ONE
“Mummy, I don’t want to go.” Dylan kicks the air with a huff, and I roll my eyes.
This boy of mine is not a morning person.
Just a few months were enough to forget how hard it is to get a kid up in the early hours of the morning to get ready. Those were hard, long days during my last two years of high school that I sure don’t miss. And yet again, here I am at bloody six in the morning, fighting this little devil’s terrible temper so I can get him to kindergarten before I head to school.
I’ve genuinely received a few hits from his tantrums in the past, but I have been relentless in getting him to control his impulsive temper. Thankfully, he’s gotten better at it with time, slowly learning to explain what he’s feeling or what he wants instead of throwing fits. But I can see it’s starting to develop more as a personality trait, to often act without thinking.
Just like someone I used to know...
“Dylan, what did I tell you about kicking and hitting just because you don’t get what you want? What if you had hit me, huh?”
At my words, he sits up straight and looks at me wide-eyed. I know he doesn’t mean to hurt anybody with it, but still, he needs to start growing out of it.
“No, no, no! Sorry, Mummy! I didn’t mean to hit you, but I am just so, so sleepy,” he whines, burying his head in my chest and faking a sob.
Kids these days turn into professional manipulators at an early age. Thank god I don’t fall for it anymore.
“If you had done as I told you yesterday, you wouldn’t be tired right now. Tonight, you’ll go to bed earlier,” I scold.
Dylan groans into my chest but makes no move from the position we’re in.
“Come on. Let’s get you ready.” I tap his shoulder but don’t attempt to move either. “We have our first day of school today, and we can’t miss it.”
“Aren’t you old for my school?”
“I have explained it to you,” I answer him with a light chuckle. “Mummy’s not going to your school. Remember that I told you I paused everything when you were born? You were very little and needed a lot of care and attention…” It was difficult to accept I had to stop studying; the only bright side of it was taking care of him. Dylan quickly consumed my thoughts, leaving my studies on the back burner. When he nods, I continue. “Well, now you’re older and ready to go play with other kids, and I can finally finish my studies.”
“Then what kind of school is it?”
“It’s called college. A kind of grown-ups school.”
His eyebrows twist in confusion as his mouth forms an ‘o’. “Is it important?” I nod, giving him a patient smile. “Why?”
“Because Mummy wants to be a teacher, like the ones you’ll meet today. And for that, I need to study some more, so I can do what I love.”
I did it. It may be four years later than usual, but I still did it and am so proud of myself. I will be able to show my baby boy that even as a teenage mother, I didn’t give up on my dream; that his existence encouraged me even more to be a good example to follow.
“Will I need to go to college, too?”
“If you want to.” I smile gently.
“I don’t know…” He trails off.
“And that’s alright.” I chuckle. “You’re too young to decide now. Let’s focus on the school for your age and get ready, eh?”
“I don’t want to go,” he grumbles.
“Why?”
“I don’t know anyone at this school.” He tilts his head to peek one eye at me. It’s so freaking hard to stay mad at that adorable face. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
“Don’t be silly, baby. You’ve spent the last two weeks playing with the next-door girl, Abby. She’s your friend already and going to be in your class today.”
Dylan straightens and blushes slightly but keeps what should be a serious expression I find too cute to take seriously before answering me. “But she’s a girl. The boys will make fun of me for being friends with a girl.” He crosses his arms over his chest and huffs.
I just laugh.
“Nonsense, Dylan. What did I tell you about this kind of behaviour? Just because other kids like to be mean, it doesn’t mean you have to be the same as them to be accepted. Because...” I prolong the last word to let him finish for me.
“Because they are in the wrong. You don’t hurt or hit anyone, not even with a flower,” he continues in a monotone voice.
Ever since he started making friends, I’ve been trying to teach him not to do what others do or tell him to just because it’s cool, especially if it means treating girls poorly. I don’t want my son to be a bully, disrespectful, or even worse…
Changes are always hard for kids, and this one—moving—is his biggest yet. And while it was hard at first, children are resilient and adapt quickly. Once we got settled, he met Abby and got less and less resistant to his new reality.
“Exactly, and what do you do if other kids taunt or hurt you?” I ask.
“I defend myself.” He puffs his chest, and I stifle a laugh.
“How so?” I push him. I want to hear him say the correct words.
I want my boy to be good but not too good. I don’t want him to take shit from anyone.
“Well, if it’s with words, I just tell them off, but if they hit me, I hit them back.” He tries doing what could be a kung-fu move but ends up falling to the mattress on his back.
“No, Dylan. You defend yourself and only hit if you need to,” I press. “Got it?”
“But if I can’t show off the moves Uncle Jake taught me, why did I learn them?”
“To defend yourself and no more. Yes?”
“Okaaaayy.” He rolls his eyes while dragging the word with a snarky tone.
“Good. Now, go get dressed. Do you need help?”
“No, Mum. I’m a big boy!”
“Okay. I’ll be downstairs making breakfast. Call me if you need help.”
Ten minutes after, when I am almost done with breakfast, Dylan shows up in the kitchen, jumping around ecstatically—the complete opposite of the boy whining because he was sleepy just before. This kid is a ball of energy; I can only imagine how it is going to be when he grows up.
“Mummy, do I look good or what?” He poses in front of me with both hands on his hips, head cocked to the side, and a cocky expression on his face.
This boy couldn’t be more like him, even if I wanted him to be, and it tugs my heart. A ton of memories that are buried in the back of my mind threaten to be released and dampen my mood. That is until I notice how his T-shirt is inside out, and his little jeans are unbuttoned.
I can’t control the loud cackle that comes out of me, making Dylan frown at my reaction before looking at himself.
“Come here, you silly.” I beckon him, then take the T-shirt off and put it back correctly, and then button his jeans up.
“Thanks, Mummy,” he chirps and runs off to his seat at the table.
We eat breakfast, and I help him so he doesn’t get stains on his clothing before taking him to school.
Abby is already waiting for him by the gate, and as soon as we exit the car, she‘s waving excitedly. Dylan grins at her and prepares to run but hesitates and looks up at me for permission.
I extend my hand, hinting for him to hold it. There’s a road we have to cross, and I won’t risk it, even though it’s right in front of the school and drivers are usually careful, but you never know.
The walk to the gate is quick but not quick enough for my son, it seems. With each step that isn’t as fast as he’s expecting, he tugs on my hand, trying to speed me up. I chuckle silently at his antics, and when we finally reach Abby and her mother, Dylan lets go of my hand and gives the girl a huge, tight hug.
My heart melts when it reminds me of easier times. Times when I, too, had a best friend like Dylan who would hug me and stand by me for everything. The fact that I no longer have that hurts, making me aware of how great the void in my heart is. A void that even the love of my son can’t fill. But whatever happened, it gave me what I have today, and I wouldn’t change having my son for anything in this world.
“Good morning,” I greet Abby’s mum, forcing myself out of my thoughts. She replies kindly with another good morning, and we fall into an easy conversation about how the weekend was and how excited the kids are for school.
One of the teachers comes outside, letting me know it’s time for them to go in, and I crouch to Dylan’s level for my hug. He comes without hesitation, hugging me tightly.
“Remember to be kind, okay? Voice what you’re feeling. I will be back later to pick you up.” I kiss him on the cheek, and he nods at me before turning back to Abby.
He picks her hand up, tangling their fingers together, and they go inside as the teacher accompanies the big group of kids.
Never glancing away from his small stature, I force myself to take a deep calming breath with my fingers twisting continuously and my brain repeating to my heart that it’ll be alright. That he’ll be back home at the end of the afternoon.
You would think separation anxiety would improve as the years went by. It doesn’t.When he was little, he was the only comfort for my loneliness, and when the time came that I had to start to work to help Nana and put him in school, I really struggled.
I used to bawl my eyes out every time I left him at daycare and spent the days on edge, waiting for a call saying something bad had happened or that his father’s family had found out about him and taken him. It never happened, and slowly, I got used to the brief time we had to spend apart.
“It’ll get easier,” Abby’s mum, Nina, says to me.
“You think?” I chuckle nervously.
“Just try and enjoy the hours he is away. Focus on yourself.” She nods alongside her words. “We often forget to take care of ourselves when kids come into our lives. We matter, too.”
Don’t I know it?
“I get you,” I start slowly, still unsure if I should disclose what my life is at the moment. “But I’m not sure I’ll have a moment to myself with both work and college mixed in the middle.”
Nina’s eyes widen for a second before she clears her throat. “That sounds like a lot.”
I already feel the pressure of it, and I haven’t even started properly. I can only hope that with Nana’s help—which she has made clear she is one hundred percent free for—I’ll be able to manage.
Though it worries me because, at her age, she should be relaxing and enjoying life, and yet, here she is, helping me get my life straight.
“I applaud you,” Nina offers, catching my attention. “To do that…all on your own. It’s really brave.”
Brave is the last word I’d use to describe myself. If it weren’t for my brother and grandmother, I don’t know where Dylan and I would be right now. I probably would have given in to the pressure my parents put on me to get an abortion.
“Thank you,” I answer. However, her words trigger a reaction, and I add, “But I’m not alone.”
With an understanding smile, she nods before saying her goodbyes and leaving me to my thoughts.
After everything that has happened, Dylan became the blessing I needed at a time when I hit my lowest point. A beacon of light where all that existed around me was darkness.
And maybe doing all of this at the same time is not ideal, but sometimes we just have to keep moving forward. People usually say that if life throws you lemons, make lemonade, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.
But for now, it’s one day at a time.