Feeling someone else’s pain

Something happened yesterday that was both painful but also incredibly joyful at the same time. I nearly kneecapped myself.

I hate getting out of the house. I found it stressful enough as a singleton, remembering my keys, phone, lipstick, wallet, tampons; all that stuff and tocap it all, whether or not my shoes went with my bag. There’s always so much to think about that my internal checklist gets a bit overwhelmed. And doing it all with kids in tow, and at that, kids who know my pain points, getting out of the house can more often than not, be something of a trauma. Add to that their last minute demands, refusals, issues with laces, general child babble, book bags, homework, teeth and hasty toilet trips and it can become one of the most stressful parts of my day. All this isn’t helped by the four flights of stairs (in very narrow modern corridors) we must descend before getting out of the duplex. With both kids generally delaying putting their shoes on at the bottom of the first two flights where their coats and shoes are stored, a stress bottleneck is created right by my front door.

Yesterday, sherparing bags, lunch, coats and sundries, I had ushered the kids down the stairs to get their shoes and coats on. Ava was deliberately putting her shoes on the wrong feet because she delights in me flapping and having to put everything down to help her, and Jonah was concurrently winding her up by prodding her with his toe, and giggling maniacally. Or SomethingThis describes a fairly typical get out, and it’s all lost in the mire of the many house leavings I battle through day after day.

Tripping down the narrow staircase, simultaneously raising my voice to the pair of them for mucking around, Jonah goes in for one more prod as I place my foot (tiny, not good for balance generally) around Ava who is wrestling her shoe. I trip over Jonah’s inquiring toe, wedging my kneecap, between the bone and jelly under the cap, into the sharp angle of the square banister, bringing me to the floor practically on Ava’s head.

I howled, roared even. Jonah went pale. The howling continued. Ava started to cluck and show concern. “I’ll help you mama,” she said starting to pat my back. Jonah started to cry, afraid at first that he was in trouble and then secondly, and this the miracle, because he was worried about he. As I howled he put his arms around me and held me, while I brokenly reassured him that he wasn’t in trouble. Gripping his hands in gratitude and wonderment I breathed the pain to a close, and hugged them both. I then told them off about mucking around at the bottom of the stairs.

This is probably the first time I have hurt myself that Jonah has shown concern, tried to help, or attempted to soothe me. This is a major milestone. He showed empathy… noticing my pain- to be fair, it was hard to miss, and trying to make me feel better. I now have a bruise that’s getting increasingly colourful, but at least I know now, spectrum or not, he, we, all of us, will be okay.

The extent to which we all have dyspraxia, also known as clumsy child syndrome, I’ll investigate the next time Jonah stubs his toe, which will probably be in the next week!

The image above describes some of the thought processes I am involved in when I’m trying to leave the house. It’s taken from a blog called BYU Women’s Services, which is a good blog, so take a look, ladeez with issues.