Last Christmas...
We went to watch Little’s school Christmas show today.
It’s the second Christmas show we’ve seen her in, and as we watched her bouncing around, bright-eyed, over-enthusiastically joining in with all the singing and dancing, we couldn’t help but cast our minds back to this time last year.
At the time of her last Christmas show Little had been living with us for around 6 weeks. She’d barely been at her new school a couple of weeks. She’s always been Christmas mad and had made a good effort at learning the songs and joining in, but she was still visibly shell-shocked from the huge changes that had just taken place in her life. We all were.
I’m sure the show was good last year, but I can’t say I enjoyed it. I remember feeling anxious and overwhelmed. We were squished into the school hall like sardines, it was hot, Tiny was fidgeting on our laps and constantly trying to squirm away and join his sister on the stage. I didn’t feel like I knew how to be a parent and I was there watching a child who I still barely knew and who barely knew me. I felt detached from the reality of it all. There were many complex feelings in those early weeks (more on that in my next post) and child-on-parent violence was very much a daily occurrence in our house. We were sleep-deprived and felt rather out of our depth. So the Christmas show was very much one more parenting first to be endured.
This year felt very different. We could see the light in Little’s eyes and we knew that she was in her element. She sang her little heart out and we could see in her enthusiasm the huge journey she’s been through this year to get to where she’s at now and how much more secure she’s feeling. I felt pride, I felt love and I felt very much that she was mine.
That’s not to say that there weren’t wobbles; subtle clues as to what had gone before. Little was terrified that we’d get the time wrong and I don’t think quite believed we’d be there until we were. Even once she’d seen us safely take our seats she had to keep us in sight at all times. If the child in front of her blocked her view, she’d lean out to the side and crane her head round. She joined in with gusto. So much gusto that she couldn’t stop herself from singing and acting along to the bits she wasn’t supposed to be joining in with. I’m sure to everyone else it looked like trying to steal the other children’s thunder, but to us it was dysregulation, plain and simple; getting so caught up in the excitement of the moment that she couldn’t calm herself. But she’s got a self-awareness that she didn’t have this time last year. She could tell me the other day that the reason she couldn’t listen to a single thing we said was because she was so excited about an upcoming school trip, rather than instantly escalating into violence. And for our part we know for the most part what triggers her, and how to calm the storm before it can properly take hold.
So this Christmas I’ll admit to enjoying the show, and to feeling just a little emotional, with a sprinkling of hope to boot.
It’s the second Christmas show we’ve seen her in, and as we watched her bouncing around, bright-eyed, over-enthusiastically joining in with all the singing and dancing, we couldn’t help but cast our minds back to this time last year.
At the time of her last Christmas show Little had been living with us for around 6 weeks. She’d barely been at her new school a couple of weeks. She’s always been Christmas mad and had made a good effort at learning the songs and joining in, but she was still visibly shell-shocked from the huge changes that had just taken place in her life. We all were.
I’m sure the show was good last year, but I can’t say I enjoyed it. I remember feeling anxious and overwhelmed. We were squished into the school hall like sardines, it was hot, Tiny was fidgeting on our laps and constantly trying to squirm away and join his sister on the stage. I didn’t feel like I knew how to be a parent and I was there watching a child who I still barely knew and who barely knew me. I felt detached from the reality of it all. There were many complex feelings in those early weeks (more on that in my next post) and child-on-parent violence was very much a daily occurrence in our house. We were sleep-deprived and felt rather out of our depth. So the Christmas show was very much one more parenting first to be endured.
This year felt very different. We could see the light in Little’s eyes and we knew that she was in her element. She sang her little heart out and we could see in her enthusiasm the huge journey she’s been through this year to get to where she’s at now and how much more secure she’s feeling. I felt pride, I felt love and I felt very much that she was mine.
That’s not to say that there weren’t wobbles; subtle clues as to what had gone before. Little was terrified that we’d get the time wrong and I don’t think quite believed we’d be there until we were. Even once she’d seen us safely take our seats she had to keep us in sight at all times. If the child in front of her blocked her view, she’d lean out to the side and crane her head round. She joined in with gusto. So much gusto that she couldn’t stop herself from singing and acting along to the bits she wasn’t supposed to be joining in with. I’m sure to everyone else it looked like trying to steal the other children’s thunder, but to us it was dysregulation, plain and simple; getting so caught up in the excitement of the moment that she couldn’t calm herself. But she’s got a self-awareness that she didn’t have this time last year. She could tell me the other day that the reason she couldn’t listen to a single thing we said was because she was so excited about an upcoming school trip, rather than instantly escalating into violence. And for our part we know for the most part what triggers her, and how to calm the storm before it can properly take hold.
So this Christmas I’ll admit to enjoying the show, and to feeling just a little emotional, with a sprinkling of hope to boot.
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