Magic

I believe in magic. I really do.

Not the magic from fantasy novels and films that I longed for as a teenager. I still love the escapism that those offer – the ability to vanquish enemies and do good in the world by concentrating your special powers. But I know that doesn’t exist.

I’m talking about a different kind of magic.

There is magic in so many aspects of life: a spring bud unfurling, birdsong soaring me skywards, sunshine on my face, music that has the power to raise goosebumps. The power of words that can tell me I’m wanted and loved. An unexpected gift. We just have to take the time to look for these and appreciate them to the full though I’m not always good at that.

One magic that works every time though is the power of one small boy’s smile.

Whatever mood I’m in, Pudding’s smile will sneak its way past my defences.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWhen I’m frustrated in the morning and am chasing a semi-naked boy round the house to get his trousers on before the school taxi arrives, he’ll look back at me and grin. Suddenly it’s not a chore, it’s a game.

When I’m trying to get the dinner ready while answering a thousand questions from T about Dr Who monsters and simultaneously sending an email, Pudding will worm his way between me and the work surface to look at the food. A hopeful smile and I cave, letting him have a tit-bit before he thunders back to the TV.

Half-asleep when I open his door in the morning, how can I help but respond to his excited grin when he pushes past me to throw himself onto our bed and his Daddy?

Even though I adore the peace and quiet of having the house to myself, the best bit of my day is watching him get out taxi and knowing the smile that lights up his face is just for me.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAI love the games of tickle that Hubby plays with him, Pudding’s excited anticipation that breaks into deep chuckles; it makes me smile just thinking about them.

And then there are the times when I watch his face watching the TV. That beautiful slow smile spreading wider and wider until the magic shines out, wonderfully and irresistibly. His joy is bottled in my heart to buffer against the darker days.

There is nothing fake or forced about it – he simply wouldn’t know how.

The magic doesn’t just work on me; countless friends and strangers have been drawn in by it. He may not say hello or goodbye any more, or even acknowledge people as much as he used to. But one smile and it doesn’t matter at all.

Whatever he loses, I hope he never loses that. I know from other boys that their beautiful smile can stay long after much else has gone.

I believe in magic.

 

 

What do others see?

As I watch some children of my acquaintance grow up into teenagers, I see them hit that squirming self-conscious don’t-notice-me phase. I remember it so well. Some adolescents breeze through it and enter adulthood with barely a glance back. Others, like me, never seem to shake it off.

I’ve spent much of my life worrying about what others think of me. (Thanks very much to the bullies at school who shook my self-confidence so thoroughly.) Will people still like me if I say this? What do I look like in that? Etc, etc.

Sensitivity to what other people think got heightened when Pudding’s development delay first started becoming obvious. Any trip out the house became fraught with new worries. What did people see when they looked at him? At me?

A helicopter mother, hovering over her child as he climbed the steps, not giving him the space to do it himself? They could have no idea that his balance wasn’t great and that he had a permanent bump on his forehead from the number of times he had fallen.

Someone who is not concentrating on the conversation going on around her? Even when I let Pudding stray a bit further away from me I’m always watching – aware that at any moment he could hit another child or make a dash for the gate.

A lax parent? If they do see Pudding hitting out or running away they might think I should do more to discipline him. But often when I do tell him off it’s more for the benefit of others. ‘Bad’ behaviour in Pudding is often impulse and no amount of discipline will make a difference.

Too stand-offish? Seeing me standing by myself amongst groups of sociable parents, they could think ‘up herself’. Yet all my thoughts were on the latest clinical results, or concentrating hard on not crying on the school run.

Uncaring? A stranger on the train seeing me scrolling through my phone while Pudding is stuck in his chair watching his tablet and shouting out might expect me to do more to entertain him or keep him quiet. But they would never know that while their journey is briefly disturbed, this is yet another necessary journey to hospital and a film is the only way to keep him calm.

Pudding and me running along track through green spaceIt now happens less and less as I’ve developed a thicker skin on this journey (though I still hate the train situation!). It’s brought out my sarcastic side at times. In the supermarket recently I did say loudly to Pudding, ‘Don’t shout like that or people might stare!’ As we were leaving T very astutely said to me, ‘People were staring anyway, Mummy.’ Not after I said that, they didn’t!

Of course the vast majority of people probably don’t even give us a second thought, let alone think something negative. But my worries about people’s opinions will always be with me at some level, and those who sneer at Pudding or look askance at me will always hurt. But I know that most important are the opinions of those who are close to us. Those who know and love us for who we are. The nurses and play specialist who snuggle with him and insist on me taking a break. Friends who invite us out despite us not having made it out on the previous twenty-three occasions. Family who are always there for us.