Leo Time

A few months before Leo was born, Erin brought home an adorable children’s book called Ruby in Her Own Time. We liked it for the title mostly (our “first baby” was our dog, a golden retriever named Ruby.) But it had a sweet message too, about a duck that is smaller than her siblings and takes longer to do everything. The father worries if she will ever catch up, while the mother is quietly confident that she will do everything the rest of the children do, in her own time. Little did we know we were about to get the ultimate lesson in this with the birth of our first child.

I was reminded of this book the other day when I was picking Leo up from daycare. It’s always a bit of a struggle, with the gathering of the bottles and plastic containers from Ellie’s breakfast and lunch and Leo’s backpack and wet clothes from swimming, and the squirming baby who is desperate for me to hold her the second I walk in the door.

As I was doing all of this, I was telling Leo’s caregivers about his upcoming birthday party. I never tire of the “How old are you Leo?” routine (where he holds up his four stubby fingers and says “Fou!” with unabashed enthusiasm and pride). So I asked him this familiar question, yes, wanting to show off a little. But Leo was busy. He was focused on turning the light on in the room near the door where we exit for the car at the end of each day. Leo has a fascination with turning lights on and off. I guess it’s an instant gratification thing. Or cause and effect. Whatever. He just likes to do it, and every day he turns the light on in this room on our way to walking out to the car. But the light switch is a bit high and Leo always takes a bit to manage to turn it on. So as he was trying to turn the light on, I continued to ask him how old he was. Nothing.

I started getting annoyed. It’s fun to show off your kid’s “tricks.” And somehow, when it’s Leo I feel added pressure for him to perform. I don’t want people to think I’m exaggerating his abilities by saying he can do something that he really can’t.

After several attempts by me to get the right answer out, I gave up, and a good minute passed as I started for the door. The next thing I knew, Leo charged towards me, held his round little hand up and yelled, “Fou!”

It's as if he’d been working on that answer the whole time, saving it up. Of course he knew the answer. But first he had to turn on the light. He would just respond when he felt like it, when he was ready and in his own time. He’s done this before. It’s just a good reminder that he will get there--wherever "there" is. When he’s ready.