Mama Bear 7.27.20
Our nanny came home with the two kids this morning, both of them hollering, while she was uncharacteristically flustered coming through the door. Henry is worked up, doesn't want to wash his hands, Rose is just upset.
Come to find out they got hustled home because the group of kids Henry has been palling around with in the park these days (nothing inside like the library is open, and nothing sanctioned like the playground is either) decided to play "bad guy." From what I gather from toddler-speak, and the nanny’s explanation, the kids (Henry included) - Henry being one of the youngest, the others mostly clocking in around 4-5 - decided that he, Henry, would be the "bad guy" and try to tear down the imaginary tree house, while the other kids, not-so-imaginary-ly whaled on him, hitting and pushing him.
The nanny, normally unflappable, was so upset and had given the other nannies in the park the what-for, yelling at them that their boy/s was hitting her boy and they weren't paying close enough attention. She said it was like bullying and she put her foot down that there would be NO MORE of that game.
Henry, on the other hand, seemed to be unfazed as I Hydrogen Peroxided his arm, dabbed it with Neosporin and covered his scratches with a bandage. He loudly yelled that he was THE BAD GUY and he was tearing down the tree house. When I told him I was coming to the park myself tomorrow (with my switchblade) he clasped his hands together and said in one breath, EXCITING, and FIGHT AGAIN.
Trying to measure and match my responses to how he feels about the situation, but also put a stop to any bad behavior, especially the kind that rattles my experienced and very capable nanny.
My own reaction? Bloodlust. And a painfully tender feeling that I cannot expect to protect my babies all the time. And a reminder of how little he still is. And how I'd like to take a bat to the whole piñata of children at the park who dare make sport of my baby. And maybe a teensy bit of pride at the stubborn fierceness in my boy.