You’re walking down the street, and someone peers into your pram, or stares at your children, and makes some random comment.
Generally, said comment is about what your child is or isn’t doing, wearing, saying or not saying. They’re too noisy, not dressed correctly, moving around too much, or not moving fast enough.
We’ve all experienced it, because verbal diahroeha issuers are everywhere. The shops, beach, park, restaurants, or walking down the street.
For years, I listened to these people, smiled and said nothing. Nothing. I know those of you who know me will be doubting this but it’s true. I let these people tell me my baby was hungry, had wind, was tired or looked sad. I let them tell me I looked too young, or how to handle my tantrum throwing offspring.
Until one day I had had enough.
On said day I was out with hubby plus the 3 younger children. Hubby, daughter 2 and toddler boy were getting haircuts. I was 37 weeks pregnant. Toddler had been told 64 times by me, hubby and the hairdresser to quit jumping on the chair. On time 65 I removed him from the chair and left.
Cue tantrum of epic proportions. I am talking my sweet child turned into a monster. Screaming, hitting, kicking, spitting – and best of all, became a dead weight. He’s huge on a good day. On this day he was enormous.
So I grabbed his hands, sweating, crying, and turned him around and was pushing my foot into his back to get him moving. Except he wasn’t. He was dangling. I was foot pushing. Dangling. Crying. Foot pushing.
Enter uninvited verbal diahroeha issuer.
“You’re going to pull his arms out of his sockets if you dangle him like that”
I stopped foot pushing and crying and wiping snot from my face long enough to say “what did you say?”
“You’re going to pull his arms out of his socket if you dangle him like that”
And that, that moment, is when I lost the plot.
I turned to her and gave it to her. When I say that I mean really. I screamed, cried, and told her to mind her own damn business, that he was no 4 and the others still had arms so I must be a half decent mother, unless she was willing to start foot pushing for me to beat it. I followed her as she was scrurrying off, till she started running away from me.
And then I realise all this had occurred in front of my daughters dance school. As I started to compose myself and wander back to retrieve my child I started to laugh hysterically.
Im not saying from then on I confronted every diahroeha issuer in the same manner because it’s not true. In fact the following week I had a jimmy choo footed woman stare at me yelling at my kids and whisper to her friend “I can’t believe she’s breeding again”
I ignored her, smiled and thought back as I have done ever since to the day I stood up and did it for the sisterhood.