The Yogurt

The other day, I was sitting on the floor of our family room playing with the kids.  My toddler, Andrew, suddenly got up and ran off toward the kitchen.  This is not surprising, as it was five o’clock.  Dinnertime at our house is usually five-thirty or six, since my husband doesn’t get home until then.  But given the choice, Andrew would prefer to eat earlier, and so he starts begging around five.


A moment later, Andrew came back and jabbered several sentences at me that I didn’t understand and then promptly ran back to the kitchen.  I knew that this was my cue to follow and address his request for food, but I stayed, not wanting to deal with the tantrum awaiting me.  However, when he hadn’t returned in a minute or two I decided I had better follow.  He is known for his ability to outsmart baby-proofing devices.  Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how to cut meat and chop vegetables with my bare hands, so there are still sharp knives in our kitchen.


As I walked past our dining room table, I saw something odd.  It was my daughter’s cup of half-eaten yogurt, which I was sure she had returned to the fridge after snack time.  It was sitting on the table, right in front of Andrew’s booster seat.  Oh well…she must have left it out and I failed to notice.  (It seems I fail to notice many things these days…)  I turned and walked into the kitchen.  There was Andrew, standing in front of the open silverware drawer, and in the process of pulling out a large serving-size spoon.  He turned to look at me, and suddenly I put it together…  My little toddler (okay, fine, *giant* toddler) had figured out how to open the fridge, get out his sister’s yogurt, remove the plastic wrap from the top, carry it to the table without spilling it, and he was now getting himself a spoon.


Andrew's face was all innocence, and I realized that there was nothing devious to his actions.  After all, he had first come and “asked” me to help him.  When that didn’t work, he decided to take care of things himself.  He wanted to eat, so he got himself some food.  His self-sufficiency astounded me.  My 20-month-old had just accomplished a feat of self-care that I can’t even get my 6- or 4-year old to perform without coaching.


I couldn’t help but wonder what the implications of this behavior are.  What does this combination of physical capability beyond his years and lack of inhibition mean for me?  Will I be struggling for the next 17+ years to keep ahead of him so that he doesn’t get the best of me?  Or maybe it’s just that my parenting skills have improved so much by the third child that I have cultivated an above-average level of independence in him without even trying.  Yeah, that’s it…it must be the latter.


One thing I do know for sure.  In retrospect, I should have let him eat the yogurt.  Or at least allowed myself to enjoy the sight of watching him try to get that serving-size spoon into the cup of Yoplait.