Compliant-Mother (excerpt)

I had only managed to fill half a page, my pen moving fast across the paper as I tried to process the weight of the wedding monologue, when the silence was interrupted by a sound that cut through the carriage. It was the unmistakable cry of a distressed child.

I looked up from my notebook and saw a woman boarding the train, holding hands with a toddler. The child was agitated, clearly in distress and, from what I could observe while they found a seat, they were a few rows behind where Talkative-Woman had once sat. I assumed Two-Year-Old was most likely having a meltdown. However, I knew my assumption could be influenced by the wedding story I was just making notes about.

With her child momentarily locked in his own mind, the woman sat in absolute solitude in that train carriage filled with people who thought they knew far better than she did how to handle her child. I could see more than hear, but it was apparent that many of them had offered some sort of verbal advice while she tried to make Two-Year-Old sit quietly. She knew that, given time, if she left him in peace for a little, and if she continued to watch his movements, she would know the right moment to speak, offer him his favourite teddy, and hold him tight to help him finish the transition from meltdown to functioning.

But her face told it all: in that moment, she could not do anything. This was because Wise-Crowd, this odd entity, included too many parents of none, parents of many, parents of adult children, parents of well-behaved toddlers and parents of perfect teenagers. These were parents who knew the formula of good parenting and could clearly see she did not. Embarrassed by the fuss her child was making, Compliant-Mother remained calm and courteous to everyone who offered advice. She politely declined and thanked them, saying ‘maybe next time I’ll try that’, knowing pretty well the advice would not apply to a meltdown.

I hoped she knew that also hidden among the parenting experts, most likely, at least a few knew Compliant-Mother needed no advice or judgement, just time and space. I wished she knew deep inside that she should ignore the stares, the quiet tuts and the whole plethora of negative reactions. The only valid concern was possibly the noise disturbing some passengers who needed to catch up with sleep, work or their favourite book. However, most people simply carried on snoring away, undisturbed by Two-Year-Old’s noises, just like those who could not live outside their spreadsheets screaming data at them. What is a toddler having a meltdown somewhere down the carriage for someone crushing important numbers? They could not care less.

I wished she could see the passengers who were not disturbed by her child’s noise, and sense there were possibly some travellers for whom a distressed child awoke unfulfilled parental instincts or an anguish for no longer having a child to calm down, people who might spare her from judgement while lost in their own emotions. In any case, the wisdom gained from the endless trials and errors in previous attempts to manage the meltdowns had taught her that the continuous shushing or the performative attempts to say what Wise-Crowd would approve of were not part of the effective strategies to bring Two-Year-Old back. Her hesitation was visible when performing these tasks which she believed Wise-Crowd expected from her.

Despite knowing these actions were unhelpful and ineffective, she carried on performing those audible duties, hoping the meltdown would be generous and continue its course to resolution, obeying its own chronology despite her interference. Eventually, Two-Year-Old’s little body gave in and cried itself asleep. It was only after her child was asleep in her arms that this solitude grew deeper and denser within. Wise-Crowd had long given up. I could only see part of her face from where I was sitting, but I knew Mother well enough to recognise her in Compliant-Mother and guess the relief and loneliness of that moment.