Wednesday, 22 June 2011

Stockholm Syndrome: Identifying with our Captor.

I laugh how Rocco ... my IVF baby ... would have punched all of the other embryos in the petri dish out of the way. CHOOSE ME, MOTHERFUCKERS!

The doctors chose him. When I was pregnant, "Rocco" was just a nickname we gave the baby. We'd all laugh and say, imagine if we actually named him Rocco!

We actually named him Rocco. It was Dave's choice. I didn't want to - I liked Stan better. But Dave was seriously ill at the time so I gave him full naming privileges. Those first few days in hospital, I was worried that the name "Rocco" was just too tough and hard for such a tiny baby.

Very quickly, I realised that the name "Rocco" may be too soft for this strong-headed, full-on baby. Swear to God, I will not even NOTICE when Rocco becomes a teenager. He was born one - attitude and strength and balls of steel. I'm still in shock at how different he is to Max - how opposite two boys with exactly the same parents can be.

Rocco has been here for three years. He runs circles around all of us .... Dave and I asked Tim to mind him last Saturday, at the Winter Magic Festival. Rocco went missing for half an hour - Tim told me later he was frantic, running around and around, pushing people out of the way, screaming his name. ROCCO!!! He ended up calling the police, who located him a few kilometres up the crowded street - with not a care in the world. He was in a lolly shop. With a kindly lady who asked him where his mum and dad is. "THEY NOT HERE I ROCCO RILEY I WANT LOLLY."

(I will never know who that lady was. And when I think about Rocco waltzing around town by himself I feel sick. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Kindly Lady.)

Tim bolted up and found him in there, calmly chomping on lollies. Tim is almost nineteen and was crying. Rocco is three - not crying.

None of this takes me by surprise. Rocco is the boss of the whole house. I have failed in so many ways, in being his mother. My method now is to just wait until he is five, hopefully he will be more civilised then?

In the meantime, I will shower him with as much love and patience and warmth and support as I can manage. I adore him so much. And, he kind of likes me, too. His hostage.

This parenting thing? Toughest gig in the world. All I dreamed of when I was pregnant with Rocco was quiet, sacred bonding with the baby.

Instead I got Screamy McScreamerson who shit all over the house.



You complete me, Screamy!
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