Andy Thinks That Andy's Great!

When your baby starts to do things that any other normal person would expect to do without fanfare- such as putting a spoon down on a table instead of throwing it in someone's face- you, as an encouraging and loving parent, find yourself doing something which never would have come naturally during the pre-baby years. You applaud. You clap and say "Yay!" and act like your baby has just completed his or her valedictorian speech, the one in which the statement "couldn't have done this without my parents, who are not at all expected to pay for my college" is peppered liberally throughout.

Before baby comes along, applauding for the simple act of not intentionally breaking something, making a mess, or being generally jerky would have been unheard of. If your coworker managed to keep her yogurt in her mouth instead of spitting it all out in an explosion of milky strawberry bits and saliva, it wouldn't even cross your mind that this was something deserving of a kudos. "Hey, way to eat!" you'd never say to your coworker. And you certainly wouldn't follow it up with rhyming the words yummy and tummy and happily clapping your hands like a baby seal. However, if this is something that has happened at your workplace, then maybe you have the world's most interesting coworkers. (This is one of those times when "interesting" is not a positive description.)

Parents applaud their babies, though. Even the coolest, hippest adult in the world- the one on the poetry slam circuit with the ironic wardrobe and clove cigarettes- turns into a clapping fool once baby manages to muscle down a mouthful of carrot puree. It's the only way we know how to express our delight in our blank slate of a child learning the most basic of tasks and etiquette.

With Andy, we've clapped for everything. From elementary, barely acceptable table manners to when he removes his dirty little fist from our mouths after reaching in there to feel our teeth (he's clearly in awe of the quantity of our teeth versus his), every action that retreats even slightly from brattiness deserves a round of applause and a YAY!

It is therein that lies the problem. As Andy's grown from baby to toddler, he's grown to rely on the applause, to expect it, require it, and feel like he's entitled to it. During dinner, Andy will take a sip from his cup, look us straight in the eye, and deliberately place the cup in its correct spot on his highchair tray. If we don't immediately reward this behavior with applause, Andy will start the clapping himself, stare at us expectantly, and wait, somewhat impatiently and with one little eyebrow cocked, for us to join in. Then the whole thing will repeat- one tiny sip, cup in right spot, Andy starts the slow clap for himself- over and over until a full hour's gone by and all of our tater tots have gone cold.

This happens all the time. Andy will perform an action that he feels is correct and polite, and he'll immediately start clapping for himself, giving us a pointed look that says, "Hey. I chose not to scratch this other child in the eye. That makes me pretty amazing. You're supposed to clap for me. I'm showing you how right now, in case you forgot. Just put your hands together- okay, there you go. Finally. Sheesh."

See, Andy thinks that Andy's great, but he wants to make sure his parents remember how great he is, too.

I wonder how long this sort of thing can go on. Will Andy come home one night during his senior year of high school, stumble drunkenly up the stairs, barge into our bedroom and say, "Hey. I had two six packs of beers but was smart enough not to drive myself home." He'll follow this with a round of applause laced with a sort of understood threat, and his father and I, groggy from sleep, will join in quickly. "Yay!" I'll say. "Yay," Chris will echo flatly, so very tired from seventeen years of non-stop clapping.

"That's right, bitches," Andy will say. "I deserve that. I'm great." And then he'll go to his room, stick his pacifier in his mouth, and pass out until the morning.

What's a parent to do? At some point, do we cut Andy off from the clapping and refuse to join in? Or just assume that the clapping after every action is a phase, and that Andy will grow out of it on his own soon enough, finding other ways to make sure his parents agree how wonderful he is? Or, even worse, will Andy not only grow out of it, but also stop caring about whether or not his parents think he's great? Will he stop seeking our approval, with claps or otherwise?

Oh, my. I sincerely hope that Andy never stops clapping.