DIARY OF A MOOD.

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Today is shaping up to be one of those days when I do not wonder why I am exhausted by 9.00 am. I know why.

Freddie is in a bad mood. He is refusing to use the toilet or co operate with the routines of the day. The sleeve of my clean dressing gown is spotted with blood from the oozing holes he has clawed and pinched into my hands and forearms. I’m doing my best to ignore it, but when i don’t react he switches to hitting me on the head and face. Getting cross and shouting will only be counter-productive, and simply escalate the situation. The only thing I can do is to turn my head slightly so that he doesn’t catch my eyes, and go about the business of toileting, washing and dressing him as though nothing is going on; that way, in the long run, he will learn that this kind of behaviour acheives nothing.

Freddie dislikes transitions. Moving from one activity to another, getting dressed and undressed often provoke a minor bit of fuss. But why he is being so viciously obstreporous today I have no idea.

Is he still constipated? I thought we’d cleared that. Is it because Daddy has just gone back to work after two weeks off? Two weeks during which wse have travelled abroad, and had days out, late nights and long lie-ins, and generally followed a rather different pattern to the usual.

Perhaps time will tell. In the meantime what can I do other than carry on carrying on?

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