He didn't want to be held. Didn't want to walk on his own. Didn't want to play or sleep or sit. He wasn't hungry. Or thirsty.
He just wanted to whine and throw temper tantrums.
The kind where he throws himself on the floor and when I try to pick him up, he goes completely limp. And we all know it's impossible to pick up wet spaghetti.
When I finally do get him up, he goes from limp to stiff as a board, straightening out, arched back, pointed feet and all, to make it impossible for me to hold him close and contain him.
When this happens in our house, fine. I try to ignore temper tantrums. Not so easy to ignore when this happens as we are walking through a parking lot and I need to get him out of the street because there is a car waiting to park and Bjorn has collapsed on the ground, screaming and limp limbed.
Oh what a fun day.
After a desperate text to my fellow Terror of an Almost Two Mom (OMG this kid is driving me bonkers) I took a 10 minute breather. I kept an eye on Bjorn, to watch for safety and health hazards he could create, but I made myself deaf and immune to whining and prodding.
After my much needed Mommy break it was now 4:30 and while we usually don't eat until 6:30 or later, I needed a break this evening too, so if we ate now. . . . well, I could probably convince Bjorn about 7 that it was bed time. Conniving Mommy, yes. Smart Mommy desperately in need of some quiet, very.
I made his favorite dinner. Spaghetti, meatballs, carrots, peas and lots and lots of sauce. Usually I scrimp on the sauce because I don't like the humongous mess to clean up. Today, that mess would lead to a nice, long, warm bath. All part of the plan, my pretty.
|That ain't no Baby Ruth in the water, people.|