Tears and frustration and broken hearts

Is this normal? It can’t be normal, surely? I ponder this a lot at the moment as I try, once again, to calm you whilst doing my best to stay calm myself.

I don’t want to do you a disservice with this post, because most of the time you are actually very reasonable. You are helpful and sensible – or as sensible as can be expected for a four year old – and love to talk through things. Why we should do this or shouldn’t do that. You love nothing more than being given some responsibility. You love it a bit too much in fact, and your bursts of rage are usually linked to one of two things:

  1. feeling you have missed out on something one of your brothers has just done. You MUST experience everything, no matter how mundane
  2. wanting to do adult jobs without any help

You NEED to carry the breakable china around John Lewis and to the till BY YOURSELF, you want to use the sharp knife to cut the pastry WITHOUT ANY HELP, you urgently need to carry the elephant bag that you had no interest in until your brother picked it up 10 seconds previously, you must re-sort the laundry that your brother has just been sorting out; you ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO take your unremarkable plain green top to the park to show your 4 year old friend just because it is new. No you don’t want to wear it, you want to wear your other new top; you just want to take this one IN A BAG! You don’t want to show it another day, you need to show it tomorrow with your haaaaaands.

It is all desperately unfair and mummy is surely the most unreasonable person on the planet. You do not cope well with being disappointed and….well, given the nature of your demands, you are disappointed a lot at the moment.

Unfortunately, my love, these are not two-minute meltdowns. Oh no – these go on and on and on. You do not want to be comforted or spoken to or reasoned with or touched – you just have to get it all out of your system. Watching you is draining and soul-destroying. It physically hurts. It leaves my brain addled and my heart bruised. It almost wipes the rest of a good day from my mind.

I think about other children of your age; I think about your friends, and somehow I can’t imagine this happening in their homes. Why is it that some days I feel like I have gone back to dealing with a toddler? Albeit a bigger one, and therefore much harder to manage. Why it is that sometimes I feel like we are getting there – that yes, it is hard work, but we are in control; we are managing. We’re happy and look…..we’re having fun most of the time too. And then within seconds everything seems to collapse and I feel like it is all slipping out of my control. Why are we still going from one extreme to the other like this?

I can sense when you are ready to be reasoned with. Your muscles loosen, you are ready to stop fighting….or all out of energy; one or the other. I can see when you are finally ready to give in and have a cuddle. And when you cuddle, your little arms hold me tight. You sit with me quietly and bury your head in my neck.

This is mummy’s privilege – the tightest cuddles, but the biggest tears too. And a broken heart to mend before the morning.

boy with trolley

Here you are, poppet, being reasonable and helpful at the garden centre.

 

 

 

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