Stuck in the middle

Ya complaint

all smiles

He wants to cuddle.  If I’m still for more than a moment, he presses his body up against mine, sometimes rubbing his head against me much like a feline.  No longer the baby but too young to be the big kid, his is a hard position.

The “just give it to him already,” and other such appeasements have  disappeared. Gone is the guarantee of getting his way. Often, it seems, he’s pushed away for being in the way.

He wants to be responsible — in charge of something, anything. At IKEA, he pushes the food tray cart. “I’ve got the stroller, let me do it!” Sometimes he gets control, other times he’s left stomping feet and sucking teeth, his hands balled into fists and voice more like a growling animal prepping for attack. It draws instant negative attention.

So far, we’ve coped with his tantrums, tried to be patient through the constant demands. We’ve chidded, scolded, and corrected attitudes. This, we hope, is a phase. Perhaps the end of four and the beginning of big brother in elementary school will bring better behavior.

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