“Mommy, you know what I used to do?” my son Sam asks, as I come to give him a good night kiss. I have been getting this question more and more in recent months; or I know what he used to do all the time. I try to look as normal as possible, but deep down I have to laugh. You, at eight years old, are already talking about "the old days" as if you were a middle-aged man. In addition, I know exactly what you 'always used to do'. I was always there myself. And if I wasn't there, I was still there, because Sam, like most toddlers, was a real sucker. Toddler separation anxiety? Yes, I could well imagine that with my Sam.
I was therefore completely surprised by his disarmed story about his alleged separation anxiety as a toddler.
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Sam is one of those people who is there with everything you do, asks questions, wants to help. One who, whatever he was doing, was absolutely determined to let me know. I've admired I-don't-know-how many Lego constructions, been told all the time what was on television and also trivial messages such as 'I'm going to shit'. Even though I had put in earplugs. Even then I somehow found out. Sam was one of those toddlers who, like most toddlers, simply demanded his attention. He still did that as a toddler, by the way.
Also like: toddler puberty, I'm 2 and I say no!
Obviously I'm not saying this to Sam. On the contrary, I sit on the edge of his bed, stroke his hair and say, pretending to be curious:'Tell me! What did you always do then?'
'I always had to cry when you took me to Group Blue?'
Ah. Another question. I nod. That's right.
On the days I worked, I took Sam to daycare. He was in the blue group there, which is why he invariably keeps calling it Blue Group. Not on all my working days, mind you. I am not such a degenerate mother. No, two days a week to Groepje Blauw and two days a week to grandparents. I felt less degraded about that. It's just like at home with grandma and grandpa. Oh no, it's much nicer at grandpa and grandma's than at home. At least everything is allowed there.
When I parked my car at the nursery, Sam already looked at me with a crestfallen snout. “We're just going to watch, aren't we?” he'd ask. "And then I'll go with you again, Mom." This is where the toddler's fear of separation came into play.
I would reply something along the lines of 'yes, let's take a look. And you watch a little longer, because I have to work.” And then with a lump in my throat to deliver my small, sweet, vulnerable man – who of course felt it perfectly and, as soon as I walked towards the exit, bumped behind me , screaming panicked 'Mommy, Mama!' I don't have to explain how you feel as a mother then.
That's why I had arranged something at a certain point:On long working days, when Sam had to go to Group Blue all day long, I had Grandpa pick him up after half a day. In hindsight, it was an exaggeration of course, because a three-year-old barely has a sense of time. Yet I did this because I was convinced that it would make Sam feel much better. Or because then I felt less guilty about the separation anxiety in toddler. A combination of both reasons is also possible.
Sam sits up in bed and looks at me with a big grin. "When Grandpa came to get me, I always hid."
huh? This is new to me. So, this time genuinely curious, I ask why he did that. “You always hated going to Group Blue, didn't you?” I ask. "Why did you hide when Grandpa came to get you? Weren't you very happy then?'
'I didn't want to leave yet. I always thought it was BAD-FUN there,' says Sam.
Surprised I don't know what to say. I think of all the times I said goodbye with a plate in my stomach. I think of all the times I was eating myself in a traffic jam. To meetings that ran late. I didn't give myself a pee break on the way. Phone calls cut off. Work took home…
I feel like I'm slowly turning into a gosling. In a stupid little goose that is.
All these years I have been guided by a feeling of guilt. Toddler separation anxiety? Ammehula! All these years I've believed… his play. He. Found. It. Pop. Nice.
I blink and take my mother role again as quickly as possible. I give Sam a big kiss and say, "I'm glad you had such a good time there. I'm very happy about that.'
'Good night, Mom.'
'Sleep tight, honey.'
As I walk down the hall, I hear him yell out of bed, "Mommy, I just want to tell you something, about today." No, Sam, you don't have to. You've had until eight o'clock for that and now it's bedtime. This is part of your I-don't-want-to-sleep-yet-don't-want-to-sleep tactic. I know because I know you all too well. And I don't fall for your plays. “Go to sleep!” I call back.
Read also: Do children dream from an early age ?
Do you recognize problems with your toddler during saying goodbye? Then read through these tips or read the book 'What your toddler tells' if you don't know anymore.
