Why you say ‘wow’?

This is the question that my son asks every time he does some sort of action that has been preceded by ‘Mum, look at me!’. It could be a random rollie pollie, a big jump in the air, a ball being kicked through the room – anything really. And for a long time, I simply responded ‘Wooow’, thinking that the call for attention to watch his actions was because he wanted me to be amazed at the fact that he could do this action. It was also a quick and easy response, and a salve to my son, that I believed would allow me to get back on with whatever it was that I was doing. It could have been something important, like making dinner but it also could have been something mundane, like scrolling on my phone. But then, he began asking me one question that managed to crawl under my skin and trigger a ridiculous amount of annoyance in me – ‘why you say wow?’.

Well wasn’t it obvious? Wasn’t the thing – the rollie pollie, the jump, the kick – supposed to be something incredible that I found amazing and warranted ‘wow’ as the response? Why did I now have to justify it? But what it also meant, was that the response could no longer be a quick and convenient response, that allowed me to get back on with what I was doing.

Well, the ‘Mum, look at me!’s continued, as did the ‘wow!’s followed by the ‘why you say wow?’s, concluded by a brash response of ‘well, because you did the [insert action here]’. I spent a couple of weeks feeling the irritation of the question and then I had to stop and ask myself – why are you so annoyed by this question? After asking myself this, it dawned on me – if I answer my son’s question differently, what would his response be?

So, on the weekend, he did the thing of saying ‘Mum, look at me!’. This time he had a mini football, and he was kicking it against the door, it also went quite high. I said ‘Woah, that was a really cool kick! Did you see how high it went?’. He looked so proud of himself, with a massive grin and a response that went something like ‘Yeah mummy, I can kick high’. At that moment, I realised SO many things, and these things are what brought me to write today.

The interaction demonstrated the importance of being present – both generally and as a parent. My ability to acknowledge in detail what it is that my son is showing me, requires me to be fully in the moment with him – taking in what it is exactly that he wants me to see. By describing back to him, what he has done, allows him to know that I have seen him, and for the most part, I feel like that’s what gives him the confidence and happiness boost and connection that he craves. It has also acted as a reminder to just be more present in my life – be in the here and now, rather than in my mind somewhere last year, or casting months into the future. It has really grounded me in my mind and body, allowing me to take stock of how I’m feeling in the here and now, which has been wholly positive in allowing me to have clarity of mind but also productivity in my work. This revelation has also worked in tandem with my Lent choice to give up social media for 40 days, by removing access to it on my phone. It has resulted in far greater moments of connection with my son as well as myself – probably counting as a reason for why I could ascertain this revelation. I have spent more time reading, completing Lego kits and just generally winding down then I have in a very long time, because scrolling on my phone hasn’t been my ‘medicine’.

It has also shown me that giving people what I think they want rather than what they actually need, does more harm than good. I am without a doubt a people-pleaser. It is one of the things about myself, that I look forward to breaking through at a point in the not too distant future. I chose to give my son what I thought he needed (Wooow), rather than meeting the need he actually had (describing his action back to him). There is a fear that if I don’t know how to give a person what they need then I provide no utility for them and their love may be withdrawn from me. Not being useful means that I am potentially disposable, and so I spend a lot of time predicting what I think it is that people need from me – that prediction is made hastily and can sometimes stifle what the person actually needs. In my ability to slow down and question what my son needed from me, I was actually able to meet the need that he had. Since adopting the response of acknowledging the action that he is taking, I don’t get asked ‘why, you say wow?’. I get the broadest, most beautiful smile and then some more ‘Look!’s because he wants to keep showing me.

I’m so glad my son asked me ‘why, you say wow?’ – because it has brought me back down to earth – when I’ve spent so long with my head in the clouds.