The Play Paradox

In case it isn’t clear from, well, everything I write about, I am a person with a lot on her mind. I can scarcely do a task without thinking about the next one, or about what I’d rather be doing instead. In fact, those things I’d rather be doing—reading a good book, playing piano, writing, vegging—tend to accumulate in their own “to do” backlog. My amount of truly free time is so scarce that when I find myself with a quiet hour, it’s a mental scramble to figure out how many recreational items I can fit in there. Playing with my child usually falls into the task list and not the recreational list. Not just spending time in his presence, which I love, but actively playing, which he harangues me for every day. I want him to want to do my preferred activities, the ones that don’t require imagination, like letting me teach him to ride a bike, but it can’t be forced. He is six and lives on Imagination Planet. He constructs detailed play scenarios in his mind and has a difficult time moving on until somebody acts out the scenarios with him. I hear desperation rising in his voice when I’m occupied with something else and he keeps asking, “When can you play with me?”

When I do join him, it can be tainted with resentment or distraction as I think about the other stuff on my “to do” lists. The non-school, non-work time that my son gets to spend with his parents is the same limited amount of time my husband and I have to tend to ourselves and our chores. We all have to find a balance, I try futilely to explain to my kid when I decline to play or cut playtime short to take care of something else. The internal conflict kills me a little bit every time. I know that he needs quality attention from us, but he also needs to learn how to entertain himself. He’s overly insecure about being alone. We’re only a family of three, with no regular babysitter and no regular playdates (every family seems to be too busy), so he leans on Mom and Dad heavily—often literally, climbing on us and digging his elbows into our guts. The constant need can be suffocating. I’m no psychologist, but I think the very fact of his insecure attachment may arise because I don’t moderate my energy well, and let myself get to that point of feeling suffocated, then flounce away from our interactions instead of excusing myself gracefully.

To him, it probably seems like I run hot and cold: first I like him, and want to play with him, and then I don’t. He’s far too young to realize that I’m not grappling with him but with my own thoughts about parenting. If I sit down to read a book, and he interrupts and manages to pull me away, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Is it better to turn him down, to stay with my hobby and show him what quality alone time looks like? Put your own oxygen mask on first. Of course if I do that, he’ll just mope around in my line of sight until I give him attention. Don’t let kids grow up thinking they’re the center of the universe. You can’t give into their cajoling. Maybe I’m feeling mentally energetic enough that I really can set my hobby aside and engage with him for a little while. You won’t be their favorite person forever. Enjoy it while it lasts.

More and more, I realize that the only thing I need to do is respond positively to his attempts at connection. That means I don’t always follow him to Imagination Planet, but I acknowledge his desire to play, ask him about the game he has in mind, and let him share with me while I stay on the couch with my book. And when I do get up to run around in the yard with plastic swords light sabers, I let him take the lead, and he frankly makes it easy on me. I just need to add commentary to let him know I’m in the same world as him: If we’re playing Star Wars, I’ll throw out some stuff about Jedis and Darth Vader and Tatooine, and I can see on his face that he loves it when I understand the assignment. All any of us want is to be seen, heard, and understood. If I keep that idea at the core of our relationship, we’ll both be better for it. When I lean into his world and let him express himself, I get to enjoy his beautiful little mind, and he gets reaffirmation that he’s more than an obligation to me. Then, when his cup is filled, he’s more likely to gracefully let me go and do my chores.