She doesn’t even lift her head from the screen as she squeals at me in frustration. “No, no, no” she shouts as she slams the laptop closed, throwing it on the bed, right next to my head where I’ve just woken. I hear her footsteps as she stomps her way down the hallway, her bedroom door slams seconds later.
I start to yell after her, but realise that it’s pointless. She will have her headphones on, blocking out the world and is already likely under the doona before I’ve even put a foot on the floor.
It’s not even 7:30am. The morning has set the the precedent for the rest of the day. It’s shouty and unreasonable. She’s either furious, or ignoring us, and I don’t know which I’d prefer. Few quiet moments of calm and only a handful of smiles break up the day.
She retreats into her room, her iPad keeping her company as she snuggles into her bed. It’s approaching 40 degrees outside, but she doesn’t seem to feel the heat in quite the same way, and is wrapped up in a snuggle blanket and wearing earmuffs.
Hours pass and she only comes out for food. Cheese slices disappear like we’ve got a giant mouse somewhere in the house. I can bet that as I go into her room there will be piles and piles of those little plastic wrappers they come in hidden amongst the bed covers.
The day comes to a close and we’ve barely seen her. She’s tired, that much is clear. It’s been a big few weeks, I’m working long hours and we’ve made some changes around the house, which has seen her starting aftercare at school one afternoon a week. A small change, but nothing in this house is really small. It all has unseen consequences.
Bedtime is marred by screams over the laptop; she wants to play Minecraft. The irony is, that’s what started the shouting at the beginning of the day. We hold her as she cries about the unfairness of it all, then kiss her forehead as she returns to the comfort of her room.
The bounce seems to be well on it’s way. Bitch of a thing.