WHO HAS HIDDEN THE EMOTIONAL REMOTE CONTROL?
There is absolutely no question that James has my attention. We do, after all, spend all day every day together and I am never far away if not right there with him. He is not unwell; its true what they say, you can tell when they are crying for real and this is most definitely not real crying. He is certainly not bored; we lead a pretty active life, go to playgroup, music group, play outside, go to parks, play with toys, take train rides. Nor is he tired; sleeps in the afternoon, goes to bed at 7pm with no dramas and sleeps like a champion. James is in every sense a well adjusted, happy, loved, two and half year old boy.

So why does this happen?

Time: 5.40am. James has woken up with the first light and trundles sleepily down the corridor to mummy and daddy's bedroom where, like every morning, he groggily thuds on the door.

JAMES: Daddy... open the door.

ME: (very sleepily, I have been awake all of 1 minute) Okay James, hang on little buddy.

(I get out of bed, open to the door to the bedroom and hug James. Then I go to open the cupboard to get my dressing gown.)

JAMES: Noooo! Don't wear your dressing gown daddy!

ME: James, its cold buddy, I need to wear my dressing gown so I can make a cup of tea and get your bottle.

JAMES: Nooo! I don't want a bottle.

ME: James, let go of my leg mate, I need to put my dressing gown on.

JAMES: (crying) I want a bottle!

ME: (gently) Okay buddy, I'll go and get your bottle. You wait here.

JAMES: Noooooo! Daddy stay here, don't shut the door.

ME: (still gently) You can come with me and help me get the bottle mate.

JAMES: (crying even harder) I don't waaaaaant my bottle!!

ME: Okay James, stay here while I go and make a cup of tea.

JAMES: (like a tap, the crying has topped and this next sentence is delivered very jauntily) Daddy can get my diggers!

(Note, James' diggers are a group of around a dozen toy diggers, dumptrucks etc. He takes them everywhere round the house. In the morning they usually make the journey from his bedroom and end up on my bedside table. See photo for proof).


ME: (slightly bemused by the suddden about turn) Sure mate, I just need to have a pee first and make a cup of tea.

JAMES: (suddenly and shockingly crying harder than ever) Nooooooo! I want daddy to get my diggers!

(James follows me, crying, to the toilet where he pulls at my dressing gown with surprising strength causing me to...well lets say I mopped later that morning and washed the dressing gown)

JAMES: (still crying) Daddy's not allowed to go wees! I want my bottle!

ME: Shhhhhh, its okay little buddy I'm going to get your bottle and your diggers and bring them to the bedroom. You watch.

(James pads off down the hallway into our bedroom and I follow soon after with the diggers. I then carefully retreat to the kitchen where I prepare the beverages and return to the bedroom. I find James in bed, sucking his fingers with several books laid out in front of him. He looks up at me smiling.)

JAMES: (quietly, contentedly) You can read me a book daddy!


Wow. What a trip and it is not even 6am. I am in constant awe of this behaviour. It doesn't upset me, far from it. I am fascinated by the randomness, the thought processes that James cycles through with such rapidity. I don't feel helpless, just pure, mountain spring awe. It is, I have decided, like an emotional remote control that someone has gone and sat on thus pressing all the buttons at once. Chaos reigns; the volume goes uuuuuP...and goes dooooown. The pictures flash randomly, its impossible to keep up...and then, just as suddenly as all the buttons are squeezed the remote is discovered only for the holder to casually say, "oh, I've been sitting on it all along. Silly me. Lets watch...the happy channel!"