As Leah and I dropped Dylan off at nursery for the first time, a mix of relief and anxiety washed over me. His recent behavior had been challenging, and we hoped that nursery would provide a much-needed break for all of us. Seeing him settle in without any issues eased our worries, at least temporarily.
Returning home, Leah and I finally had some time together, just the two of us. We cuddled up on the sofa, enjoying the rare moment of peace and quiet. However, our tranquility was abruptly interrupted by Leah's phone ringing.
My heart sank as Leah answered the call from the nursery. The news that Dylan had been in an accident sent waves of panic through me. Trying to remain calm, I reassured Leah as best as I could before we rushed to pick him up.
Arriving at the nursery, we were relieved to see Dylan seemingly unharmed. However, the tension in the air was palpable as we listened to the nursery carer explain the situation. Dylan had punched another child in the face and spat at them.
My initial shock quickly turned to dismay and concern. Turning to Dylan, who was inexplicably laughing, I struggled to comprehend his behavior. Seeing the other child, tears streaming down their face, only intensified my distress.
Leah and I exchanged worried glances, silently grappling with the situation and unsure of how to proceed. It was clear that we needed to address Dylan's behavior immediately, but the path forward felt uncertain and daunting.
As we walked back to the car, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on Leah and me. Dylan, still in his mischievous mood, didn't seem to grasp the seriousness of what had happened. Once we were all buckled in, Leah turned around in her seat to face Dylan.
"Dylan, why did you punch that boy?" Leah asked gently, trying to maintain a calm tone despite the tension in the air.
Dylan shrugged, looking out the window. "He took my toy," he mumbled.
I took a deep breath, trying to suppress my frustration. "That's not a good reason to hurt someone, Dylan," I said firmly. "You should have told the teacher, not used your fists."
Dylan crossed his arms and pouted. "He was mean to me first," he retorted.
Leah sighed, exchanging a glance with me. "Even if someone is mean to you, it doesn't mean you can be mean back. We've talked about this before, Dylan. You need to use your words and tell an adult if someone is bothering you."
"But he didn't listen!" Dylan protested, his voice rising in frustration.
"We understand you're upset," I said, trying to remain patient. "But hitting and spitting are not okay. You hurt that boy, and that's not how we solve problems."
Dylan remained silent, sulking in his seat. The rest of the drive home was quiet, the tension palpable. Leah and I were both lost in our thoughts, worried about how to address Dylan's behavior in a way that would actually resonate with him.
When we arrived home, we sat Dylan down on the couch. Leah knelt in front of him, taking his small hands in hers.
"Dylan, we love you very much," Leah said softly. "But we need you to understand that hurting other people is never okay. It makes them feel bad, and it's not how we want you to act."
Tears welled up in Dylan's eyes, and he sniffled. "I'm sorry, Mommy," he said, his voice small and remorseful.
I sat down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "We know you can do better, Dylan. We're going to work on this together, okay?"
He nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Okay, Mommy. I'll try."
Leah kissed his forehead, and I hugged him tightly. It was a small step, but it felt like progress. We knew it wouldn't be easy, but we were determined to help Dylan learn how to handle his emotions in a healthier way. For now, we were just relieved to have a moment of understanding, hoping it would be the start of a better path for all of us.
