Hold my hand, Mummy

17 January 2022 | Lochie 3.5 years | Jono 22 months

Yesterday I was tired. Poor sleep and the unusually high heat and humidity affected me so much that I felt disassociated, couldn’t recognise my own clothes as mine, and at night was so exhausted that I didn’t want to hear anybody’s voices, I just wanted to be alone. But Lochie wanted my company and I had nothing to give.

We yelled at each other (he just answered back to me, there was no authority in my voice and he was on equal footing, this 3 year old giving back everything he was getting. I could barely process what was going on. My body was breaking down.)

I lay down on the floor in his room, closed my eyes and started crying. He was angry at me and grabbed my phone and stormed out. But presently he returned. I was still sobbing loudly. He put his hand on my shoulders. “Mummy, mummy don’t do that. Mummy, breathe.” He breathed slowly and calmly. He pulled me by the hand. “Mummy, come with me.” He pulled me into the corridor. “Slowly, mummy, just walk slowly with me. Let’s go down the stairs. Look. One… two… three… Just hold my hand and we can walk together.” Then the longer staircase presented itself. “One, two, three, four…” he slowly counted every step and held my hand, leading me down the stairs slowly and carefully, so I could meditate on each step. We reached step “eleven” and he jumped off happily. “See mummy? You are ok.” Who wouldn’t be, after this?

This happened. I did not imagine it.

And Jono this morning checked if my boobies were still owies. Nipples were indeed covered with bandaids but he didn’t have to check that low. It was just a backup. He just caressed me and said, owie, and pointed to the boobies, and stopped his urge to pull down my top, and just caressed me and cuddled my neck.

Then the empathetic mini humans dutifully went to childcare.