went from bad to worse. It took 2 1/2 hours to eat her lunch. usually I try to be laid back about food, figuring that stressing about it is probably the quickest way to eating problems. But I hate waste, and she had made the sandwiches herself, so I really thought that she should make some effort to eat them.
And she broke Barbie baby’s bottle, which means that the doll won’t stop crying…
The first dance lesson was about as much of a disaster as I expected. I felt incredibly out of place amongst the proud parents of all these pink children (we found a school with a pink uniform of course), and dd didn’t want to dance without the right clothes/ shoes. But given that the outfit including shoes comes to a whopping £45 I felt that we should see if she enjoyed it first. I think we’ll compromise on ballet shoes for next week, as there was no way that she could dance ballet in her street shoes (they worked pretty well for tap though). She clung and whined, and refused to join in and eventually did a couple of minutes here and there, and when I’d had enough (after 40 minutes of the 45 minute lesson) she threw a mega tantrum when I went to leave. Oh all those pitying eyes turned upon us!
Actually, I didn’t really care. I figured it we left a little early, it might leave her wanting more IYSWIM, and sure enough, the tantrum was that she wanted to stay and was coming back next week. The lady taking the money was very understanding – she didn’t like it then? Oh she loved it, she’s crying because we’re leaving. She’d never seen that before apparently.
So, do I really have such an unusual child? I read The Highly sensitive child during camp, and there are parts of it that could be a blow for blow description of what we have going on (the wonky socks, just warming up to an activity as it’s over) but I kind of take that as read. I know that I didn’t behave like that, but I know that there are some things that hurt me deeply – and why do I burst into tears if I try to compliment someone?
Anyway, the printer has spontaneously combusted, so must go upstairs and press buttons. Maybe more after I’ve hama-ed some more letters.
