The mothers at school were the girls at school I used to avoide. So I still do. I hide in the bushes behind a pair of giant sunglasses, pulling Rijk (5) on my bike as quickly as possible.Of course I don’t get away with it that easy: “Are you Rijks mother? Peter would love a playdate!” No, I want to cry out. Or, yes, I am Rijks mother. But I’m also the mother of two other children. And with your Peter, I’ll have four to look after, one of which is in her anti-everything terrible two’s and another who’s severely disabled.
“They can play at our place,” the mother tries. “Just pick him up at five.”
But how? My nanny has left at that time so Ties will have to come with me. Cycling isn’t possible with him and, with a wheelchair, you don’t just jump in the car like that. How do I explain that it often takes my last drop of energy to load him into the car and, on my hands and feet, click the four safetybelts on the wheels? And putting on a coat on a kid who’s arms move in all directions but the right one, is nothing short of a juggling act.
I don’t care how sweet, quiet and well educated these Peters, Alexanders or Bobbies are, they can’t come play at our house. Well okay: not always. On a good day, I give in. Needless to say the little guest gets the door slammed on his finger, just when Ties is hanging halfway to the ceiling in his hoist and Loes wakes up with a poop diaper. When his mom picks the kid up, I’m so hysterically relieved I nearly throw myself at her.
After school, Rijk watches enviously how his classmates get in their friends SUV or bikes. Me, I’m just as jealous of the mothers. Of how cheerfully they agree upon a pick-up time. Of how they don’t stress over something that would keep me up at night for a week.
But there’s hope. As soon as Loes is ready for nursery school, we’re switching to out-of-school-care. Where they can play with their friends until they drop. 100% fun for them, 0% hassle for me. Unfortunately we still have one year and nine months to go. During which you can find me in the bushes. Behind a pair of giant sunglasses.