’m starting to identify more and more with my children’s short tempers and periodic tantrums, to comprehend how something seemingly small can send them into a major hissy fit. How the third, “you have to wear the shoes, not the sandals” can sound just like fingernails on the chalkboard.
It sucks to be told what to do all the time. It’s frustrating to not be in control. It’s annoying to always have to follow the rules, to not be the one to decide what you’ll eat for lunch or dinner, and to have time limits put on how much time you can do things you want to do. And these feelings of inequality and impotence compound.
One question I clearly remember from the 93 that make up the Myers Briggs Personality Type test is, “Would you choose to be a child or an adult?” Are you kidding me? An adult! I want to be an adult. I want to control my own life, make my own mistakes, create my own fun. A child again? No, no thank you.
I’m sure there are people who feel the opposite, but I just don’t see it. Childhood is what you endure (yes, often happily) to get to the rest of your life, to the good part, to the part where you can eat what you want, drink what you want, do what you want, and be who you want.
I feel like a child in this hospital, and I’m damn sick of it. It won’t be long until I’m throwing the same fits my 5 year old does. I’m already crying as often as she does.
Because having to eat food that you don’t feel like eating just because that’s what’s being served gets old, so does not being able to take off and go somewhere by yourself, and having to live according to someone else’s timetable. Even worse is having someone else tell you what’s best for your own body, it’s perhaps the definition of subordination.
I’m sure my current episode of identifying with my kids’ dependency will last about as long as it takes to drive home from the hospital, but for this moment in time, I’m feeling their angst.