CONTEXT

Sometimes we all need a bit of it. A break of routine, a shift of focus, a sudden appearance, to give us some perspective.

Two nights ago I sat up with Little Mango 3 at eleven thirty in the PM, trying in vain to get him to go back to sleep, but sort of having the feeling like he would never again. There's something about the night, past around eleven, which stops my brain from being able to think correctly, or respond compassionately. Little mango 3 is going through a dangerous period at the moment where he wakes several times a night, and we haven't yet dedicated ourselves to the task of stopping it. At the moment we're all just trying to get some sleep, to persevere, to continue surviving, which I suppose will really only pose us greater problems in the long run.  Until we do decide, every night holds the unexpected – it could be a complete sleep-through, or an hour-by-hour job. Which means any day next could be one full of excited, happy, well-slept kids and adults, or it could be like the walking dead tending for rabid and wild animals. Learning to deal with this, to get used to it and continue to live a vibrant and successful life amongst it; and to be compassionate and clear-headed enough to see the right way, is a tough ask. So, in a house where everyone is doing their best to keep going, and sleep is life, I was a little grumpy. Having gone through nights like this before with all the Mangos (although not as many as my wife has, I'll admit that), I knew it was irrational to be slightly annoyed at my son for being awake (or perhaps the circumstances of his waking, although I won't go into that, but it really irritated me) and tried to drown out my mood by the smooth sounds of Nick Cave coming from YouTube, Little Mango 3 resting upon my chest.

I know it's an irrational mood because I know what is actually happening to cause the feelings I'm having. It's called the Flight or Fight response, and it's something passed down in our biology that has long helped us survive - and I will refer to it as monkey brains. Because, basically what it means is that in times of emotional stress, anger, or a heightened state of nervousness, our body does something it thinks is very important, and possibly while being chased by a lion it may have been. Your body essentially diverts most of the blood flow to your arms and legs, preparing them to run, or to fight. What this means is that the blood is being diverted away from your brain and your ability to make rational decisions is somewhat impaired. It's like when you're having an argument with a six-year-old, and they're making you so infuriated you can't actually see how to put an end to it. You resort to just yelling at them and saying useless and pointless statements, because this is a response you can handle. It's generally why we smack our kids, and why we spend ten minutes calming down from an argument with them. This is unfortunately a very natural response, thank evolution for that, and it's one you have to recognise and remedy. I do this by listening to Nick Cave.

See, when you've calmed down, your body returns to normal and your brain starts working again, you can see the sensible way to go and allow compassion back in. It's why monks are so compassionate   - cause they spend most of their days in an almost catatonic state of relaxation. The trick for parents, though, is to be able to maintain a level of composure at all times of the day and in all situations, so you can rely on your brain to make the right decisions. My wife can do it wonderfully – she never seems to lose her cool, she always seems to be on top of the situation. I guess what gets to me, as it probably does a lot of people, is in situations like I found myself with Little Mango 3, where he didn't want to sleep but would much rather be eating Weet-Bix and trundling the floors of the house with the loudest possible toy he could find at midnight in a silent and full house, is that I find myself lost. I don't know how to put him back to sleep, I don't have any idea at all. You'd think after three kids, you would be a Baby Whisperer, and just wave your hand in front of them to put them in the land of nod. Unfortunately not, and I find this infuriating. I cannot handle the fact that I don't know for certain what to do in these situations, because it means whatever I am doing at the moment, and obviously whatever I have done in the past with the other kids, has just been guesswork. There has seemingly been no distinct method at all that has got me through, it's just been a fluke. Now, this is frightening because it leads your tired, monkey-brain to all sorts of conclusions, like that nothing you do might help and they may be awake and alert all night like this. That they may never again sleep, and neither will you, that you'll fail in this whole experiment and all three will grow up to spend their days begging Centrelink for money.... or worse, working there. All because of this one moment, the moment you couldn't get him back to sleep.

So one needs a bit of context. Luckily, context was delivered to me several times this week. It came first from calming myself that night, with the help of Mr Cave, bringing my brain back into play, and coming to the conclusion that, biologically, the boy would go back to sleep eventually. Sure, it was after a feed, some panadol, a bit of strange midnight playtime, some TV and another bottle, but it would inevitably happen. It was not possible, or rather not probable, that he would stay awake for very long. I concentrated on what needed to happen, which was basically just time and patience, and it paid off in the end. The other bit of context I received came a day later; a night out for Little Mango 1 with his godparents and the news of his good, fun, and inquisitive nature coming back to us. It was refreshing to hear what sort of person he was, alone, without our presence, from someone else's eyes. It's always hard to judge for yourself what sort of job you're doing, what type of person that are becoming, and it's always good to get a third opinion. It seems like he's quite normal, quite funny, a bit odd like every individual is, which was a good sign to me. Generally, you'll find that this is true about most kids, that the image you see of your child can be very different to the reality, and that the pursuit for perfection is always but an illusion. Most kids, you'll find, are good at heart. And if, after the third and fourth and fifth opinion, this still isn't true, if the percentages weigh against the positive, then perhaps something is wrong (although encountering a child like this is another great source of context for everyone else).

So wherever you can, find your context. The thing is, when we doubt ourselves as parents, that's when we generally fail. We all know what we need to do, we all have the mental and physical capacity to do it, we were all born with it, it came from eons of gradual perfections added to our biology, which in the end means it's just  a fight between two traits we've gained from evolution, and it's our damn monkey brains that keep getting in the way.