Raising Hell in Church

We decided to take Westley to Mass yesterday. Sure, the last time we took him he had a few moments of running around like a crazy man, but he's older now. He loves music, and there's music practically every five minutes. And since he's very capable of sitting and playing on his own, I (stupidly) figured that a bag of books and toys would go a long way in keeping him occupied through the boring, talky parts. Besides, it just seemed right to take our boy to church on Mothers' Day.  

Wrong. So, so wrong--with the exception of the music thing. Westley loved it so much that he shimmied up me like a monkey up a tree so he could see the choir better, and he hooted and pointed through every note of music, as though to say, "Are you hearing this?  It's flippin' sweet!"  But when the music ended, so did the happy boy--and how.  Basically, church seems to have brought out the devil in him.

Don't be fooled.  He's eeee-villl.

Westley wiggled and writhed and fussed and complained through every non-musical moment. He hit me in the nose, and took off running down the aisle. When Rob brought him outside or to the "cry room" to play, he made a bee-line for the church, pounding on the doors and demanding to see his Mama. He was loud, inconsolable, and aggressive: the Holy Trinity of the "terrible twos." (And he's not even 18 months old!)

Normally, crazy toddler behavior in church doesn't phase me. Not even my own toddler's crazy toddler behavior. After all, if anyone should be sympathetic to the unexpected tropical storms of baby- and toddlerhood, it's Catholics. And while no one was giving us dirty looks that I could see (not that I could see much through Westley's hands slapping me in the face), I was completely mortified. Because he was the only one. There were plenty of other babies and toddlers there, but they had all had Quiet-Os for breakfast.

We left before communion, before the blessing of the mothers, and Westley walked part of the way to the car on his own. I nursed him in the front seat to calm him down, and he stared up at me with his wide, innocent blue-marble eyes, like, "What?"

"He's celebrating Mothers' Day in his own special way," Rob concluded.

Indeed. I'm trying to decide whether it's worth it to try again next week (with a different set of books and toys, perhaps), or if I should just call off the whole family-church-going thing until Westley is older. Besides, he seems to have eclectic religious interests right now.

 

You say "Hey," I say "Om."

I have a toddler who loves Buddha statues, knows the Self-Realization Fellowship blessing, and brought me a wooden rosary last night to pray while we got ready for bed. I feel like he's setting up a joke.

A Buddhist, a yogi, and the Virgin Mary walk into a bar... 

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