At the end of the first day, after I tucked this darling little boy into bed, I thought-wow, he's just a super-sweet boy!! Why do other respite workers have such a hard time with him??? And I assumed that he's just different with me because we have a connection and I have a good style that fits his needs. Clearly, some adults fit better with some children, simple as that.
And then Sunday morning happened.
Sunday morning involved hearing that sweet little boy repeatedly scream: Knock it off, bitch.
Sunday morning involved throwing toys.
Sunday morning involved kicking and hitting.
Sunday morning involved tears, lots of tears (his, not mine).
Sunday morning involved spitting.
Sunday morning involved restraining an angry, furious little boy, struggling to hold his arms and legs at his sides while not losing my temper in the process.
Sunday morning involved a NIGHTMARE - for both of us.
I don't know what set him off. It was nothing I did - I had simply asked him to come swallow his medication, something I have asked about six other times in our short time together over the two weekends. Something just didn't connect in his little brain and he lost it. Totally and completely lost it.