My Kid Is “That Kid”

I’m sure you know the one.

Declan was the toddler who would put a bucket on his head and spend half an hour running into walls at high speeds… just to see what would happen.

I’m “that mother”.

The one that let her child run into the wall repeatedly, probably bashing out any last bit of sense he had remaining. He’ll either get bored or knock himself out, right? But either of those options were far better than telling him that it isn’t wise to attempt to crack your skull open, even the mere suggestion of another activity will resort in a meltdown of Chernobyl size proportions.

When people ask me about Connor I tell them about his sweet nature, his awesome non-verbal communication skills and how much he loves to be cuddled.

When they ask about Declan, I generally use the phrase “He came out screaming, and hasn’t stopped since”.

Declan was a handful from day one, he was demanding, he was argumentative and he was possibly the most stubborn newborn you could ever imagine, he was able to argue with me before he could even support the weight of his own head.

Health wise he’s kept us on our toes, he was sick with severe reflux in his first year, started having febrile convulsions eleven months ago. Then on top of that we have all of his little “issues”, he can’t cope with day to day changes, his curiosity in how things work causes him to be incredibly destructive, he generally can’t focus on things for more than a few minutes and his independent streak leads to him getting in trouble far more than he should.

We plan every day around how Declan will react to what’s happening. I don’t generally allow anyone else to look after him, just because I know how much work it is, I don’t want them to have to experience that. It’s reached the point where I dread picking him up from a day at preschool. Once or twice a month we’ll hear how good he’s been, once or twice a week we’ll hear how feral he’s been, the rest of the time the report is “he’s been Declan”.

That’s sometimes the only way to put it. He’s been Declan.

At the beginning of February we started having fortnightly visits to a child psychologist, with the thoughts of diagnosing him (if there is anything to diagnose other than Feral Child Syndrome) and to teach Dan and I some coping techniques to make our life easier. I think I expected a magical cure. It’s not that I wanted to stop him being Declan, I just wanted our day to day life to go smoother, for my interactions with him not to be so constantly negative, and to understand how to parent him in the way he needs, to understand why he is how he is.

I just feel like we sit around and talk. I know that’s part of the diagnostic process, but I’m so frustrated with being “that mum” with “that child”, I’m fed up on the constant battles over every little thing and I would really like to drive to preschool without dreading what the day’s report will be like. I love my spirited little boy, but at the same time, I would just really like a break from it all. I know parenting isn’t meant to be easy, but it isn’t meant to be this hard either, I want that magical fix that will make everything flow more smoothly, I don’t want to be angry at my son all day and I’m getting so frustrated in waiting that to happen.

On the upside, Dan and I have worked out that with his persistence, temperament and intelligence, Declan is likely to either be a millionaire entrepreneur, or a crime lord, either way, we’ll be looked after in our old age.

Today’s post was brought to you by severe impatience and the fact that my bloody son decided to cut several holes into his tshirt with a pair of scissors today whilst at preschool.