Living the theory

Tiny had his tonsils and adenoids out on Friday. It’s fair to say that none of us were looking forward to it. He hates doctors and hospitals and is not good at taking medication at the best of times. At home he’ll generally take ‘pink medicine’ (Calpol) fairly happily but anything else is a challenge. He’s also prone to anxiety and had generally been in a bit of a regressive phase recently… I only realised how much so  when I spent a bit of time with a friend’s nearly one year old last weekend  and realised that despite being nearly 4, Tiny had so many behaviours in common with him. Given that Little had a similar operation at the same hospital not too long ago, we at least had a fair idea of what was going to happen and were able to write Tiny a  pretty comprehensive story explaining it all. We read it with him as much as we could beforehand and he took it into nursery too and shared it with some of his teachers there. I made sure I packed several of his comfort things...

This week is LGBT adoption and fostering week. I am an adopter. I am also LGBT. If you read my blog regularly, you’ve  probably worked out that I’m parenting as part of a female same-sex couple. It’s not something I’ve explicitly written about in any level of detail though. Not because I’m particularly trying to hide it, but more because I feel that as a parent, the adopter part of my identity is much more significant than the LGBT part, in the sense that if I were to separate the two, I can usually find a lot more common ground with other adopters (be they gay, straight, single, coupled) than I can with lesbian parents who have chosen other ways to build a family. Would I have become an adopter if I weren’t LGBT? I can’t honestly answer that, because I don’t know. I’ve never tried to have a birth child or felt a need to try so I don’t know if it would have been an option for me under different circumstances. My wife and I knew early on in our relationship that we wanted childr...

Little has spent the best part of a week ignoring me. She’s in constant need of full control, and splitting is one of the mechanisms she uses to achieve that. I’ve written recently about the tailspin she seems to be caught up in and one of the possible triggers we’ve uncovered, and things are continuing much in that vein, with no discernible change now that our trip abroad is behind us. I find her splitting one of the hardest behaviours to manage, as it also presses the big red button for one of my triggers: rejection. As a child I often didn’t ask for things as to me, being told ‘no’ felt worse than just going without in the first place. As an adult, it took me an episode of depression to be able to learn that it was ok to ask for things, and to request help when I needed it, rather than taking everything on myself. It’s still something I have to consciously think about though, so Little’s rejection of me stings. Several times recently I’ve noticed she looks a little wobbly an...

We’ve recently braved travelling abroad with the children for the first time. Staying away from home is a challenge for us all, and is an area where we’ve been gradually building up their tolerance over the past year or so. We started off with one night away at my parents’ house and have very gradually increased the number of nights. We’re up to three nights now, so the time felt right to attempt a trip to see their other set of grandparents, who live abroad. The trip involved a number of firsts… namely their first trip abroad, and their first time on a plane, and we’d done a lot of thinking about possible triggers and had planned accordingly. We paid a bit extra to secure a sensibly timed flight from a small airport not too far away and created a plan together of how we’d get there, what the flight would be like, some of the things we’d do while away, and how we’d get back. We made both of the children visual planners to track how long we’d be away and how close we were to going h...

Little has had a really good few months. Something clicked with her over the summer holidays and she seemed to be feeling so much more settled and confident in herself. I don’t know if it was the adoption order finally being granted (she was very aware of what this entailed and had been anxious to legally change her name for ages) or us having all spent a prolonged period at home being a family without the distraction of school, but things just felt a lot calmer. She’s had the occasional wobble since and we’ve still had to be very aware of her triggers and head things of at the pass, but on the whole things have been stable for the last 5-6 months. With her at least anyway. Tiny has made sure to fill the void so we don’t get too complacent, but that’s a whole other story... Something has happened in the last week or so though that has sent Little into a tailspin. We’re still not entirely sure what is at the heart of it... her behaviour was gradually slipping over a few days last we...

Tiny really hates brushing his teeth. He has a number of sensory aversions, and we think this is one of them. His reactions have ranged from refusal, ignoring, throwing the toothbrush across the room and brushing everything but his teeth with it, to his current instinct to gag every time the toothbrush comes close to his mouth. Today he gagged to the point of actually being sick. Only a little bit, but still… he really hates cleaning his teeth. We’ve tried so many different things. Manual toothbrushes and electric toothbrushes. Minty toothpaste, fruity toothpaste, no toothpaste. Doing it for him and encouraging him to do it himself. Acknowledging his aversion to it and doing it together. Leaving him to it. The promise of rewards, or warnings of no sweets. Nothing has worked for more than a few weeks at a time, if that. I found myself researching alternative methods of teeth cleaning on the way into work today (someone must have invented something you just swill round your ...

Little does not want to do her reading practice. It's boring, apparently. She flounces up the stairs, flinging her reading book around. By the time I get to her room she's hiding under the duvet. I sit down on the bed and attempt to empathise with how horrible it must be to have to do something so boring, and promise some fun afterwards. She kicks me. I ask her to stop; she doesn't. I retreat to my bedroom, and let her know where to find me when she's ready. She follows me to the bedroom. I attempt to use humour to snap her out of it and point out she's got some cheese from dinner stuck to her cardigan. I pick it off and feed it to the cat, who's asleep on the bed. She hits the cat. I ask her not to. She hits the cat again. I pick the cat up and call my wife to come and remove her.* While we're waiting for her to come upstairs, Little continues to hit my legs and pull the cat's tail. Once the cat is out of the equation I offer Little a hug. She declin...