When Eli was three months old, I took him to an Infant Development Class at Cabrillo College. We sat in a circle on the floor and observed our babies as they played in the center on blankets. Babies picked up toys, climbed steps, sat up, crawled, and explored each other.
      Every week, when babies touched Eli or crawled near him, he screamed in terror. He clung to me and panicked anytime a baby got too close, sobbing uncontrollably until I moved him out of range. From the safety of my lap, he studied the group and could smile again.
      A year later, I joined a playgroup with six toddlers. We met weekly in parks, at the beach or in each other's homes. As time went on, it got harder to bring Eli. He insisted he didn't want to go, said he didn't like it. When I dragged him (because I needed to see the other moms), he sulked and hung by my side, refusing to interact with the other children. Ultimately, as he got more verbal about his feelings, I realized I could no longer force him to go.
      At two-and-a-half, Eli started preschool, and he spent his whole first year sitting back and observing the other children. He'd come home and report interactions with kids that never happened anywhere but in his imagination. At the end of the school year, when I asked him about this, he said, "Mama, I want to play with those kids, but I have to practice on the inside before I can do it on the outside."
      Last year, I invited another four-year-old and her one-year-old sister over after preschool, without asking Eli first. He had a huge tantrum all the way home. When they arrived, I had to sheepishly tell their mom I'd made a mistake and that Eli didn't want to play after all.
      Now Eli is almost five. He's maintained one close friendship since he was a baby, has two older boys he adores, and is ambivalent about spending time with any other kids. I can count on one hand the times he's ever initiated asking another child over to play.

      It's taken five years for me to understand and accept that my son is an introvert. Mary Kurcinka, author of Raising Your Spirited Child, defines introverts as people who "get their energy by being alone or with one or two special people. They prefer to interact with the world on the inside by reflecting on their thoughts and ideas before sharing them with others on the outside. They refresh themselves by spending time alone. If they get it, they'll play well with other kids and be more cooperative. If they don't get it they'll get surly and nasty."
      That's a perfect description of Eli.
      Kurcinka outlines four energy sources for introverts: time alone, physical space, time for reflection and uninterrupted work time. I start meditating on how to facilitate more of these in Eli's life.

      Today was a perfect case in point. Our family planned to go to a birthday party for two three-year-olds who are close family friends. My conversation with Eli about it went something like this:

Mama Laura: Eli, after breakfast, we're going to go to Zev and Kobi's birthday party.
Eli: I don't want to go. I haven't had enough time at home lately.
Mama Laura: You really feel like staying home.
Eli: I'm not going to that party. I want to stay here.
Mama Laura: Well, I want to go to the party, Eli. I want to celebrate Zev and Kobi's birthday.
Eli: Well I don't want to. I'm not going!
Mama Laura: Eli, it's not safe for you to stay home alone. I'm going to take Lizzy and Mama Karyn is going to meet us there.
Eli: I've just been doing too many things. I want to stay home.
Mama Laura: What would you do if you just stayed home all day?
Eli: I want to spend the day laying on my bunk bed. I want to stay in the house today.
Mama Laura: Eli, remember we stayed home all day yesterday. All we did is go for one walk downtown.
Eli: Well, Mama, that wasn't enough. I need to stay home today.
Mama Laura: I understand how you're feeling Eli. But I need to go to the party.
Eli: You don't need to go, Mama. You want to go.
Mama Laura: (laughing) Yes, I do want to go. Look, I have an idea. How about if we bring some toys for you and one of your new tapes and you play in the van while the rest of us go to the party? (We have a van with a pop top that makes a lovely play space, and our friends live on a quiet cul de sac where our car could be safely parked, off the street, less than 10 feet from their front door.) I'll tell you a boingy story on the way over.
Eli (lighting up at the prospect of one of our special stories): Okay, Mama.

      So that's what we did. Karyn and Lizzy and I went to the party. Lizzy, our extroverted one-year-old, worked the room and had a ball. Eli spent the entire three hours in our van, listening to Jim Weiss's rendition of The Jungle Book, building with K'nex^TM, and making a giant spiderweb out of all the seat belts and bungee cords he could find. I visited him periodically, bringing out bagels, fruit salad, and birthday cake. He was perfectly happy out there, absorbed in his own world.
      At the end of the party, our hostess, KZ, stepped out to the van to bring Eli a party favor. She said, "Thank you for coming to the party, Eli."
      "You're welcome," he replied, as matter of fact as can be.
      As we said our good-byes moments later, KZ looked out at Eli and mused, "I wonder what kind of adult he is going to be."
      I can't help but wonder myself.