Intrusive thoughts and ice-blocks.

Feeling guilty even though we know they are just thoughts.

On Saturday, I found myself having a series of intrusive thoughts. Wishing, I was far, far away from my three-and-a-half-year-old son, who had been screaming, "Mummeeeeee" on repeat for 27 minutes after a very loud and public meltdown. You would have thought I had done something terribly unspeakable to him. Well, perhaps saying no to an ice-block at 10am is inconceivable to a 3-year-old? He shouted his demands as though they were facts;

"I am hot." Valid. 

"I need something to cool me down." Also very valid. 

"Have some water." I responded. 

"No, I need an ice-block." 

Need was the word he used, as though he would die if I didn't buy him a rainbow-coloured, phallic-shaped frozen sugar stick. He was trying to force my often too gentle hand (so my husband says) by unlocking a new level of toddler rage of hitting, kicking and screaming. An explosive melody, especially when all three are paired with erratic grass rolling at my nephew's soccer game.

It didn't work. Quite frankly, tantrums rarely do, if ever, work on me (for anyone reading this who has not entered the toddler years, then a tiny piece of advice from me, a not-perfect mother, is to try not to give in to this behaviour because if you give in constantly, then you form a pattern. So, no matter how embarrassed or enraged you feel, just know; a toddler throwing a tantrum is normal. But a teenage boy who turns into a man still shouting to get his own way is not… and the world does not need more men who throw tantrums when they hear the word 'no'.). To be clear, there was no deep, misunderstood meaning of why was upset. He was upset because he really needed that ice-block in his mind, and as I started walking with an empty pram, my mother picked him up and popped him in while bargaining with him in exchange for his silence. She would buy the ice-block he so desperately needed. I confirmed this was not happening. He'd gone too far already, and I was not giving in. It is funny how strict parents become such relaxed grandparents, offering everything to keep the grandkids happy. A bazaar phenomenon that I hope I'm lucky enough to experience.

As we exited the soccer fields, Freddie was still ropable. I quietly raged, spitting threats between my teeth; "If you do not stop screaming, you will never have another ice-block again" while joking to strangers, "anyone want a three year old haha?" He finally calmed down. He and I were both silent for the remainder of the walk home. Once we arrived, he started again. Screaming as though he was possessed. His rage was all-consuming, melting him into a puddle like the ice-block he so desperately desired. I told him I loved him and was here when he was ready, but I was going to sit in my room. I began to sob. Wondering how we got from happy to banshee in 0.2 seconds. Perhaps I should have just bought him that damn ice-block! This is when an intrusive thought came; what if I just walked out, disappeared and never returned?

Intrusive thoughts are unwanted thoughts that can be repetitive or occur in varying degrees as a one-off. This was just a thought. A thought that I feel every bit uncomfortable about having. I feel guilty about expressing this thought to you, and one that I have no intention of acting upon. Nonetheless, it got me thinking about how unpalatable a mother leaving her family is. The film, The Lost Daughter, came to mind for reasons of both heartbreak and compassion as we witness the main character Leda, a kind of, sad, older mother, watching a young mother cope with her toddler while on holiday. We not only see flashbacks of Leda with her own daughters, we feel the flashbacks on a visceral level. We know what it is to lay on the floor and close our eyes as the kids play on top of us. Too exhausted and, at times, bored to care. Our skin seethes with frustration because she is trying to work and mother simultaneously. A juggle that was the reality for most during the lengthy lockdowns. We roared at the screen as she begged her husband to take over the caretaking for a moment just so she could breathe. We empathised with the rage that bubbles inside as she accidentally smashes the bedroom's glass door to keep her daughter from clutching at her. A mother at her limits is relatable, but a mother who dares to go one step further and leave her children, just as Leda did for three years, is too dark to even conceive. 

These feelings of anger, sadness, loss, confusion and guilt are unsettling realities that make up motherhood; at least, they have made up parts of mine. Realities that, for most of us, come and go and weave between moments of pure joy, strength, love, hope and just plain magic. Moments that we would never trade, even if we fantasise about being alone, childless… free.

My son calms. He walks into my room with his head down. I help him onto my bed. His long limbs draped over me as I kissed his forehead, he said;

"Sorry, Mum, I don't know why I was angry." 
I looked into his glassy brown eyes, squeezing him tight as I whispered; "Thank you for saying sorry. I love you, and I am so proud of you. I too know how hard growing can be… should we have that ice-block now?"