Nicholas has a bright yellow wiffle ball bat. He’s always liked it. He likes to swing it as he walks around the house (its a miracle nothing has been broken), he uses it as a pointer when he would like you to look at/get/share something. It goes outside, upstairs, downstairs, anywhere really.
This afternoon Nicholas & I were playing together on the floor. He was happily emptying his toy box when he found his yellow bat. He picked it up, walked over to me, and without hesitation bopped me on the head with it & giggled.
It didn’t hurt (ok, maybe it dinged my feelings a bit). He wasn’t being vicious or spiteful; he was playing. It didn’t matter though because we needed to learn the important “we don’t hit” lesson. (Andy would like it known that we do “hit back” when prompted. This is a sticking point for him – “Don’t hit 1st but if someone hits you buddy, sucker punch ’em back.”. Chalk it up to old school playground politics, I guess).
So, I took the bat from him and looked at him square in the eyes & said “No. We do not hit.”. He stared back at me intently; you could see the wheels turning. He raised his index finger (as a pointer since I had just taken the yellow bat from him) and said clear.as.day:
“I not no.”
“I not no” was my N’s 1st sentence. Ever. In his life. He didn’t stumble over the words. He was clear & direct. And I was shocked.
What I hoped he meant: “I did not know to not hit you on the head with my yellow bat. I am very sorry. I won’t do it again. I love you. Have I told you lately how purdy you are, mama?”
What he most likely meant: “I am not NO and you can’t tell me NO.”
When I told Andy what happened he laughed & said “He meant the latter. He is your child, remember. You’re both stubborn.”
If that’s not the pot calling the kettle black I simply do not know what is. Bless.