I loved being pregnant with Max.  I loved imagining him and what life would be like as a mom.  I loved the whole romance of it, the beauty but also absurdity that a person was growing in my body.  A person was growing in this incredible way that aside from taking my vitamins and making sure I ate and rested well, I didn’t really have any say over how he developed, he just did. 

I would say to myself and to whoever would listen to me: “Whatever he turns out to be, I’ll be there to support him.  Whether he is a Supreme Court Justice or a vacuum cleaner salesman*, I’ll be there to help him be the best him he can be.”  I was in lovity love love love with my unborn baby boy and I was thrilled beyond all comparison that he was going to be with us soon. 

Also in this lovity-love-love-love phase of pregnancy, I promised myself that I’d remember that as his mom, my role is to be an observer, a supporter, a guide and a protector.  Not a dictator or judge or manipulator.  Sure, he’d need rules to follow and of course I’d do everything I could to help him be the best ‘him’ he could be; I’d help him find his way in the world, and I had every intention of keeping my own needs out of it.  I wanted to be awake to myself and still be a good resource to him. 

Max is an awesome 3 ½ year old.  He’s friendly and funny and articulate and engaging.  He’s enthusiastic and witty and he’s really really freaking cute.  You may have met him since he loves to introduce himself to everyone he comes across. 

He also likes to play with swords.  And, more recently, toy guns. 

When I said I would help him be the best him he could be, I wasn’t really thinking about him playing with weapons. 

Now, I’ll just say it for you:  Weapon play is normal boy behavior and most men (and some women) out there played with guns and knives and other weapons for many many years and they didn’t grow up to be serial killers.  I also know that just because he plays with guns and swords now doesn’t mean he’ll want to do that forever.  I also know that if I forbid it, it’ll only make him want to do it more. 

 I know.  I KNOW.  But man oh man!  I really really wish he didn’t want to play with weapons. 

Watching my sweet boy who is so full of love and light pretend to hurt people was painful to me.  So, up until a month or so ago, he wasn’t allowed to play with anything as a weapon, and he knew it.  He’d take a ruler and hold it up like a sword and I’d raise an eyebrow and he’d say, “I’m not using it as a weapon, Mommy, it’s a measurer.”  He’d take one of those rubbery gummy bracelets and hold it in his hand like a knife and I’d give him the eyebrow look and he’d say, “I’m just tricking bad guys, not using a weapon.” 

And then the clincher came a few weeks ago when we were at my in-laws house:  Max was playing with Papa ‘clicking’ bad guys, and Papa asked him what it meant to ‘click’ a bad guy and Max said that ‘Clicking’ means that it knocks them down and Papa said, “Doesn’t that make the bracelet a weapon?” and Max said in his littlest whispery voice but still right in front of and audible to me, “We can’t say weapon in front of Mommy.”

In his brilliance, Max found a way around my rule.  He was being really creative about this need he had for this kind play.  And all I succeeded in doing was telling him that I didn’t want to know about his weapon play.  What’s a mom to do? 

Fortuitously, I ran into my friend Lisa at Beehive that week.  She told me that her son (who is Max’s age) was also playing this way, that she and her husband have opted to let him express himself this way and to remind him that it’s pretend and that he can’t actually go out and hurt someone, but pretending is fine.  It’s play. 

And then I remembered that my job was to let him be what he is, and to give him the safe container for expression of that self.  I remembered that just because I am a yogi have a visceral reaction to violence, Max is not me.  He may not decide to be like me when it comes to this stuff, and if that’s not ok with me, that’s not really for Max to have to deal with.  That’s for me to deal with on my own time.  So, my husband and I talked to Max, and gave him a toy sword with some very specific rules to follow when he played with it.

Then I read this article:  http://tinyurl.com/7mjhxd6  and the next day, Max was fashioning a toy gun out of a toy horn.  I’m not ashamed to say that I cried when I saw that.  I cried out of fear of what happens when play becomes an accident like that family experienced.  I cried because I didn’t know what to do – where is the container for this?  How do I let Max be who he is, and still protect him from things in the world that might actually hurt him!?  Aye aye aye!

As recommended by the mom who wrote the article, I talked to Max about guns.  About what to do if he ever sees a gun at someone’s house, even if he thinks it’s a toy.  He’s smart and sweet and love personified, and he said he understands.  With every iota of my being, I hope he does, and I hope he remembers what we talk about if he’s ever in that situation. 

There’s a part of me that still has this sense that just like when he was in my belly, I kind of don’t have a say in how Max develops.  He just will.  And we do our best to find the right boundaries for him with love, so however he turns out to be, or whatever he loves to do, he’ll know we are with him and in support of him. 

(However, it would bring me great joy if he wanted to play with vacuums instead of weapons!)

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Note:  * I’ve got total respect for people who sell vacuums.  I was just noting something that seemed relatively unexciting to me.