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Abstract

p id="db15">For example, my husband put a stop to my way of trying to get our son to eat his meals and stop being fussy because it just wasn’t working. After a certain period of time of him implementing his own way of doing things, which was firmer and stricter than I would’ve liked, I started to see some changes in my son and how he would sit down to eat the entire plate of food in front of him.</p><p id="21fa">Now, Andriel looks forward to sitting down next to his parents and mostly eats his entire plate, including the veg. My husband was right, and I was wrong — at least for a period of time (because no one knows the future and kids are unpredictable!)</p><p id="60fc"><b>But my husband didn’t say “I told you so”.</b> He didn’t discredit me as a mother, even if I did question my own decision making. He understood that being wrong is not a bad thing, and also, that <b>I wasn’t “wrong” to begin with</b>. Some things work, and some things don’t work for our children. And some things work for a while and then need to be changed. And that’s OK.</p><p id="4e9d">Parenting, while continuous, is flexible.</p><p id="ec93"><a href="https://readmedium.com/how-to-successfully-wing-it-d39222a3d808">And we are all winging it.</a></p><h1 id="101b">Lowering Expectations Is Empowering</h1><p id="cde5">I have this constant need as the main caregiver to simply know what to do and get it right — especially after all the research I do on many aspects of parenting. But the thing is, it is only because of my own expectations that we get upset when things don’t work out. We paint a picture of how things will go, and when they don’t go our way, we self-criticise.</p><p id="3b33">Recently, I have been struggling to make the decision of whether to send our son to daycare. Because of the recent lockdowns, I feared that he wasn’t getting enough social stimulation and he needed to spend more time with other children. We decided to send him to a local nursery two mornings a week.</p><p id="fec8">But that wasn’t my only reason for wanting to send him there. I also needed more time to really step up my game as a writer, begin marketing myself and really work on my book.</p><p id="fa4a">But I’m tired of questioning myself, and <a href="https://readmedium.com/how-to-get-what-you-want-1973fd008ecb">since taking the road to self-care</a> in order to be a better mother and person, I decided that my reasons were as good as any to send Andriel to daycare at the age of 27 months.</p><p id="d466">It has only been a few weeks, and so far, he does not look forward to going there. I feel in fact he has become shier and clingier than usual. This makes me question once again whether what I am doing is right, and whether the caregivers at the centre are doing right by my son.</p><p id="93a8"><b>I’m ready to assign blame and judge because this is what we do as people growing up in today’s society.</b></p><div id="5778" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/learning-to-enjoy-motherhood-guilt-free-966e7fa38d58"> <div> <div> <h2>Learning To Enjoy Motherhood Guilt-Free</h2> <div><h3>undefined</h3></div> <div><p>undefined</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*o44YftcYVXjSo_va)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="d0f8">But I have to remember that it will solve nothing. I need to readjust my expectations and remind myself that everything takes time and that obstacles are all part of the journey, including my son’s settling in time at daycare.</p><p id="1231">He will get there because he is a strong and sociable little boy. He will be fine because he will still have an abundance of love at home waiting for him when he gets back and throughout the rest of the week. But I cannot decide how and when he will be running happily into nursery in the mornings — that’s a picture I need to let go of, but treasure if it happens.</p><p id="b15a">Sometimes, it

Options

is our expectations that need change, not our circumstances. We have to be OK with hiccups in parenting. Rather, we need not see them as hiccups, but as part of the process of bringing up children. After all, we are only human.</p><h1 id="7806">Takeaway</h1><figure id="facf"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/0*0ZLtDIAU40LQtOeo"><figcaption>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@drezart?utm_source=medium&utm_medium=referral">Andrae Ricketts</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com?utm_source=medium&utm_medium=referral">Unsplash</a></figcaption></figure><p id="f3a0">I believe in a mother’s instinct, but I don’t believe in the expectation that it will be there when we need it. If that expectation isn’t met then we will be more than ready to assign blame, and it won’t help us grow as parents or as individuals. In fact, I think that the constant need to meet these expectations is what causes us to feel like a failure at some point in our lives.</p><p id="b5d4">Instead, I recommend a more supportive plan, where advice can be handed out without coming across as all-knowing and dismissive of the parent. We can learn not to feel offended at others’ suggestions in the same way that others can learn not to be judgemental. I advise that others do get involved in taking care of kids, in a non-judgemental “I-told-you-so” way when the main interest is that of the child — not of themselves.</p><p id="1680">Most importantly, we have to learn that <b>mistakes are normal</b>, and most of the time, they’re not life-threatening. We are all human after all, and that makes us susceptible to countless errors over the course of time. In modern parenting, most parents are learning not to scold their kids when they make mistakes because it’s detrimental to their confidence building. <i>We should take that same approach with ourselves and other adults.</i></p><p id="93d5">So, let’s cut ourselves a little slack, and lower that pressure to get it right. Nobody is born a parent with experience.</p><div id="2a67" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/redefining-the-concept-of-happiness-16e5524c2b2d"> <div> <div> <h2>Redefining the Concept of Happiness</h2> <div><h3>How I’m learning about fulfilment from my toddler son.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*6xDaJcMnjn9r6Bow)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="88c4" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/my-battle-with-anger-as-a-parent-24e7837c5fac"> <div> <div> <h2>My Battle With Anger As a Parent</h2> <div><h3>Ensuring our son feels loved regardless of our feelings.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*Me4slkvdZGGCbsbjqQ_7bg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="c95b" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/my-husband-is-a-damn-good-father-de20d1ef2217"> <div> <div> <h2>My Husband Is A Damn Good Father</h2> <div><h3>And he deserves praise.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*Oqw-YSI_IVOLn-k0)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="7dcc"><b><i>Sylvia Emokpae, thinker and philosopher, is passionate about self-love, relationships, and motherhood. <a href="https://medium.com/@sylviaemokpae">See more work like this</a>.</i></b></p><p id="f728"><a href="https://twitter.com/SylviaEmokpae"><b>Follow her</b></a><b> on Twitter.</b></p></article></body>

The Child: Episode 7

Run screaming from the car

“What the…” I shoved myself backwards, coming up short against the car door. I pressed myself against it, my heart hammering in my chest as I tried to figure out what had just happened. There was no broken glass, not even a crack in the windshield. Whatever this thing was — this wolf — it had just launched itself through solid matter and into the passenger seat of my car.

I looked back at the boy. His face blurred in and out, cycling between wolf and child. I gaped at him, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

The wolf-boy creature opened its mouth, teeth morphing back and forth between human and fang. I needed to get out of here now. I scrabbled my hand around behind me and found the handle of the car door. I yanked hard. The door swung open, sprawling me backwards onto the road.

I landed awkwardly, my wrist twisting beneath me. Still on my backside, I scooted several feet away from the car. The rough surface of the road grated the skin of my palms, then changed to the prickle of grass as I reached the edge.

The wolf-boy narrowed amber eyes, watching me, mouth twitching in a snarl. Then he was up out of his seat, clambering over the gap between my seat and his. His eyes gleamed viciously as he came after me.

Ignoring the sharp pain in my wrist, I scrambled to my feet and turned.

The woods gave way to farming land. We were still a good drive from the suburbs of Middlebury, but the small town of Brandon was close by. Across the road from my car, the ground flattened into fields. The low roofs of several farm buildings squatted in a dip not too far distant. I desperately needed help, and that’s where I could find it.

I set off across the field. All I could hear was the panting of my breath and the thud of my feet jarring against the hard ground. No sound of pursuit.

I risked a glance back over my shoulder. The wolf-boy was back at the roadside. He stared after me hesitating. Anything that gave me a few seconds more advantage was good by me. I ploughed on.

The farm buildings drew closer. I pumped my arms and put on a final sprint, bursting through the last of the undergrowth and into a flat courtyard.

I gazed around me in disbelief. The roof of the nearest building sagged in the middle. A rusted tractor sat decaying to my right. Straggling weeds poked through cracks in the yard. The whole place had a deserted air. There was no sight nor sound of another human.

Before I could push on, something hit me hard from behind. I rolled across the courtyard, adding another bruise to my collection. I crawled onto my knees, readying myself for another attack. To my left, the boy watched me warily. The wolf crouched off to my right, both panting heavily.

I couldn’t tell which one had barrelled into me — the wolf or the boy. Or the being they appeared to join as.

I raised my hand in a calming motion. “Take it easy, ok? I’m not going to hurt you.” Nor do I want to get any more hurt, I thought, wincing at the dull ache in my back as I got to my feet.

The wolf raised his head and sniffed at the air. The boy shot a quick glance at the animal and both relaxed their stances.

“That’s it. Let’s all take it easy here.” I slowed my voice and lowered the pitch, the way Jen always did when we scared a wild animal up on the trails by her home. That woman could get a bobcat purring. I wished she was here right now. She’d know exactly how to handle a wild child and a wary wolf.

Whatever I was doing, it seemed to work. The boy raised his head as a flock of swallows flew over us. He pointed upward and spoke in that strange language again. I caught a few of the words; vogel, sunne, nacht.

The accent was like Russian but the words reminiscent of German. My brain translated them roughly — birds, sun, night. The boy was right. The birds were barn swallows, out to catch their evening feast as insects filled the cooling air around the abandoned buildings. The sky was dimming as the sun sank lower. Night was closing in.

My revelation in the car came back to me: Galindians. An ancient Prussian people. My department chair Harlan Forester had covered some of their history in a class I’d shadowed last semester.

Harlan, a trusted colleague and good friend. Perhaps he could decipher this boy’s words and help me figure out what to do next.

“Okay,” I said to the boy. “No hospitals. No authorities. Message received and understood. But you are right.” I raised my hand skyward. ‘Nacht.’ I pointed back at my car, glinting in the last rays of the sun. “Night is coming. We should get inside. Hus?” I steepled my hands over my head in the approximation of a roof and smiled hopefully at the boy.

The wolf whined and the boy grinned in what I took to be understanding. He copied my hands-over-head gesture. “Dach. Hus,” he agreed and marched past me back towards the car, the wolf trotting beside him.

As he passed me, I saw his shirt had ripped, perhaps when they’d tussled me to the ground earlier. A large section of material hung down, revealing his back. I gasped. Blue swirls of ink covered his skin in words and images. The boy stopped, saw me looking, and groped his hand across the ripped shirt. He glanced at me hesitantly, then pulled the ripped cloth aside so I could see better.

I stepped closer. The blue markings weren’t drawings. They were tattoos needled deep into the boy’s skin, cleverly drawn to appear lifelike. Faces came and went on the painted skin; a young woman, an old man. A fortress rose to dizzying heights beneath a star-studded sky. A dragon flexed its wings above a mountain; a cave yawned open; a world crumbled.

Hours and hours of work must have gone into carving these strange markings and what, on closer inspection, resembled a map. It would have been incredibly painful, especially where the design swirled over the bones of his shoulder blades.

Who on earth would do such a thing to such a young child?

Some of the characters resembled Russian script, although I couldn’t make out what they meant. I felt completely out of my depth. It was time to bring in someone else. My phone was back in the car, I just needed to find some signal and call Harlan. He would know what to do about all of this.

As I pulled my focus away from the tattoos, I realised the wolf had disappeared. As I followed the boy back to my car, tantalising glimpses of ink catching my eye as he moved, I tried not to think too hard about where the wolf had gone. I hoped Harlan had some answers.

CONTINUE THE STORY

The Child is an interactive puzzle fiction story. If you’ve stumbled onto this episode without reading the beginning, you can start at Episode One here.