This morning’s conversations with almost-four-year-old Sprout have me seriously thrown. I kind of want to curl up in a corner and cry, honestly.
Sprout: “You hate my Mommy [name]?”
Me: “What? No! I love your Mommy! She’s so sweet. And I love anyone who loves you like she does.”
Sprout: “Really?”
Me: “Really really. I love your siblings too. Don’t ever doubt that baby.”
To my amazement and horror she burst into tears, saying she missed her Mommy [name] and thought I hated her. It never occurred to me that I had to tell her that I love her first family. The poor kid has been carrying that weight around!
Four is a challenging age for me, and for a lot of people. Sprout is 4 in a few weeks and she’s already acting like Kiddo did at that age and is trying every single inch of my patience with her ‘tude. She flatly refuses to do almost anything we ask her to, by either rudely refusing or standing with her head hanging down like a statue. The statue pose is something she could hold for a whole day if challenged, I swear.
I’ve heard of the Terrible Twos, and have heard of Threenagers, but Seth and I are great with ages 2 and 3, even with kids who have experienced a lot of trauma. We have no problem with tantrums or lack of being able to verbally express what they’re needing. But the F U Fours? Dude. They Push. Our. Buttons.
Some reading on child development is on my immediate horizon because I don’t understand what happens when little brains turn 4. Kiddo nearly broke us at that age. Flat refusals to cooperate and colossal sulk fests peppered the year, along with, of course, evidence of the extreme trauma she’d endured to that point. My memory tells me she was either sulking or hiding behind furniture screaming at the top of her lungs because she’d been triggered by something. It was a hellish year.
Sprout has a couple of fairly healthy years under her belt to build resilience that Kiddo didn’t have (Kiddo came into foster care at almost 4) so we have sort of been expecting her trauma behaviors to be less than Kiddo’s were. But it turns out they’re just different.
Sprout: “Why am I here?”
Me: “Instead of with Mommy [name]?
Sprout: nod
Me: “Oh baby. Mommy [name] loves you very very much but she was having a hard time taking care of you. You were very very sick and she didn’t know what to do to make you better. She wants you with her but she can’t take good care of you. She can’t get you to school and doctors. So you’re here with us to make sure those things happen.”
Sprout, bursting into fresh tears: “But I don’t want to break her heart!”
Me: “Honey, none of this is your fault. You have done NOTHING WRONG. Nothing. The situation is breaking your Mama’s heart because she loves you and misses you but YOU aren’t doing anything to hurt her.”
Sprout has had a break in therapy because her old therapist abruptly left his organization and they didn’t replace him or close out her case. But we’ve put in a request to restart therapy because lord knows we need all the help we can get. Tricks and tips from an experienced therapist are so welcome right now!
Me: “How would you feel if I cut my hair short?”
Sprout, looking worried: “But would you still be my Mommy?”
Me: “Of course! I’ll just look a little sassier. I’ll always be your Mommy – don’t ever worry about that.”
It’s like all my beloved kid’s fears have come tumbling out of her in one morning. And such massive fears – ones no child should ever have to carry.
Me to Seth: “Miss feisty doesn’t want that sweatshirt, she wants the pink one.” Pause. “Oh shoot! I forgot. She doesn’t like being called ‘feisty’! Sorry baby!”
Seth: “She doesn’t like being called ‘feisty’?”
Me: “Nope. She told me that the other day.”
Seth: “I didn’t know that.”
Me to Sprout: “How about beautiful? Can I call you that?”
Sprout, emphatic head shake “no.”
Me: “Why not? You are beautiful! I tell you that all the time!”
Sprout, in a fresh flood of tears: “No I not!”
Me: “Oh baby, you have the prettiest face! You have eyes like warm tea that kiss in the corners, and shiny black hair like your beautiful Mama, and the softest, loveliest skin. You’re gorgeous.”
Dear god. All the trauma, all the huge fears, are shaking my lovely girl’s self confidence to the bone.
Now that she’s told me all these big fears this morning, she’s chipper in a way I haven’t seen in weeks. Clearly these things have been weighing on her in a massive way, and I think just saying them out loud and getting a little reassurance has helped a bit. Until the next enormous fear no little kid should have to hold comes to the surface, anyway.
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