Children, they say, are the reflection of their parents.

I struggle with this these days, because if my children are any indication, I am a weeping, hysterical mess.

It’s a sad state of affairs when the child who cries the least in our household is the one that’s only 4 months old.

With Funk, I expect it. She’s three. Three is all about the histrionics.  And even though she’ll go off like a rocket on the fourth of July, she usually calms herself down quickly once she discovers that it’s not going to get her her way. It’s not pretty, but it is brief, and for that I am grateful.

Noise has always been a highly sensitive little thing. It’s not surprising– both Hubs and I have a flair for the dramatic paired with a touch of fatalism and a dash of compulsive worry– but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. When we put him in a day care center a few years ago, it was our biggest worry– that he would spend his entire day moving from one spate of tears to the next. And, for a time, that is exactly what transpired.

After a while, he learned to keep it together a little better, and that made things go smoother. Don’t get me wrong– I’m not a “boys don’t cry” kind of parent, and neither is Hubs, not by a long shot. We encourage our children to feel what they feel, and not be embarassed to show it.

But in the last few months, Noise has been an emotional wreck, and I feel terrible for the little guy. It’s hard to say whether he’s acting this way because of the baby, or because he’s not in preschool any more, or if it’s because he’s home with me. Maybe it’s the spectre of Kindergarten, looming large this fall. Maybe he’s eating too much fruit. I really can’t say.

Where I’m jacking this all up is that Noise’s emotional roller coasters evoke a strong emotional response from me. And while I know it’s unneccessary for me to have a feeling about his feelings, I can’t seem to help myself. And what’s more, the feelings I am having about the extremes of his emotionality are… well, I’m shame-faced, really.

I get angry. And I get embarassed.

When he’s freaking out about a MF’ing gnat outside, clutching his chest because OMG A BUG I just want to crawl under a rock. I’m impatient with him, I tell him to get a grip. I look around to see who else has noticed that my son is having ‘Nam flashbacks about a friggin’ bug.

When he wails to the heavens, gnashing his teeth and rending his garments because he’s stubbed his toe, I’ve been less than understanding. “Jesus,” I say, “I fully expected to look down and see that you had cut off your foot, Noise. It’s JUST a stubbed toe.” I don’t offer to kiss his boo-boos much anymore. It’s been my experience that the more I react, the more he reacts, and there just aren’t enough tissues in my house for that level of tearful response.

The other day, after 12 straight hours of constant sound effects, inner monologue made outward, and chatty bickering with his sister, Noise went into a five minute screeching song of his own creation. Complete with air guitar. In the middle of the living room, where I was trying to calm down the baby.

“Noise! Can you please take that to your room? I need some quiet!”

“FINE!” he said, “I WAS GOING TO BE A ROCK STAR SOMEDAY, BUT NOW I CAN’T, BECAUSE YOU DON’T LIKE MY PRACTICING!!!”

And he stomped off to his room like a 13 year old girl who’s PMS’ing with her first menses.

And I was worse than angry. Worse than embarassed. I laughed. I laughed at his feelings. And even though, in retrospect, it was funny, I feel bad about that.

Because I was that kid, and I remember how stinging those laughs were when I was that age. How deeply injured I felt that my own parents didn’t seem to care that my world was ending. (There’s a reason my childhood nickname was Sarah Heartburn.) I, too, struggled with the depths of despair over nothing consequential that Noise is starting to discover. I’ve been there. So I should be more supportive, I guess.

Or at least I should wait until he leaves the room to laugh at him.

Someone, please tell me that all pre-Kindergarteners go through this? Please?