We had come so far.

I look around the lounge room at the brightly coloured posters on the wall advertising a world of knowledge and education, Shapes, Colours and various species of Dinosaurs threatening to transform the average toddler into a child prodigy.
I take these posters in for a minute, noticing the tattered corners where thumbtacks had ripped through and sigh when I think that they are only a week old and they have already been stripped off the bright green wall of their owner’s bedroom with total disrespect, or is it just that absolute inability to restrain oneself?

When I was young I had a dream of how my life would be, how my children would be. We all had a dream of our ‘perfect children’. Mine, was the intelligent child, I would start my family at age 27, The children would learn to read by age 4, call all dogs by their breed name “What a nice Border Collie you have their sir.” We would live in a nice house, decorated with a country feel and drive a nice car. They would be attentive, attractive and fun. They would ask questions about nature and enjoy lying on the grass and looking up at the clouds wondering about world. There room would be painted bright colours and educational posters would hang on the wall, model aeroplanes from the ceiling and we would read 5 books a night.
I pictured myself laughing with them and taking them out on excursions to museums and nature walks through the great Australian Bush, teaching them all I could about the world around them. they would then sail through school, travel the world, get well paying jobs, marry well, buy a house and raise a family.
It started off a little differently, at 17 I found myself in a long term relationship and pregnant. Liam was born and I was confronted with the reality check “oh my god I have to look after this, it’s a real baby, I cant kill it, its not like a goldfish, I cant just replace it.” Liam grew and did everything as he should. When he was 6 months old I found myself pregnant again, oops.. that had happened a little quicker than planned. The pregnancy passed with little fuss, the baby never moved much, the labour was quick and pretty painless. I found myself with a surge of emotions, holding this new baby in my arms. He was tiny and fragile and silent and I felt an overwhelming urge to protect him no matter what, I hadn’t had that urge the first time. Jaiden seemed different to Liam, something wasn’t quite right.
I think about my dream life now and find it strange that what I wanted so badly is often far from my reality. Every now and then I still try to incorporate a little bit of this dream into real life.
When we bought our cosy 3 bedroom home, I felt that dream come back to me a little. The real estate agent parked in the driveway with his shiny BMW and welcomed us through the front door, we were greeted by the fragerence of scented candles and beautiful country style décor complete with pretty wall borders we knew we were home.
We sealed the deal that very night and moved in just 6 weeks later.
Within a very short time Jaidens development, or rather lack of, was becoming steadily more concerning and we noticed a new, unwittingly destructive nature. He would constantly pick at himself, mosquito bites would never heal, toe nails and finger nails would be ripped at and my fancy country borders were ripped to shreds. The brightly coloured posters and wall stickers in the nursery were peeled off and ruined. Curtains and blinds were detatched from their fittings, books torn.
Nothing was sacred. My beautiful house went from exciting new home to the depressing picture of an earthquakes epicentre. My 2 yr old child couldn’t speak or even wave goodbye, he almost never cried, all he seemed to know how to do was walk, spin stuff, mouth stuff, rip stuff and then all the while hypnotize you with his enchanting blue eyes and wide smile. He never seemed to sleep at night.

Now it seems that destructive side has finally settled down, we can keep the books down from the top of cupboards without the fear of their total annihilation, but the newly painted walls and missing curtains provide a very blank canvas.
I decided it was time to reach into my old dream again.
The new posters shon brightly from their place on the bedroom wall and the look of complete joy on 3 cheeky little faces gave me a sense of satisfaction and fulfilment.

Then a minor routine change, that was all it took for the posters to be torn down, a book ripped to shreds, several meltdowns and a then, this afternoon, a complete hands over ears, screaming flip out because the microwave beeped. We had come so far.

I have carefully remove the embedded thumbtacks from the bedroom carpet and pushed them back into the brightly coloured educational posters now finding their home in the lounge room where this last little shred of my far away dream can be closely guarded, until I am forced to give it away forever and succumb to the real world I must learn to live in.