Day 29: The Balancing Act: Two Playdates, Two Very Different Stories

It was an early start for us today because we had guests! A friend of mine from work was visiting with her new baby and her 3-year-old son. We’d agreed on an early time (we’re both up early anyway) but of course I hadn’t cleaned the night before. Cue a quick panic clean before 9am, toys shoved into random boxes, tables wiped down, Summer on garden-setup duty. The house wasn’t exactly sparkling but by 9.30 it was “good enough,” and then there they were, three new people filling up our living room with me brushing my teeth.

River’s excitement at the baby was instant: “BABY!” he shouted, before saying his little script of “hello friend” to everyone else and then drifting back toward his iPad. I gave him a few minutes and then gently nudged him towards the toys. To my surprise, he engaged. We pulled out the farm animals and jungle set and he played alongside his new little friend, content in his own way.

A Glimpse of His Peer Group

Because we’ve chosen to delay his start to Reception, this 3-year-old will soon be his peer group. Watching him today felt like a glimpse of what might be and it was such a relief to see him comfortable at this level. There was one moment of tension over a tiny rubber chicken but he moved on quickly. For about an hour they played around each other, not together exactly, but side by side and for River, that’s a big step. Eventually he drifted back to the TV and that was okay too. It had been a calm, gentle morning. I felt proud of him and reassured.

My friend, being a teacher (of course), and I ended up talking about school and how differently children can present. River could easily ‘pass’ the OK test in a classroom. He can talk, he can follow one instruction, he can look calm. On the surface, he ticks the right boxes. But underneath, things are so much more complicated. It’s those hidden layers, the effort it takes, the tiny cracks that appear when he’s stretched too far. Thats what makes all the difference.

The Second Round

The afternoon was always going to be harder. After lunch we caught the bus to Summer’s best friend’s house (bonus: her mum is a very good friend of mine). More familiar people, a familiar place but also after a morning playdate, it was asking a lot from River. Still, I wanted Summer to have her turn too, and I’d packed the bag with all the essentials.

And really, it went just as expected. Summer was in her element, happy and full of KPop demon hunter excitement. I had a much-needed catch-up with my friend. And River? He rode the rollercoaster. Thirty minutes of screaming, crying, throwing things… then a pocket of calm. A new toy, the discovery of the garden, a brief moment of joy. Then sadness for no obvious reason. The iPad (when it worked), my phone and strawberries kept him steady for a while. The slide helped too, until it didn’t.

We pushed it a little further, deciding to head to the pub opposite, fresh air and a new backdrop. River ran happily through the garden beds (probably not what they were there for but I let it go). Still, he hovered on the edge of meltdown, never more than a second away. Our favourite game: Guess my word or I’ll scream – kept me on my toes.

I knew I was rolling the dice: enjoying a drink, iPad dead, phone at 8% – every parent’s nightmare. But somehow we made it. We drained our glasses quickly, caught the bus home and by 7.30 River was asleep, filthy but peaceful. (Don’t judge – I’ll do a late-night wet-wipe of his feet once I know he’s properly out.)

Two playdates in one day. The first, calm and at home. New friends but a safe space and River showed me so much of what he can do. The second, slightly harder, even though the people and the place were more familiar. Maybe just too much. But Summer had her joy, I had mine and River got through it, in his own way. That’s the balance, isn’t it? Constantly trying to hold everyone’s needs and feelings in both hands, knowing you’ll never quite manage it perfectly, but hoping you’ve done enough for each of them.

And here’s the thing: from the outside, today probably looked “fine.” River played, he coped, he smiled, he managed. If you didn’t know him, you might think he was just another little boy having a busy day. But that’s the danger of looking “fine”, it hides the effort, the strain, the near-misses and constant adjusting it takes to keep him regulated. You don’t always see the screaming half an hour before, or how close he was to falling apart, or the way I had to split myself in two to make sure both children got something of what they needed.

So when people say “he seems fine” – maybe he does. But fine doesn’t mean easy. Fine doesn’t mean effortless. Fine often means we worked really, really hard to get there.

Supportive Friends

But here’s the thing, days like these are only possible because of the supportive people around us. Friends who don’t flinch when River screams, who hand me strawberries / wine when I’m running low, who let Summer run wild while I juggle the chaos. Having people who get it, or at least try to, makes all the difference. With the right support, we can stretch, try more and have a pretty good day!