I could blame it on a lot of things.
Whine about my feet hurting.
Starting back at school.
A myriad of little things culminating in a wad of ick in my belly. I could blame anything really.
But this life has been my life for so fucking long I can’t blame anything.
Except bad judgement.
A weak moment.
Sixteen years of dealing with these explosive episodes, and if I am honest I am so lucky that they are few and far between now that he is older.
But today he caught me off guard.
And when he started screaming and yelling at me, I didn’t take it well.
I should just stand my ground. Talk calmly. Like I always do.
Don’t tell your child to fuck off and then burst into tears. That never goes well.
He is stronger than he realises.
I am smaller than I thought.
It ended as quickly as it started, I think the shock of my tears calmed him and now he is pacing around the house.
When he was younger the raging could last hours, arms flailing, bouncing off the walls and anyone who dared stand in the way.
I haven’t seen an outburst like that in years.
Even today, it wasn’t even close to those levels, but enough of a reminder.
Always got to be on top of my game.
He relies on me to calm him down. He holds it in all day. ALL DAY. And when he gets home that is when he lets go like a huge motherfucking Tsunami of tics and flaps and grunts and whathavyous and unwinds like a Disney Tassie Devil on crack.
And it is up to me to calm him the fuck down afterwards.
If he wants me to.
Thats my job.
And today I sucked at it.
And I reckon I am going to have a bruise to prove it.