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To the ongoing horror of the resident felines, Helena is a cat person. She loves them, I suspect much more than she loves me. (I base this partially on the fact that she can say 'cat' in two languages, and addresses each cat by its name but she steadfastly refuses to say 'mama'). On the other hand this also means that my presence is not greeted by ear-piercing shrieks of excitement, nor does she habitually try to sit on me or use me as a body pillow, so I will take my breaks where I find them.

Breaks are certainly in short supply with my firstborn, who has an instinctive and powerful grasp of which buttons to push in order to make me and his father incoherent with rage. Largely it's the whining or the laziness; the claims that he is 'too tired to put on socks' and that the problem of putting a shoe on causes him to suffer powerful life angst and lie on the floor weeping. Living with him is like sharing a house with a compact and powerful weather system and spending half your life braced against hurricanes.

I have spent much of the Half-Term break gnashing my teeth and having to be in a separate room to him lest I give in to my impulses and wallop him. On the other hand his repetitive claims that he 'doesn't love me anymore, will never love me again' phase me not at all, largely because I don't give a monkey's. Distance making the heart grow fonder is a profound truism of our relationship, and I harbour hopes for improved relations now that we're not going to be in each other's faces most of the day.

He is a complex creature my son, martyr both to his own despotic character and to being a guinea pig to Z's and mine parenting strategies. Matei is an assault upon the senses and his very own worst ennemy. Yet no sooner has the ink dried upon the 'Free to a good home' sign we aim to hang upon his neck then he says something which undoes us completely - plunges us into mirth or a helpless kind of love that comes with the urge to shelter him from the world and the magnitue of his own feelings.

This morning he burst into our bedroom in a rage, and when he was finished with the shouting and the weeping and the bodily casting himself onto the floor in order to better writhe on it and then changing his mind and casting himself onto the bed to writhe there instead; after Z and I had run through the full gamut of ignoring and cajoling and finally shouting "WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU" - only then was he eventually able to say that the trigger to the whole drama was a dream.

"I dreamt I was big! and I phoned a friend and we got into a car and drove to see you and mummy and then I woke up and I realised that it wasn't real and it made me very very angry."

Dear God, I dread to think what he will be like as an actual teenager.

Comments

( 11 comments — Leave a comment )
casaubon
Nov. 1st, 2011 03:28 pm (UTC)
Daniel woke us up at 2am this morning complaining about a nightmare (something about zombies sprouting from his carpet). I escorted him back to bed, but 20 minutes later he came back and explained he couldn't sleep because he could hear a heartbeat.
The fact that it was obviously his own heartbeat (and hence evidence that he hadn't become a zombie) didn't console him, so we gave in and let him sleep in our bed.
I blame Halloween.

He also went through a stage of lying down and pretending to be asleep whenever we told him off or asking him to do anything.

His brother is a teenager. As far as I can see the only difference is that the 'pretending to be asleep' is replaced by pointless aggression and the occasional torrent of swear words. On balance, I prefer the faux-coma.
rainsinger
Nov. 2nd, 2011 10:23 pm (UTC)
Hehehehe, Matei woke us up in the small hours because he was convinced that the footsteps of the upstairs neighbours were the sounds of ghosts.
hfnuala
Nov. 1st, 2011 06:18 pm (UTC)
S calls my breast mama. She seems to tolerate the rest of me.
rainsinger
Nov. 2nd, 2011 10:24 pm (UTC)
They're so lucky they are adorable.
mammadibiba
Nov. 1st, 2011 07:56 pm (UTC)
All of the above. I have had all of the above.
Angst featured largely and still does.
Anger is another one.
Loving me, not loving me; being past caring whether she does or not, then being totally disarmed by the silliest things...

It hasn't really changed either and now she is almost 8. Sorry.
I too am dreading the looming teenage years- I am not braced for the hurricane of hormonal rage she will be unleashing. On me mostly.

Oh well. Onwards and upwards. :)
rainsinger
Nov. 2nd, 2011 10:26 pm (UTC)
This is very comforting to hear; knowing I'm not the only one. I'm beginning to wonder whether it's part of the first child thing.

We should form a veterans clan, swap stories and top up stiff drinks.
guihong
Nov. 1st, 2011 10:03 pm (UTC)
Somehow my daughter underwent a sex change, moved to England, and shrank to a small person. She was exactly the same, and is now a teenager. It's a race to see if I lose it completely before she reaches 18 and moves out.

I see many parent-teacher conferences in your future. And many stiff drinks or three.

rainsinger
Nov. 2nd, 2011 10:26 pm (UTC)
I should probably start stocking up on wine now.
trinity_gal
Nov. 2nd, 2011 10:12 am (UTC)
Oh dear, that does sound very exhausting. I can't be all compassionate and mind-reading mama either....

rainsinger
Nov. 2nd, 2011 10:27 pm (UTC)
Our hippy credentials are in danger!
truth_is_not
Nov. 6th, 2011 07:37 pm (UTC)
Wine hell, best make it something stiffer than that!
( 11 comments — Leave a comment )

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