Transparent Tuesdays

Issue 149

You guys,

I never want to place labels on my kids, yet I find myself referring to George as difficult and Layla as easy. 

My mom and dad labeled all their kids. Jim was the smart one, Alexis was the creative one, I was the outgoing one. 

I liked being the outgoing one until I didn’t. I didn’t always want to go first, didn’t always want to say hello, didn’t always want to be the center of attention, although my sister would tell you otherwise. 

More than that, I didn’t get to be smart or creative. Those labels were already taken. Instead, I “worked hard” and “made silly videos every weekend.” 

I feel guilty every time I think George is difficult and Layla is easy. But I still think it. George will scream and bite and flail his entire body and refuse to do anything I ask him to do, like put on his shoes, wash his hands, or let me buckle him into his car seat. Sometimes I see a parent put their kid in a carseat and the kid just… goes right in. What??  

Whereas Layla will sit on the floor and play with her toys independently, babble and entertain herself, and laugh when George snatches a toy out of her hands. 

It’s not that I love George any less. It is George who makes me a better person. He makes me aware of my shit temper, bad moods, and lack of patience. George forces me to look all my worst qualities in the face and get better right in that moment. Every time I raise my voice, snap, or grab him forcefully, I kind of hate myself. Then I soften, wrap him in a hug, and apologize. It’s because of George I’m becoming a more empathetic and vulnerable person.

So where does that leave me with labels? 

George is not “the difficult one.” He’s had a rough year with health complications and speech delays. In this stage of life, I would describe George as strong-willed, opinionated, stubborn, and demanding. 

Perhaps these are character traits he’ll embody forever. Or perhaps this will just be his 2’s. 

Either way, they don’t define him. George gets to be whoever he wants to be on any given day, just like I get to be smart, creative, and introverted, when I want to be.

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Happy birthday, Layla!

My daughter turned 1 last week. 

She ate blueberries and two bites of pancake and bounced up and down every time we sang the Happy Birthday song, which was about 30 times because she and George both love to hear their tone-deaf parents sing, for some reason. 

I wrote her a letter. 

A Letter To My Daughter On Her First Birthday

If you’d also like to read the letters I wrote for George on his first two birthdays, you can read them here: 

A Letter To My Son On His First Birthday

A Letter To My Son On His Second Birthday

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Until next week, 

Charlie

P.S. Do you guys remember when I wrote about getting a bicycle ticket for $564?? I finally had my virtual court date after it got pushed back three freaking times. I waited an hour for the judge to call my name. 

I was prepared to plead my case but before I could, she reviewed my case and started laughing: 

“Did everyone know we have America’s Most Wanted here??”

Then she told me to make sure I ride with a bike light from now on. And dismissed the charge.

Me, when the call ended.