One of the questions I am often asked is what is the most challenging thing about your child. That is a difficult question to answer as what might be challenging today, might be fine tomorrow. What drives you to tears this morning, will be forgotten next week.
You can actually potter on for ages and take things in your stride. Then wham, something can just out of the blue hit you in the eye. Today this was mine …..
Today, this is what knocked me down.
I told my daughter that I hated her this morning. That I hated what she was doing. I think I might have even stamped my foot but didn’t go so far as to slam the door. She is only five and the sweetest little thing. But in that moment I meant it. I did hate what she was doing.
Her crime? She was taking too long to eat a piece of toast. What would possess me to do that? You must think I am a horrible mummy. I really am not (although that was a horrible thing to do). I am not proud of it but I am merely human. I let the stress get to me. It is obviously not her that I hate (I adore her). It is this situation that I have found myself in. Gabe’s feeding problems, his delays, his disabilities, Today I hate it all. Today, I even hate me.
- I hate that I can’t fix this.
- I hate that only minutes after my level headed husband left for work, I lost my cool. That I shouted at the three of them. I let my eldest two children see my pain and fear. I yelled that I couldn’t have two children not eating.
- I hate that I said to a five year old girl that she must not love her mummy because if she did she would eat her food.
- I hate what I am doing to them. Why could I not control my emotions today? Why did her refusal of breakfast tip me over the edge?
- I hate that I am taking it all out on them. Isn’t that why God created husbands and slow drivers.
- I hate that when we cuddled later and I told her I loved her very much that she said she knew and nodded wisely, old beyond her years.
- I hate that I acted like a child and the child said she understood.
- I hate that she admitted that she didn’t like the attention Gabe got from mummy and daddy because he fussed about food. That this made her feel left out.
- I hate that she thought that the only way she could remind us that she was here was to fuss about her food too.
- I hate especially that Gabe will not eat. Not a morsel, not a sniff, not a lick.
- I hate that I spent two years building up his confidence with food, hours and hours coaxing, cajoling, and applauding. Day after day, over and over. Never wavering. I had almost cracked it.
- I hate that by letting the surgeons cut his lip and tongue open to increase their mobility that he is now terrified again of the very thing that is key to his development, strength, his being alive really.
- I hate that as soon as he sees a spoon, he is scared. That he screams and shakes his head. That is now able to say to me “no, no mamma. Ow ow.”
- I hate that he doesn’t understand enough for me to reassure him.
- I hate that he is hungry all the time. That he is bad tempered but doesn’t realise why.
- I hate that he is back on all his reflux medications when I thought we had long waved them goodbye.
- I hate that he is getting weaker and the skills he worked so hard to gain are beyond him now as his body does not have the strength.
- I hate that the only way he can combat his low muscle tone is by gaining strength.
- I hate that there are no other options currently but to persevere.
- I hate that he would continuously rip out an NG tube in his nose and the doctors are reluctant about a PEG straight into the stomach. Because he drinks just enough milk to survive. Not to grow, or thrive, but to survive.
- I hate that it has been six weeks now since the operation and there is no improvement.
- I hate that I don’t know where we are going to end up with this.
- I hate that all my positivity is on the wane. That just as I was finding me again, I am back at the beginning. Slightly lost, quite afraid.
- I hate that I have ruined my pact that I would not let myself drown.
- I hate this situation.
- I hate me. I hate that I can’t fix this.
A wiser woman than me once said: “Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I’ll try again tomorrow.”
Just because I hate it all today, doesn’t mean I’ll hate it all tomorrow.
Tomorrow I am hoping that all I will hate is prawns, sky sports news and those toned women that walk around naked in my gym.
P.S. While I am doing my hate list. I want to add:
- I hate that I am whinging.
- I hate that this bullet list could go on for 40 pages!
- I hate that Shirty McCoy (he had a shirt on and was eating McCoys) wouldn’t go out with me when I was 14 as he didn’t like skinny girls (I am a bit plumper now Shirty!)
- I hate that my Tommy Cunningham autograph from Wet Wet Wet, which I kissed every night, was faked by my sister and know one told me for three years!!
- I hate (but I am not surprised) that you are either asleep on the floor or reaching for that bottle of vodka.
- And lastly I hate that I feel better from saying out loud all that I hate.
The end (I hate that).