Sunday, July 31, 2005
And this would be the flip-side of previously-posted Happy Sweet Puppy-Hugging Girl. Please, one and all, allow me to introduce you to Tantrum Child.
Tantrum Child shows up at unpredictable times--but she expresses herself in a predictable way: By stridently proclaiming, at the top of her lungs, how she will "NEVER", or sometimes "NEVER ANYMORE" do whatever it is that you are desperately wishing she would currently, please, for the love of flowers, puppies, Grandmommy and popsicles, please please do, stop doing, eat, or submit to.
Here is a recent series, all from the same day--I'll even spare you the first HALF of the day, which was much the same, and start with late afternoon, when I've picked her up from her short stint at the daycare a few doors down from the office (where Daddy and Grandmommy H. also are), and we're getting ready to go home.
"NO, I NEVER! I NEVER! I NEVER GO HOME ANYMORE!" We make it out the office door, and then,
"I NEVER GO IN THE ICE (ed.--white) TRUCK. I HAVE TO GO IN THE RED TRUCK!" Ten minutes later, she's finally in the white truck.
"I HAFFA GET OUT! I HAFFA GET OUT! I NEVER GO HOME AGAIN!" We make it home, She Who Will Not Be Quieted screaming, crying, and struggling against the 5-point restraint of her carseat (sometimes even managing to get an arm or two out through sheer force of will) all the way. We pull up in the driveway, I go around to her door, and open it. She is now desperately clutching her seatbelt straps for dear life, looking as if I am planning to pull her out of the vehicle and toss her directly into our conveniently-placed drivewayside alligator pit (note--alligator pit does not actually exist). Again screaming.
"I CAN'T GET OUT! I NEVER! I NEVER! I NEVER! I WANNA GO BACK! NOOOOO, MOMMEEEEE!" I pry her, with much difficulty, out of the car, whereupon she wrenches herself out of my arms and runs back to the car door, clutching the handle and still yelling. Now into the house. Luckily, she's still only 30 pounds or so, even if it is like 30 pounds of greased, rabid badger with 14 elbows. Once inside the house, we have several more NEVER NEVER spells, involving staying inside, getting undressed, me changing clothes (both the removing of my work clothes and the putting on of my comfy clothes gets its own tantrum. As does my taking off my shoes.) And letting the dogs out. And letting the dogs back in. She spends a while roaming around the house crying and forlornly clutching my shoes, purse, and her diaper bag.
Next we have an epic struggle to get her into the bathtub, starting with getting the Pull-Up off (this tantrum will be played out in reverse after the bath, when it's time to put a Pull-Up back on). Bathtime cheers her up considerably, as it always does. Until....that's right. It's gotta end sometime. No matter how sorely you are tempted, you simply cannot in good conscience leave a wet toddler in an empty bathtub overnight.
What is pictured above is the epicenter, if you will, of an "I NEVER! I NEVERNEVERNEVER GET OUT OF THE BAPTUB ANYMO-ERRR!" tantrum. She must have stayed in there a good half hour after the water was gone. I finally bribed her out with a popsicle, I think...it's all a little blurry. I do remember her listing a litany (Daddy, Grandmommy, Andrea, Grayson, Chip, Grandmommy--she has two) of people who she would NEVER see again anymore ever.
I also remember that she was remarkably cheerful and sweet the rest of that evening. She seems to have an innate sense of preservation that lets her know just exactly how far she can push her Mommy and Daddy before we go screaming into the night.
And God, if you're listening (and I know you are), I gotta tell you...I love her more than the entire world, more than my own life, and wouldn't trade a second of any of it for all the years of pre-Bella existence.