I've been writing a lot about my little guy lately. I've been enjoying him.
A recent Saturday:
Me: Do you want applesauce for breakfast?
After I give it to him he decides to reinforce his decision by pushing it over to his sister's placemat, "'dada. Cuh eet."
A few minutes later I call Amanda into the kitchen to look at the biscuits that are baking, and Kyle grabs the applesauce, "Mine." Oh, so now he wants it?
One day the next week, Amanda comes downstairs for school, and Kyle is sitting at the table eating his Poptart. "My Poptart. Mine." To clarify, in Amanda's defense, she is not known for stealing food off her brother's plate.
In the car after all of this happened (and Kyle grabbed something and said, "Mine"), Amanda asked if I thought that Kyle would get less selfish soon.
She's almost eight. She doesn't like to share her dessert. She likes to watch what she wants to watch on TV. When her friends are over, it's hard to take turns at a favorite activity.
I'm thirty five. I don't like to share my dessert. I like to watch what I want to watch on TV. I find it hard sometimes to put aside a book or get off the computer to play with the kids.
I'm thinking the answer to her question is no. Or maybe those of us past the toddler stage just stop vocalizing, "Mine" as much. Good thing we don't wear our selfish hearts on our sleeves.