When I gave birth for the first time, almost twenty-two months ago, I was utterly and completely enamored with my brand new baby boy. And I stayed that way for some time. In all honesty, I am still rather enamored with him, but in a different way. (Toddlers are just different.) Well, that enamoration(is that a word?) led me to play with him constantly. I knew I should be teaching him to play on his own, but I would look down at that little roly-poly baby and have to be right next to him. I just couldn't help it. I was like an addict needing a fix. I had to kiss his smooth little cheeks and hold his chubby little hands.
Fast-forward several months.... That roly-poly baby is now a cat-like toddler, darting here and there and sinking his claws into Mommy every chance he gets. And I do mean every chance he gets... while Mommy is trying to fix her hair in the mornings, while Mommy is trying to prepare dinner at night, while Mommy is trying to do almost anything that does not directly involve him. And Mommy is starting to realize what a colassal mistake Mommy made when she did not teach Baby how to play on his own. (Okay, I will stop talking about myself in the third person now.) So now Mommy is on a journey (last time, I swear) to rectify the situation she herself created.
I plan on writing several posts over the next few weeks documenting our journey to independent play. He is quickly approaching two years, so I know that he is at the right developmental stage for more independent play, he just needs guidance from me (since I'm the one that messed him up in the first place) to be successful.
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