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Tuesday 17 September 2013

The Sound of Silence.

This morning, whilst draining a mug of strong coffee in an attempt to wake up, I read an interesting blog entitled 'Dear parents, you need to control your kids. Sincerely, non-parents.' by American DJ, blogger and father of twins, Matt Walsh.  Matt's is not a blog that I have read before, but the striking title of the post peaked my interest and raised my hackles.  However, I shouldn't have been so fast to judge.  The post was an open letter directed at a "fan", who had sneered at a woman whose toddler was having a melt-down in the local supermarket, telling him to mind his own business. 

I won't spoil the well written piece for you, you can read that for yourself.  However, it did make me think about my own experiences in public both with and without R in tow.  To start with, I'll lay my cards on the table.  I have worked in Children's Centres, so I was used to the cacophony that children can make before we had R.  That's not to say that I'm immune to the soul splitting shrieks that some of our bundles of joy can emit. 

Generally R is a very well behaved child, but that doesn't mean that he isn't prone to the odd tantrum.  I'm told that the terrible 2s last until stroppy teenage tendencies kick in and I can well believe it.  The thing is, even when he is screaming blue murder in a public situation; supermarket, restaurant, train, swimming pool, more often or not I end up laughing at him.  After the initial feeling of wishing the ground would swallow me up, reminding myself to stay calm, assessing the situation and trying to stick to my guns, we can normally get through the situation relatively quickly.

I have been on the receiving end of countless disgusted glares from members of the public.  But for every one of those there are a good handful of knowing glances from parents who have already walked a mile in my shoes.  Unsolicited advice is hard to take at the best of times, but when you're trying to coax a whirling dervish down from the ceiling it's seldom appreciated, especially when it's being proffered by a stranger.

And this is the thing. We don't actually want to torment passers by with the tears of our children.  Everybody brings their child up differently, we have to, they don't come with an instruction manual, we have to make it up as we go along*, hopefully learning from each situation.  There is one thing that has happened to me since the arrival of R though, it's almost as if a switch was flicked the moment he was born.  From the moment he arrived, 2 months early, the cries, screams and groans, the giggles, burps and constant babble, remind me that he is alive, in spite of the troubled early days.

The switch has also made the cries of other people's children a joy to hear.  They too are as precious to their parents as R is to me.  Also, rather selfishly, I'm not the one who has to calm them down and deal with the tuts and moans of complete strangers.  Don't get me wrong, I love the sound of silence at the end of the day once he's snuggled up in bed, but I'd hate to live in a world without his voice in it.

*with the help of those whose help we seek, our parents, friends and health professionals.

1 comment:

  1. See, this is why you are magnificent! Thank you so much for the emergency car seat loan too! x

    ReplyDelete