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Bitten
No need to gasp, he didn't bite me. Actually, this tale is one of insight into the minds and behaviour of young children.
There are times when, no matter what I say or do, my toddler ignores me or chooses to rebel. In fact, thruth be told, my husband does the same (but don't tell him that I dobbed). There is something deep within me that means that when I talk I need to be heard and responded to. If I'm not, a tsunami of frustration fills my mind and body with an energy that has to be released. And so, one day when my charming three year old had switched his good listening ears off, this almost primeaval urge to bite grabbed hold. My teeth clenched and my jaw throbbed. I wasn't being heard. Communication was failing and I didn't know what else to do to get the response that I desired...
Perhaps, I thought, when reflecting upon my reaction, this is what littlies experience when they do not yet have the language or speech to communicate their needs and emotions with words. Perhaps when a little person feels ignored or misunderstood a ball of frustration rises from the pit of his or her tummy and into the jaw, and the energy has to be released. The result, of course, is that whomever has failed to heed the message, or whoever is closest, gets bitten. Something to think about.
Flick that switch!
I'm afraid I have lost access to that all important switch that enables one to successfully fulifil the roles of parent and partner independently.
"How many times have I asked you not to do that?"
"Right, I've had enough! Can you please try and do that more quietly?"
I'm fearful that if I can't find the switch soon, I may be threatening my husband with the naughty step or no dessert! And it is when I'm in the furrowed-brow, teeth-clenched, angry-voice zone that I fail to switch. I just see red and the lense doesn't change colour regardless of who I'm viewing. What's even more frightening is that there appears to be a direct link to my husband's circuit, and it seems that my parenting approach flicks his red lenses too..and then it's all on! But I don't think all is lost...yet. When I start trying to teach my husband the alphabet and talk to my three year old about finances, I will know that the switch has disappeared for good.
The multi-faceted role that is parenthood involves fine wires, complex electricals and the possiblity, if you're not careful, of many short-circuits. If I was an electrician I would advise myself to slow down, carefully examine the wires before acting or reacting and stand well back if I bypass that advice. And I would charge a fortune as well.
Ruling the roost
“I'm not happy!” “Don't do that!” “I'm not proud of you!”
I'd like to say that that is me, ruling the roost. Keeping things in check . Staying in control. Nup! It's my darling angel toddler who thinks of late that delinquent teenager-hood is a good idea at age three.
I don't know what is going on here, but I don't like it and I'm not proud of it. In fact, I'm terrified that we have the devil on our hands. I find myself, between fury that frightens me and tears of desperation and helplessness, trying to rationalise and justify his behaviour - he does have horrible itchy eczema; he's got some molars coming through; we've up-rooted him again and he must feel insecure; he's not getting enough oxygen because of his bloody huge tonsils and is therefore suffering from chronic fatigue....and so on.
But it worries me. I've prided myself on being a tough but fair mummy up until now - at times perhaps too strict - but I must be faltering. Do we give him too many chances? Instructions that aren't clear enough? I keep getting visuals of him as a teenager, talking to us this way, except that I can't just pick him up and carry him when tries to run away, or threaten him with no dessert or TV. I feel utterly drained. Please tell me it's a phase and that we will, very soon, command and receive the respect that we deserve as parents who try their hardest and care.
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