BALLOONS


You can read all the books, take the advice, put in the hours, be the parent of the year and out of the blue something comes along to challenge everything you think you know about your child and how to handle their temperament. Toddler mood swings, assertions of independence, discovery of the outside world - all that stuff can be handled, it has a certain logic to it. For my 2 and a half year old son James, logic gets it coat and strides off into the night however, where balloons are concerned. Yes, balloons. The merest sight of a fully blown balloon reduces James to heaving sobs, streaming snot and tearful cries of “I want to go home!” He is inconsolable. Soothing whispers, bribery, toughing it out - nothing works.
It started innocently enough at a birthday party we attended around a year ago. Much to my horror a clown had been arranged. I’ll come out and say that I’m not a great fan of clowns. The sight of a middle aged man with a three day beard and a polka dot shirt pulling plastic flowers out of his comedy trousers is not the kind of humour I think children should be subjected to. You don’t see The Wiggles resorting to clown tricks to get the laughs. Bob The Builder doesn’t have a clown friend. Anyway, back to the birthday party clown. James was quite enjoying the display of water-squirting flowers and disappearing handkerchiefs until the clown started making balloon animals. At the sound of the balloons squeaking and rubbing together poor James lost it completely. No sooner had his face creased in worry, he was at Mach 10 crying and trying to bury his face in my armpit. We had to leave. At the time I put it down to a combination of clown antics and balloon-noise. Incident forgotten.
Then at James’ own 2nd birthday earlier this year we blew up a large number of balloons as decorations, as you do. And they were no problem at all until late in the afternoon when one popped. And then another. Next thing James is buried in my shoulder again, in his bedroom refusing to take part in his own celebrations. He’s not normally prone to extravagant waterworks so something really must’ve got to him. Those blasted balloons. Mental notepad out, keep James and balloons away from each other.
Then last Friday, the concrete realisation that for now at least, James and balloons are never going to be friends. I took James to a buggy walk at the Botanic Gardens. Where, would you know it, the organisers were handing out balloons to all the children. Not a party atmosphere, no clowns, only wall to wall buggies and a blustery spring gardens. I politely declined and try to hurry James along but it was too late. What started out as a whimper quickly became long drawn out wailing. The poor wee fella! Needless to say the only buggy walking we did was straight back to the car.
I feel for James, he probably can’t quite understand why he gets so wound up either. A part of me feels helpless and a little useless too. But I try use this as a reminder that my little guy’s experiences and emotions (and I how I deal with them) can’t be neatly compartmentalized. Sometimes there is no easy answer. I guess its all I can do just to be here for him when the balloons start floating his way and to count my blessings that its only balloons and not say, toilets or parked cars.