‘It’s Just A Phase’

Anniki Sommerville - 3 May 15

Each child-developmental phase brings challenges. The ‘No-sleep,’ phase. The ‘Don’t Fancy Your Horrible Dinner,’ phase. The ‘Going Rigid So You Can’t Get Me Into The Buggy’ phase. What I’d never quite realised was how quickly a child can enter into a new one. There’s no helpful warning light that suddenly flashes on. It commences. You’re blown sideways. And you have to do whatever you can until it stops.

When I was little I remember paddling in the sea with my Dad. It was rough and the waves were getting out of control. We went in until I was up to my waist. With each new wave my Dad shouted cheerily – ‘Wow look this one’s even bigger!’ And the next wave would knock me over and I’d splutter a bit, he’d laugh and then pull me to my feet again. Another came and the same thing happened. Then out of the blue Dad disappeared. He was gone for six seconds but it felt much longer. As he struggled to pull us both into the shallows I looked up and he was spitting blood into the palm of his hand.

The different phases are very similar to this experience. Some are small and frothy – insignificant –  they bob about your ankles. This might be the fact that your kid keeps going on about Pom-Bears all day. Other phases leave you spluttering a bit. This might be aking everything out of your handbag and tossing it around the kitchen. Again- it’s bloody annoying but you can just about deal with it. Then every now and then you get totally submerged and emerge with the emotional equivalent of a nosebleed.

I’m going through one of these types at the moment.

I went back to work eight months ago. Sarah, my child-minder, is a really, great person. She’s the kind of Mum I’d like to be if I was more creative and not addicted to box sets. She designs great educational activities. She loves going outdoors and being in nature. She meets up with other child-minders so there’s often a big messy, chaotic bunch of kids playing together. She’s an aspirational Mum.

She is definitely NOT A WITCH. She does not eat children. So why is it that my daughter now screams whenver I leave her at at her house?

Monday mornings are hard for any person. I feel sorry that Mondays actually exist. I work part-time so we’ve usually had a good three days doing fun stuff together before it’s time to get back into our routine. And I’ve always felt especially sad when it’s Monday. But my daughter’s usually been very resilient and runs straight into Sarah’s house without a backward glance. The walk to the tube is good for me as that’s when I transition from guilty mother to grumpy commuter. And anyone who says that mothers don’t feel bad leaving their kids is a liar. Even Alpha-women (and I’ve met quite a few) feel bad. They’re just better at keeping it zipped.

But this particular Monday I was completely blindsided by my daughter’s reaction to the child-minder. It was like Sarah had turned into an ogre. Like she had horns growing out of her head. Together we had to prise my daughters clammy fingers off my neck. She cried harder than she’d cried in a long while. I walked to the tube with this terrible noise ringing in my ears. I walked like an old man who’s just received really bad news. My mood didn’t even lift when Sarah sent me a photo of my daughter looking fully herself again.

All I could think of was that look she’d given me and how she’d probably be telling her psychiatrist about this experience in fifteen years time.

When Tuesday, Thursday and the following week rolled past with the self-same awful routine, I felt like I was going mad. I was beginning to dread the walk to Sarah’s just as much as my daughter was. I tried talking about different things as we walked. I told her all the nice stuff she’d be doing (more interesting than any of the activities I could offer her). I pointed out cats and pigeons. I sometimes talked complete nonsense just to fill up the silence. There was now a tremble in my voice. The same tremble I’d heard in my Dad’s when we were facing those waves.

I talked about the ‘Terror Of The Child-minder phase’ with everyone. With colleagues. With my partner. With other Mums. Working late one night I told a client who had children all about it. I quickly realised I’d misjudged the situation. She didn’t want to be confronted by child-rearing baggage at work. I needed to stop. It was unprofessional. No one could help us anyway. We’d just have to ride it out.

And at the moment this phase is still ongoing. It’s not quite as bad but still by the time I get to work I have the emotional resilience of a dead carp. I get angry if someone sends me a perfectly reasonable request. I have a sad, heavy feeling inside like I’ve eaten a plank of wood. It will pass. I know.

But it’s hard when you’re in the midst of a phase to remember that. Just as it’s hard to not get hysterical when you’ve got water whooshing up your nose and you’re eating a mouthful of sand. Eventually my daughter’s behaviour will change- she’ll move onto pastures new. It could be anything. Not wearing trousers. Giving up cucumber. Shouting swear words at strangers. Or it could be something even worse like waking up four times a night like a newborn. In the meantime my partner and I will keep using different strategies to try and make things easier.

All I can hope is that the next phase is a nice one. One where we can sit in the sun and dry ourselves off. And build up our emotional resources so we’re ready for whatever comes our way next.

Anniki Sommerville

I'm Super Editor here at SelfishMother.com and love reading all your fantastic posts and mulling over all the complexities of modern parenting. We have a fantastic and supportive community of writers here and I've learnt just how transformative and therapeutic writing can me. If you've had a bad day then write about it. If you've had a good day- do the same! You'll feel better just airing your thoughts and realising that no one has a master plan. I'm Mum to a daughter who's 3 and my passions are writing, reading and doing yoga (I love saying that but to be honest I'm no yogi).

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