For I don’t know how long, Amy’s stories have often included a theme of parents dying or otherwise being disposed of, so that the child has to go live with friends, a sister, a princess, another favorite character, or the grandparents. Or she goes to visit for a whole year.
I think she naively (understandably so) thinks that living with the grandparents (or whoever) would be uninterrupted bliss. Constant playing together, all directed by herself. Never a conflict, never a no, never a chore or a separation.
This weekend her grandparents have been visiting, and Amy has definitely been squeezing as much from them as she possibly can, especially Grandma. This morning she lounged on Grandma’s bed, inches away from the bathroom in which Grandma was showering — commenting with joy whenever she heard something new — “Now she’s hair-drying!” Telling little stories to herself, singing little songs, hovering, ready to pounce the instant Grandma reappeared.
Yesterday was full of mostly politely phrased demands and requests and reminders and repeats. There was mostly fussy upset when anyone dared to talk to anyone else, or take a break from playing, or not realize she was talking to them. It was a little exhausting to overhear and watch. Grandma, as is her right, chose to go along with most of what Amy wanted, saying she only has a short time to do such things. (In other words, we weren’t just LETTING Amy walk all over them.)
I guess this is one of the many challenges a little one faces — having reality and fantasy meet, and seeing fantasy crumble a little from the impact. Trying to make sense of the unexpected contrast.