I wrote this two weeks ago in the middle of a ‘Gigi is possessed’ crisis. Since then, she is in better humour and I still don’t know what happened. I found the whole experience very upsetting- your little girl suddenly treating you like the source of all her woe- and it was difficult. I can only imagine that something was going on her little world, physically or emotionally, that she couldn’t communicate to me any other way. I nearly deleted the post. Instead, I have chosen to publish it as some other parent out there may feel comfort that it is not just in their home and we are not alone when challenges occur. Gigi cuddles me again now. I have only been blamed for minor infractions this week. We are possibly back…
Gigi is officially a four year old today. Four and fabulous, with fine footwear and a fancy attitude.
Fabulous because she is my first born and changed my life. Made me both terrified and thrilled in one moment. Has given me the best part of my life.
Fine footwear because,with her, the shoes and clothes are everything. Rarely seen out and about in anything less
than a carefully chosen dress and sparkly tights, I lost the right to select this fashionista’s morning apparel some time ago.
Fancy attitude meaning she decided to have all of her threenager moments in the seven days before turning four.
I feel pretty assaulted.
Planning her celebrations, wrapping gifts and getting generally misty eyed and excited isn’t so nice when you have have been blamed for being the source of world sorrow repeatedly for four days.
I have been told off for:
Wanting to help. Ok- I get that. A need for independence.
Holding a paper cup so she can pour juice into it.
Tipping orange juice onto a sausage roll thereby making it all tasting of yucky (not me, classic case of accusor being the crime doer. Remember, I had wanted to hold the cup for her).
In this case I had to carry her out of a cafe with her screaming at me how she would kill me. I have never used this type of aggressive threat to my child and it saddens me that she was able to pick it up herself so quickly in our child unfriendly world. I blame Trump.
Being too bossy. All the time Mammy.
Being a baddie. (Scooby Doo’s fault).
Putting her seat belt on wrong and thereby breaking her arm. (Hyperbole plays a role here).
Talking to her sternly about being nice to people- I got really scalded for that one.
Always saying the wrong thing.
Always doing the wrong thing. (Getting a complex now).
Giving her porridge instead of Weetabix.
Making the Weetabix too small.
Giving her dinner to her sister- exact same dinner, exact same plate by the way.
Singing someone else’s song.
Knocking her over. Clarification: I brushed past her skirt. A moment later she flung herself on the floor in a dramatic move worthy of any professional soccer player. She then created a tale of my fictional violence that made me hate myself a little.
Making her ears bleed with my noise. I was talking. Quietly.
Breaking her heart.
And we won’t say who shot Kennedy- it was surely I.
Having said that, I know my child and this is not regular behaviour of hers (and if it is, I need to get smart). It is possibly a stage. Or a possessing. Have I blamed myself? Of course! Self-aberration is my absolute favourite activity so I most certainly indulged. Chicken pox have been clucking their venomous way around the creche recently. I have looked eagerly at every potential postule on Gigi’s face, more than hopeful it is a pock, therefore I can blame the demonic dealings of my child on disease. No such luck. The red dot is usually jam.
Or a squashed raspberry. Which was wrong of me to give her in the first place probably as I am the source of all wrongs.
Gigi has had cake. We all have had ice cream. Singing and candles happened. Spoiling occurred. Barbie guitars played, Nella dollies loved and tea set painting parties took place.
I am not able to refuse a child a fun birthday even if her behaviour has been reckless.
She is officially four now. Universe, can I have my (mostly) even-tempered lovable little princess back please?
Before I have to admit to stealing Shergar, knowing the true fate of the Marie Celeste or putting Trump into power?
Because it is only a matter of time.
I can only keep this vague –everything is under control, promise- face up for a short while more.