How I stay cool as a cool mum when my toddler is melting down.

Rage in the age of gentle parenting.

Divine cool mum @Monikh, who is most definitely not raging.

I use to beat myself up about getting annoyed at my son. When I say use to, I mean I did up until last week when Freddie had the most spectacular meltdown, and I stood there and let myself quietly feel the rage until I remembered the words I speak to him, which I found usual and thought you might too. The day went something like this…

“Beep, beep, beep, beep.” It was 4am and a truck was reversing. The engine roars, followed by another “beep, beep, beep, beep”. It didn’t last long, but it was enough to jolt me out of a deep sleep. I really couldn’t get back to sleep. I knew in 45 minutes, my husband would bounce out of bed to head to the gym, and then in another 45 minutes, Freddie would be beside my bed shouting, “I’m hungry!”

In hindsight, I probably should have peeled myself out of bed and read a book or just had a coffee in peace, but I chose to lay in bed in some sort of drowsy purgatory, desperately hoping to fall back into a deep slumber. 

Once I was up, I was just not in the mood. I was tired. Grumpy. But once I had my first caffeine hit, I shook it off because I had a full day of Freddie ahead of me, and there’s truly no point feeling sorry for yourself when you have a small and mighty human to look after. 

In a bid to make my life easier, I asked Freddie what he would like to do today. I knew the answer. I knew what he would say because yesterday we had been to the park near us where he had borrowed a friend’s daughter’s hot pink scooter because he was in my husband’s car. I said I’d make sure we had the scooter tomorrow (being today) so we could go back to the park, and he could ride his scooter around the track for eternity.

“I want to scoot, Mum. At the place we were yesterday. I want to go really fast.” He said excitedly. Perfect. Or so I thought. This is easy. We’ll walk up, and I’ll grab coffee number two, then I can sit and read and time him on my phone as he happily scoots around the park. Minimal effort on my behalf but maximum enjoyment for him. 

He did one lap. Then did half. Then he started hanging around me, sat, and had some food. Then went for another lap. Then that was it. He’d had enough. He was screaming, crying, and carrying on as though something had happened, but it hadn’t. I’d been there the entire time and couldn’t quite understand wtf was going on. We were doing exactly what he wanted. Exactly what he asked, and I had confirmed; he was excited, and I was happy. We walked the same way. We went to the same cafe to get me a coffee and a piece of banana bread for him. He was doing the same loop at the same park as he’d done the day before, but something just set him off.

He started to have a very loud, very public meltdown, and I, a very tired mum, could feel my rage growing. It is, after all, school holidays, well, it’s daycare holidays for us; for the past month, I have been with Freddie around the clock, and if I’m honest, that’s a lot of parenting, isn’t it? Anyway, I could feel eyes on me. On him. I tried to pick him up but he unlocked his shoulder joints and flailed his arms and kicked his legs, and screamed uncontrollably. I said let’s go, and he didn’t want to go. So I said ok, we can stay and play with something else. He said no to that and continued to scream. Me, tired, now filled with rage as my son is demanding a popper (the audacity!). In fact, he was screaming, “I want a popper”, to which I replied, “ahhh no, buddy.” To which he responds with more screaming. I let him go for a while, then I took a deep breath, asked if I could pick him up and held him close until he stopped screaming. Then I put him in the pram, and we walked home. 

My rage was bubbling. Simmering inside of me. I felt rage, I acknowledged the rage but I wasn’t rattled. I didn’t care that others’ eyes were on me because I know I’m a good mum. I know my son is a good kid. I know I’m not meant to use the words “good” or “bad”, but I do because I’m not perfect. I know toddlers are unreasonable and unpredictable and get so worked up that they can’t calm down. I have done the googling. I have spoken to my sister-in-law, who also happens to be a child psychologist, and to my own sister, who works in early childhood education. I get it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t infuriating when we do absolutely everything right, and kids still act like the devil himself possesses them.

The internet tells me I shouldn’t rage. That’s it’s an unresolved issue from childhood, and I absolutely understand this, but I also understand that I am so lucky that I have very good parents, but yes, perhaps my mother raged. In fact, I know my mother raged. She had three kids and worked full-time not because she loved to but because she had to help pay the bills. She was tired and, at times, just fed up. Do I blame her? No. She is allowed to feel angry, annoyed and frustrated. I’m allowed to feel angry, annoyed and frustrated. Still, instead of screaming, which I have done more than once and felt terrible after (a hard do not recommend but don’t beat yourself up if you do slip up), I instead, treat myself with compassion and repeat the same words as I say to my son; “It’s ok to be angry, it’s ok to feel annoyed or frustrated but it’s not okay to scream, hit, kick or hurt anyone.” Then, of course, once he’s in bed, I have a big glass of vino and wait until my husband asks, “So, how was your day?” and I unleash.

But as it turns out, something did cause him to have an epic meltdown… “the other kids were annoying.” And I tried not to laugh as I explained to him that the park does not belong to us; it’s a public place we share with others, and other kids can be really fun to play with – but who am I kidding? He was so right… kids can be annoying.

I would love to hear how you keep your cool when your child is melting down.