Does Jude love?

I heard a metaphor this week that I thought was so horrible to the ear that I’d never want to hear it again, let alone use it myself in a public arena such as my blog. I really dislike corporate jargon and certain phrases that are literal in their imagery make me grimace and this is one of them at their worst.  Mind dump.  I think it’s the lack of syllables and the almost downwardly vertical sound the words present; I need prettier language in my proximity!

Anyone ever “mind dumped” their thoughts? Honestly, if I mind-dumped all my thoughts on you, we’d be here a long time and you would need a seriously good lie down recovery.

Anyway, here is my theory on Jude’s extreme behaviours. Now please let me know if you think I am a) losing my marbles b) clearly way off the mark c) potentially onto something or d) need to go and have a lie down or even e) stating the obvious.

So today, if you saw my Instagram feed, you would have witnessed possibly the happiest, freest smile in the world bestowed across Jude’s face. We were at the park and he had found that his favourite “big swing” was available for use. Here is the picture if you missed it:

Here Jude is happy but reverse several hours to this morning and you would see a massively different picture. Jude lay on the floor, screaming, kicking and yelling because he didn’t want to walk into town with myself and the girls. Thankfully, my mum arrived so she walked with the girls and I drove our car with Jude so I could get what I needed and he didn’t have to walk. In this  unstable situation, he was horrendously unhappy. His behaviour was vile, he was basically having an autistic melt down which I know I have told you all about before. All because he wasn’t getting his own way. The picture above shows the wonderful side of Jude. The chatty, friendly, “I love you,” “your hair looks pretty mummy” Jude who comes out on occasion when the moon is in the right position.

So my theory is – I’m not certain Jude can love. Not like we love anyway and certainly not like Elsa and Emmeline love us as parents. He lives very much in the moment, so whoever is doing what he wants at that precise moment is the person he wants to be with and everyone else can literally do one. There is no loyalty or love in the sense that we experience it.

Why does he want to go to his fathers each fortnight? Because he wants his jelly bean machine and he wants to eat the cereal choices that I don’t allow him. It isn’t because he wants to be with his dad, the initiator is the food and the treats he knows aren’t available at home. Well, I’m sure it is a little bit to do with seeing his dad but the driving force of his desire is entirely selfish.  I know this is the case for most children and that moving past that egocentric phase is a challenge however, I think his dynamics are far more extreme than most.

The only reason I would think he can love is because he adores his Granny, she is pretty much number one on his ranking list. Is the reason because she plays relentlessly with him when we visit or is his love for her any deeper than the superficial level of getting the full on one to one attention he needs to function in life? Granny is entirely devoted to Jude and I know he senses that. He knows Granny is an ally who would do anything to make him happy so perhaps this is the reason for his allegiance. Is this love or a sensory need? If Granny suddenly stopped playing so fervently and took a step back would he stop asking for her?

I remember when he was a toddler and I first had this prominent feeling that Jude couldn’t care less who he was with as long as he was being given what he needed or what he wanted at the time. He never cried when I left him at nursery, there was literally no emotional detachment that you typically see or experience with most children. Emmeline for example. She absolutely loves her nursery but you can see that almost palpable connection stretching thinner as I move away from her. When I return, her elation is again almost visual and that connection strengthens as she runs towards me, arms outstretched. Jude used to look up when his nursery carers said “look Jude, mummy’s back” but he could have been gazing up at a stranger for all the emotion that failed to pour.

I don’t want this to sound in any way pitiful, it’s literally an observation and a question (I’m not using that phrase again.)

Can a child like Jude ever really love or does he purely or at least largely want to be with whoever fulfils his needs at that present time?

A x