Patience was never my virtue.Surprisingly, when my son came into our lives, I discovered a sensitive, patient and tolerant side to myself, that I had never known before. Everyone from my mother to husband to people who knew the wild, impatient, up-in-flares-for-no-reason me were amazed at my new found calm. And secretly they were thankful for it too. My son wasn't the easiest of babies (not that I know too many. In fact he was the first baby I ever held). Nine months of peaceful life inside seemed to have bored him, for he came out bawling for activity.
He was up and active almost all through the day and night. As the months went by, he learned newer tricks, bettered his tantrums. Unfortunately for him, the magical calm that had taken over my mind disappeared almost instantly. He was now facing a rather intolerant mom who wouldn't take his doings with a smile. Well, I wasn't as bad as I portray myself. But definitely not as (at times almost irritatingly) tolerant as my parents are to their grandchild, who is my son. He often gets away with his mischief because am more amused watching my parents (especially my dad) at their calmest and most patient avatars.
How goes this sudden halo of calm, tolerance and patience shape up in people as soon as they graduate to grandparent status! Being the only child, there was a general misconception among many of my friends that I was a pampered child. Their definition of pampered child: I just had to think of something and my parents would get it for me. I could be at my disobedient worst and they wouldn't bat an eyelid or even let out a frown. I could spend, splurge on anything that caught my fancy and my father would only be proud of me. YEAH RIGHT!!!
I had to spend hours convincing my dad of the genuine necessity of a request I had put forward. I had to have my accounts perfect while handling money. If my tone or actions crossed the permissible decibel level and permitted heights of rebellion...God save me. Today, my son could get away with almost everything except murder. He could refuse food, scream aloud at being put to sleep, insist on playing with all the banned-things (read remote, phone, books), could bawl at dizzying tones for no rhyme or reason, could hit whom ever he picked on.....and my parents would have a very convincing reason for it all. My dad's favourite for anything from cold, fever to temper tantrums to plain mischief is: "It's all because of the climate. It's so hot these days. We ourselves can't take it. Then imagine these little children. They get irritated and restless." Now I know why my son threw my pen out of the window, why he pulled out the neatly-arranged shelf, why he punched my nose and why he broke his toy car...blame it all on the heat.
If, in the right of being mother, you dare to be hard on him (read refuse him to be as mischievous as he'd like to be)....be prepared for another long session on 'the art of parenting with patience'. Wonder why they never took these lessons while bringing up their daughter!