He beats on his chest proudly speaking his name as I suggest the need to chop watermelon or to turn the lights on. In this new stage of toddlerhood, Camilo wants to do everything on his own. He stops me from opening the gate and from pouring water saying that he will do it. He rushes from the kitchen to the bathroom to flush the toilet for mommy, often before I can even stand up. I give him every opportunity I can to allow him to express his abilities and participate in our household chores. He makes bread and popsicles, cuts tomatoes with his plastic knife, and drags a dining table chair across the floor every morning to help wash dishes, leaving our upstairs neighbors groggy eyed.
Of course it can be annoying to wait next to the car door in the heat for him to successfully buckle his chest clip. Or when he feels he must put his shoes on alone and I know there is an uncomfortable rock stuck inside. I hold my breath when he plugs in the Christmas lights and I walk away when he wriggles his fingers through the bread dough and wipes the sticky mess on his freshly cleaned shirt. I laugh when he grabs deodorant and seeks a way to find his own ¨gampit.¨ Every day I find humor in a new task he attempts and also surprise at a successfully completed one.
Some of my favorite phrases as of late with my ever more vocal child are:
¨Camilo did it!¨
¨Camilo got it.¨
¨Hard. Camilo do it.¨
As I reflect on his growing independence, I constantly run into situations I feel threatening to this growth. Without questions or warnings, items are ripped out of his hands and placed in the hole he was focused on wedging them into. At the first sign of a fall when running in excitement, our local friends pick him up and carry him home rather than giving him another shot. If he spends too long placing the mango with a big knob into the missing puzzle slot, someone is there to steal his thunder and place it for him as though it were worthy of praise at their 20 years of age. Spoons are taken from him and food shoved into his mouth. And he is swatted away when pulling closed a heavy gate for an 80 year old woman with a limp.
Early independence is not necessarily a value in this culture and it has made me fight within myself time and time again. Before becoming a mother, I would listen to others complain about a random woman at Walmart changing her children´s shoes to the correct feet. Others would stop individuals from interrupting a growth experience. Most were careful about who they let interact with their children knowing their value of independence. I am aware that Americans are super independent and our value on independence may exist at the other end of the pendulum, so much so that we are afraid to ask even our closest family when in need. But what I have seen from Camilo is his desire to do it on his own and his satisfaction at being able to do so. He thrives with achievement. He is excited at a challenge. He unlocks new lifelong skills with each task.
In the challenge and in the focus, Camilo also knows how to ask for help. He uses words like ¨heavy,¨ ¨hard,¨ ¨reach no,¨ and ¨bo dai (can´t).¨ Sometimes he even passes me his knife to ask, ¨Mommy do it.¨ I am so happy that this search for help is from him, not me. I know that in any place, people are known for imposing themselves in situations. Yet, the fight for independence here brings a special and extreme case. But Camilo doesn´t seem less independent because of his interactions. At home he still does the puzzle alone until he can get it. He still feeds himself because he can. He still practices opening and closing our front gate. He is fine. The 10% of time he spends with other people in his life is not causing a regression in my efforts, although it is hard to keep that reality in my head while I observe him in the environment.
I have to remember that we are living in another culture. It is not my job to educate the locals on my foreign views of raising children. And most importantly, I know that each of our Lao friends brings undeniable value to Camilo´s life. Currently, his grandparents and family are just partially animated figures on a computer with speech impediments and delayed reactions. But he has an entire village here who love him. He is cared for. He is made whole. This is so much more significant than my own parenting anxieties.
