262. Baby

'That's not good parenting. That's like buying me.' 

With those words Baby storms out of the room and rushes up the stairs shouting some more parenting advice.

My husband and I look at each other. 

'She's like the three others put together.' I say, looking miserable. None of them have been easy to bring up so the mere thought of having to stand up to the three of them put together is exhausting.

My husband does not reply which makes me think I am right.

The house is quiet again. Baby is up there on the top floor. The girls' floor. The floor where there would be loud screaming and banging every time our son went up there. The floor where all would be quiet as the four of them were plotting some mischief. Now these days it is just Baby. And we do not know how to handle this.

'This is no good.' My husband says. 'We've just let her get away with murder. This is no good.'

I say nothing. Which means I think my husband is right. I feel a little guilty now. Words are ringing in my head 'Oh Baby Oh you know being number 4 she kind of brings herself up'. I believed in a kind of automatic automatic parenting pilot system. Now it is backfiring big time. Now, a few days short of turning 16 she is putting us in a situation we seem incapable to handle.

We did what we thought would work. We took her phone from her. Surely she'd whatever was required asap in order to get her phone back. Except she did not.

'I'm not hoovering. I hate hovering.'

'I'm not doing this. This is my brother's job.'

'I don't want to help with the painting. It's boring.'

She is standing there in between the stepladders and the pots of paint, her arms crossed over her chest and the stamping of her feet muffled by the cardboard sheets covering the floor. 

'Fine. Then no phone for you young lady.'

More storming out of the room and stomping up the stairs. One day these ancient wooden stairs are going to give in.

I look at my husband.

'She is incredibly stubborn.'

'We have to get on top of things again. Fourth time. But last time. It's not good thinking that we've done it with the others and it's rubbed off on her.'

It clearly hasn't. I should have seen it coming. As a mother I am aware of Baby's very particular pattern. Long periods of calm. Undisturbed waters under cloudless skies. Then out of the blue gale force winds, dark threatening clouds and waves towering over us. Of her as an adorable baby, sleeping when put to bed, smiling when sat in her chair, eating when at table ... But after she'd been crawling around on all fours for a while, almost bang on her first birthday she decided to stand. It took much effort and patience and determination but she did it. And once she'd reached that stage she would just practice standing. As if waiting to be certain that once she'd start walking there would be no falling over and going back to crawling. 

I remember picking her up at the creche.  

'She just stands in the middle of the room. But she won't take a step.'

What could I say? What could I do?

She did it at home too. She'd get up, stand on her own two feet, look for her balance like some kind of surfer or skateboarder and then once she got the perfect balance she'd stand there. For ages. The whole family trying to get her to place one foot in front of the other. 'You can do it! Go on!' Tempting her with toys and treats and food and whatever we could think of. Nothing did it. Nothing. In the end one of us parents had to give in and lift her up. And then one day when no-one was looking she started walking all over the place, running around and climbing everywhere, disappearing all the time, up the stairs, inside cupboards, you name it. It was driving us all mad. 

Today, as her 16th birthday was coming up, I was reminded of these changes in her. She'd been really easy the past couple of years. We thought that's it, sorted. How wrong we'd been. How wrong.

I went up to the first landing. I tried to be nice.

'Are you sleeping?'

'No.'

'Are you reading?'

'Yes.'

'What book?'

She gave me a random title.

'What page?'

She gave me a random page. And then chucked the book down the stairs. And then I went mad and then I banned the phone some more.

'I don't care. That's not educating me. That's buying me. That's not good parenting.'

We were back to square one. I went downstairs wondering if she was actually reading my parenting guide and giving me lessons from it. how embarrassing!

My husband shook his head. Mumbled something about how unmanageable she was. Then we shouted at her to come and empty the dishwasher (I was running out of ideas) and then we went out to walk the dog.

When we came back the dishes were in the cupboard. The weekend long battle had been exhausting. We gave in and gave her the phone. 

'Just try and remember I'm turning sixteen. Not six.' She said as she headed up the stairs again.

Just as her father was about to give her a piece of his mind on that one she disappeared round the corner of the stairwell and her footsteps echoed all the way up the safety of the top floor.