Not Going Out

So here we are, not going out. Not having a babysitter. Not leaving LittleBear. Not following all the unsolicited advice I received about making sure I "kept at it" and that I didn't let one little set-back put me off. Here I am, not believing that all I have to do is what everyone else does, and all will be fine.

It's two weeks now since we went out and LittleBear crumbled. And since then, he's managed to find some reason that a parent is required every evening, except the evenings when there was someone else sleeping in his room with him*. We've had additional wee-ing, additional poo-ing, itchiness, pain, being too hot, being too cold, having a nightmare (despite not being asleep), not being able to get to sleep, being worried, having a sore finger. You name it, and LittleBear has thought of it. In my worst moments I am certain it is a conscious effort to ensure that we are still there, and can be called upon at any moment. In my less angry and resentful moments, I am more convinced that his poor subconscious mind is desperately worried about abandonment, and he can't help himself in his need to know that we are there and will always look after him. And sometimes he just needs to go to the bathroom.

I arranged a babysitter. LovelyGirl who coped so admirably last time with his misery at being left. He likes her. We went round to visit her after The Incident, to give her chocolate, and play with her kitten, and play with her, and he had a wonderful time, and she plied him with more chocolate, and he came home thinking she was splendid. So we made a lovely new plan, where she'd come here in time to read him a bed-time story (as well as having his normal stories from one of us). And we planned not to leave straight away, but to wait and be here with her while he got used to the idea that she was downstairs too.

And now I've bottled it. She was due to come tomorrow, and tonight we had not one, not two, but three summonses upstairs to tend to a variety of real or imagined ills. And my spirit was crushed. I can't face even trying. I've cancelled LovelyGirl. I feel defeated. On the one hand I fear that I'm allowing myself to be emotionally manipulated by my son. On the other hand I cannot bear the idea of causing him the level of distress and anxiety that gave him night terrors last time. I don't know how to coax his subconscious mind into being fine with someone other than his parents in the house with him. I can't rationalise it out of him, despite his splendid ability to be rational and logical. He knows, rationally, that all will be well. He knows, rationally, that we will never abandon him. He knows, rationally, that LovelyGirl is lovely and will look after him. He knows, rationally, that he is loved beyond all reason. But his heart still doubts. And I don't know how to erase those doubts.

I tried suggesting to him that maybe there could be something I could give him to take to bed, something so precious that he knew I would always return for it. Except, the only thing I can think of that is that precious to me is my LittleBear himself. Which I told him. He countered with the suggestion that he take my handbag to bed, and then I wouldn't be able to go out. Perhaps he is a devious little child after all...

So now I just feel like I've failed. I've failed to raise a robust little child. I've failed to enforce any kind of "parental authority" and insist that he cope. I'm the parent who bends to the whim of her small tyrant, and gives up all semblance of life.

And I find myself fearing being judged by other parents more than I fear that failure. I fear being condemned for my failings. I fear being told that I just need to get on with it. I fear being told about how everyone else's child sobbed and wailed and they just left them anyway, and I should do the same thing. Because my LittleBear may have his fears and his foibles and his irritations, but he is my LittleBear, and he won't need me forever, but just now he does, and if I have one job as his mother, it's to make sure that he is secure and loved. I was not the mother who was capable of letting her baby "cry it out", and I'm not the mother who's capable of letting her six-year old sob himself sick because he doesn't want to be left. I need to remind myself of the first of the lessons I learnt about having a baby This is just a phase. And yes, BigBear and I could go out, and spend our time fretting about our LittleBear, and come home to handle night terrors and sleeplessness. Or we could just spend our evenings at home together, and be here for our fragile little boy until he is ready for us not to be.

So please, feel free not to tell me about your amazing child-free evenings and weekends. Don't assume I want to know how awesome your babysitting strategies are. Don't advise me that he'll "get over it" if we force the issue. Don't try and reassure me that because your child overcame their fears, mine will too if only I do what you tell me. Because I already have a reputation as being the mother who cries a lot and swears too much, and I might just resort to one or both of those strategies if you offer me your words of wisdom. Even if your words of wisdom are right. Because at the moment, I'm following my second piece of advice - I'm doing what works for us, until it stops working. I'm not going out. Until I do.




* We had the Tigger family staying with us for a few days during the holidays, and BoyTigger (almost 8) shared LittleBear's bedroom with him. They both went to bed calmly and without fuss, and we didn't hear a peep from them.