The Edge

Ever had one of those days where you feel you are being pushed to the edge of madness?

Yesterday was one of those days.

Boy Wonder woke “with the devil in him”. From the minute he opened his baby blue eyes, I could do no right. He refused to eat breakfast. Told me he wasn’t going to school. “Everything” he said “is your fault”.

GOOD FUCKING MORNING to you too, I thought.

As with most of BW’s moods, they are prompted by something. So I cajoled, I soothed, I stroked his hair. “Are you worried about something?” “Did you have a nightmare?”.

He couldn’t explain why he felt so rotten. Tears started falling (not mine, for now).

Finally, Boy Wonder told me he had seen 1am on the clock and then 3am and I realised that he’d slept really badly. A duvet day was in order.

I snuggled him up on the couch with a duvet and hot water bottle. He seemed content to doze. Or so I thought.

At 9.45am I heard “Is it lunch time?”

Fark, this was going to be a long day.

I became the “Worst Mum Ever” again when BW realised that no, a day off to recover from a poor night’s sleep did not mean a day of playing Skylanders. I explained that CB didn’t play it when he was off sick, so he would have to wait until the end of the school day.

“How many more minutes?” He asked. Rinse and repeat until 3.30pm.

A nuclear meltdown occurred at tea time. It is ALWAYS witching hour in our house.

BW would happily eat the same 3 things every day of his life. Beef burgers, salad and macaroni cheese. I explain to him that my job is to make sure he has a variety of different foods so he grows big and strong. I also wanted to cook THE SAME meal for 3 people.

Oh I should explain he and his brother won’t eat what we eat, so each day I can often cook 3 different meals. Yeah, yeah, I know SUCKA!

What I really love about BW is that he often “goes off” meals, just as I finish cooking them.

Last night he had “gone off chicken stir fry”. He was rude and shouty and definitely NOT going to eat chicken stir fry.

I negotiated (The UN so need to employ my services in the Middle East) I cajoled, I soothed, I stroked, I begged.

I shouted.

Not proud of myself.

BW spewed hatred at me and threatened to hurt himself and me. I was scared.

He was sent to bed.

I poured a glass of red whilst trying not to hate myself for not coping better. I know he has Asperger’s, I know he can’t help it. But do you know what? I am not a saint. I had tried, I really had.

And this morning? A huge hug and an apology from him (and one from me).

But I can’t shake off the fear.