The end of storytime?

My daughter and I might be done with library storytime, and it’s forcing me into an unexpected existential crisis.
For the last couple of weeks, I’ve felt out of sorts, out of sync and unsettled. I think it’s because I’m missing Mr. Chufo and the Tuesday morning storytime at the downtown branch of the Denver Public Library. You see, Mr. Chufo got a promotion, which means he’s working at another branch. That’s great for him, and sad for the storytime regulars (and all the newcomers, too, if I’m being honest). But what has me feeling even more out of sorts is the fact that we’ve had to stop going to Tuesday storytime altogether.

My daughter never stops moving. At home, this is a fact I must deal with but can control to a certain degree. But when we get to the library, I have to play a non-stop prevent defense.

Over the course of 25 minutes (the length of storytime), Eleanor will:

• Make a mad dash for the exit (6x) 
• Grab other, smaller children’s copies of the storytime books (5x) 
• Grab other, smaller children’s toys, binkies, etc. (4x) 
• Lunge for the guitar/ukelele while it is being played by the storyteller (3x) 
• Attack the life-sized teddy bear (3x) 
• Beg other parents for food (2x) 
• Leave Daddy out of breath from chasing her and from saying sorry to other parents for the whole 25 minutes (1,000,000x) 

This is (mostly) normal toddler behavior, I gather, though it sure seems like my slightly late walker is making up for lost time during her earlier, immobile months. People like to say, she’s “busy.” That’s absolutely true. She is very good at entertaining herself by reading every book in the house, taking every toy out of her toy chest, every DVD off the shelf, every utensil out of every kitchen cabinet she can reach, etc. (I use etc. here because I’m getting exhausted just listing all the ways that my daughter spends her time). People (including me) get tired just watching her go for only five minutes. Sometimes she literally just runs around in circles.

But this newfound “busyness” has me feeling a bit lonely. In a way, I feel like I’m losing the communities (like the library) in which I felt safe and connected. It might be different if my daughter were talking to me, but she’s too busy exploring every nook and cranny of the reachable universe for a climbing, 33-inch-tall 16-month-old. It’s a hard realization, knowing that we have to establish a new routine, filled with new people and new situations in which I have to be social with people I don’t know.

I spend these days trying not to live in a perpetual state of exasperation. It’s a fun word for a frustrating state of being -- it feels like a combination of exhaustion, a realization that you exist solely to set limits for your curious, speed-demon toddler, and a constant seeking of a moment’s peace where you’re not making sure she doesn’t stick her finger in a socket or wrap an electric cord around her neck (seriously -- I’m not exaggerating!).

***

And then I took her to a gymnastics class. We won’t talk about the ridiculous exhausting afternoon that followed the gymnastic class. That nightmare was filled with a constant stream of reading the same books again and again and deliberate defiance of boundaries, climbing on furniture and running down the street (thankfully, she at least agrees to stay on the sidewalk most of the time).

It’s hard to describe Eleanor’s glee at the gym. She was so giddy she was reduced to guttural screaming as she ran from station to station. She climbed, she balanced, she jumped, she hung from a high bar (by herself!); for 45 straight minutes she never stopped. Watching her not-stopping is pretty par for the course, but living in the joy of her movement was one of the greatest experiences of my life. I have never seen someone having so much fun as my daughter did for those 45 minutes. We were supposed to go through stretching exercises and an obstacle course designed to teach the kids how to do cartwheels.

Yeah, right. She broke free from my grip and climbed the first foam block she could find.

What a relief it must be to a toddler that she can move! She can walk, run, climb, twirl, hang, jump. For the first time in her life, she can really MOVE! She begins her life in a 3D world and takes her place among the adults, in a way. It’s so hard to imagine how huge the transition to walking must be for toddlers.

This afternoon, when I could no longer contain/entertain my not-stopping toddler, we went for a walk. Eleanor ran down the sidewalk as she normally does, but she stopped in front of a neighbor’s house, where a man retrieved a wheelchair from the trunk of his SUV and wheeled it into the house. She stared at what he was doing for a long time.

So did I.

Managing an active child is hard, exhausting, and terrifying. But next time I find myself getting exasperated, I will remember her joy and be grateful for her movement.