Too much red cordial and not enough discipline.
A bad egg.
I don't want that boy in my daughter's class again next year. How's a teacher supposed to teach the other kids?
Some kids are just little shits, aren't they?
You wouldn't want to drug a child, would you?
Watch: Things Mums never hear. Post continues below.
I'm tired of hearing the way people talk about children like my son.
Brilliant, funny, emotional, smart whirlwinds of humans, they can be. But that's not how people see them.
Maybe not even how you see them. Especially, you know, before you know.
Maybe you only see the chaos, the frazzle, the meltdowns, the anxiety. The loud house, the dreaded phone calls, the 'What has he done, now?"
Maybe you only feel the embarrassment, the shame of having a kid who's not like the others, who you can't 'trust' to be predictable in public.
Maybe you can sometimes only hear your own voice, yelling that it's time to get dressed. Or to STOP DOING THAT. Again. And again. And again.
Maybe sometimes you just see a kid spinning, sometimes literally, trying to hold on to the train of thought they were following... somewhere, to do something.
And then other times, you lie next to your boy, trying to calm him to sleep and he says, "Why does an hour sometimes feel like a day but other times like a minute? And why does a week sometimes seem like a year but then I feel like it was only five minutes ago that I woke up but that must have been a day ago because now I'm going to bed but my brain feels like orange fire and I can't put it out. I don't know how to tell how long I've been lying here now. Has it been a long time? Or a little time? An hour, or a minute?"