Being Bothered

I had a thought this morning.

My Little Dude has a little wooden trolley filled with blocks that he plays with. At first, he just liked examining it from every possible angle. Then he liked playing with the blocks it holds, banging them together, sucking on them, handing them back and forth to us, and sometimes just toddling through the room and holding them up high above his head, as if to say "Look what I've got!" Then he liked pushing the trolley along the floor. Then he liked tipping it upside down.

And now he likes climbing onto it and me pushing him around the room in it. And when I say that he likes this activity, it would be more accurate to say that he lurves it. Epic love stories have been written and celebrated through the ages for people who feel less strongly about each other than that Little Dude feels about riding on his trolley. He is obsessed with it. When I offer him some alternative activity, he shows only a sort of polite interest, as if he is humouring me. And when I push him in that trolley, he gets an expression on his face that says with utter clarity, "This is the best experience I have ever had in my entire life! You are the best mother in the universe!" He is euphoric.

Until I stop. Then he is puzzled. Why has it stopped? Then he bounces his whole body frantically forward, trying to make it keep going. Then he looks at me expectantly to continue. And if I don't, he cries. And we are not just talking about some minor, little-guy whimpering that I can distract him from. He roars. He is outraged. Then he weeps in this really pitiful, angry way that says "I can't believe you stopped. You have betrayed me, and I will never get over it. Never, never, never!"

And even after he has calmed down, he is still a bit pissed at me. He averts his eyes from me. He doesn't want to play with me any more.

And frankly, all of this makes me a whole lot less inclined to start in the first place, even though I know how much he likes it. If I could just push him along for a few minutes, have a little fun together, and then let him off and do something else, I would do it more often. But his appetite for this activity is inexhaustible. And lately, when he climbs onto his trolley with that hopeful look in his eyes, I dither. I feel like he may be better off without these extremes of euphoria and distress. I can't decide whether to push it or not.

But when I don't, is that because its really better for him if I don't, or just because, secretly, I can't be bothered? Because its better for him or because its better for me?

Because actually, my thought sequence goes something like this:

He loves it, and I sort of enjoy it sometimes. But he wants to do it all the time, it gets a little boring for me, its a lot of effort, and I have other things I need to do. So its better not to start. Its better not to raise his expectations or I may have to spend my whole damn life pushing that damn trolley. Maybe I should just stop pushing it altogether. Then he might forget about how much he likes it.

And when he climbs onto his trolley, with that look of expectation, I think "Oh, for God's sake, we only did this yesterday!"

You know where I'm going with this this, don't you... yes, back to my favourite topic! My boy has nothing on me for obsession.

Yes, this morning when the Little Dude climbed onto his trolley and I didn't push it, I had the thought that this is probably how my Big Dude feels about having sex with me. "Oh, sure, she loves it now. But how is she going to feel when I stop? And its too much effort. This is getting a bit tiresome. I can't be bothered. Better not to start in the first place."

And then I start thinking, "Well, if you are going to be like that about it, then I can't be bothered, either."

Hmmmm.

Which is better for our relationship? Accepting that keeping open some possibilities may bring both significant pain and deep, deep joy? Or carefully lowered expectations - less suffering and less joy?

I know where I stand, today anyway. Kiss the joy as it flies.

Sure, a phase like we are in now, when he stops, is painful to me. But pain is part of life. In fact, we probably wouldn't truly know what joy feels like if we didn't have pain, or even just boredom, for a comparison. I don't want to be patted on the head and kept calm. I don't want that kind of faux consideration. Because I can't just go to work and do housework all the time. I want to have something to look forward to. I want to feel that joy. And if to experience that joy sometimes, I have to feel this pain sometimes, then so be it. Because I want to feel alive.

So, what do you think? Should I push that damned trolley this afternoon?