Yesterday, my sweet toddler turned into Demon Child.
Nothing made him happy. No, that’s not true. One thing made him happy. One thing quieted the screaming — Mom holding him while standing up.
Mom was not allowed to sit down and hold him. Mom was not allowed to lay down with him or rock him. And Dad was certainly not allowed to be in the picture at all. When Mom was not standing and holding him, Demon Child was yelling or whining or screaming or throwing things.
I would have gladly held him all day long so that the ringing in my ears would cease, but dude is 28 pounds, so I had to alternate between my arms aching and my head aching.
Of course, this demon quality was coupled with a running nose, which usually means one thing — teething.
Days like this are emotional for all involved. You realize very early on that all plans are cancelled. (County fair? Yeah, no.) And your heart breaks for the kid. You know it must be painful, you know it must be scary, you wish you could take it all away. You might even cry when you try – for the third time – to put him down for a nap and he screams so hard that he throws himself into a fit of asthmatic coughing.
But part of you would love nothing more than to get in your car and drive away. To someplace quiet. Where toddlers aren’t yanking on your arms or pushing you to stand up when you’re trying to take a break because they are desperate to be held and held and held. And then, naturally, you feel guilty for daydreaming about your great escape.
Anyway, we had a rough day.
But this morning, Demon Child had magically transformed into this:
Apparently the worst is behind us. (Or did I just jinx myself?)