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Dear stranger, this is why you should be nicer to my mum...

A letter from a little person, in support of her professional wrangler. That is, her mum. 

Dear Stranger,

I might be small, but I’m more perceptive than you think.

I know that you only see me as I look from the outside – a three-year-old girl with curls in a pony tail, or a two year old boy in overalls. Or even just a chubby baby in a pram. But I still notice things. I see the look on your face, I sense the distaste in your voice, your vibes are full of negativity, they radiate towards my mum.

You don’t like the way she parents me. Maybe she shouted or maybe she swore or maybe she’s ignoring my whines. Could be, she just picked me up off the floor mid-tantrum and dumped me unceremoniously in the shopping trolley. Could be, she’s pleading with me to stop crying. Could be, she’s bribing me with chocolate or she’s given up and is clenching her fists as she tries not to start crying herself.

Here’s what you don’t know. Last night I refused to go to bed, who knows why – maybe I was overtired, maybe I was feeling anxious about a change in our routine, maybe I was teething, or maybe our neighbours played loud music until late. My mum was patient with me, she rubbed my back, she brought me a drink of water, she read me stories. And after I finally fell asleep, she still had to pack the dishwasher, make school lunches and throw on a load of washing.

Maybe she had an assignment to do as well, because she’s studying part time by correspondence, or maybe she had to catch up on some work that she didn’t finish that day because she left the office early to pick me up and take me to swimming lessons. Maybe she’s a single mum, maybe she’s a stay-at-home mum, maybe she’s struggling to make ends meet or has post-natal depression. Bottom line is, she’s tired, she’s fed up, she’s reached the end of her rope.

And the truth is, I don’t know that much about what really does go on in her life – she shelters me from her problems – and besides, I’m more interesting in how fast my toy truck can speed across the kitchen floor, or what I’m going to take into class for news tomorrow.

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But you know even less about her life.

What I do know though, is this:

This is how my mum wishes I behaved.

There’s a better way for you to react to the situation you see unfolding before you.

You can offer a friendly smile, a nod of support. You can step forward and ask my Mum if she’s okay, if there’s anything she needs.

You can shrug your shoulders, throw your hands up in the air and laugh as you tell her, “We’ve all been there.”

You could offer to pick up the shopping that spilled across the supermarket floor when I kicked over the basket – and if you see her bottom lip start to quiver, you could reach out a comforting hand to touch her shoulder and tell her that it will get better.

Because it will. I won’t always throw tantrums, in fact I didn’t really mean to just now – but well, you know, I’m three, sometimes I can’t help myself. Or I’m nine months old and I’ve decided it’s time for a feed, even though Mum just fed me 20 minutes ago. So I’m screaming, because that’s how I communicate with the world.

Regardless of what’s going on, of why it is that she suddenly looks like the worst mum in the world when in fact she’s the best – please don’t judge her.

Take a step back, put yourself in her shoes and offer some compassion. She needs it, and she could probably use a cappuccino too.

Warmest regards,

A small noisy child x

(Here is a picture of a small noisy child)

Are you ever guilty of judging mums when you see their kids having a tantrum in public?