Mommy meltdown
It's hard to get mad at G-man when I have tantrums myself. After all, he has no excuse (or so the books lead me to believe) but I, an adult, should have it under control. Ah, easier said than done. Especially when we decide to wig out together.
Take this morning. For the most part, it was a typical morning. Early fun, breakfast refusal - but I'm kind of over that - walking the dog, some play time and off to Gymboree. No real stress issues. The dog had his usual pokey little puppy act going on where I felt like we would never get home, but needed no more prodding than, "Come ON, Tino."
I'll admit that the kid probably takes some of his cues from me. During Gymboree, I could tell he was getting a little tired so I may have started to be a bit on edge as I watched his behavior and the clock, while pondering what quick thing I could feed him when we walked into the house to get his tummy full for dreamland. Still, I had purposely driven to class instead of walking so he would get home faster.
Aye, there's the rub.
We emerged from class to find...a semi making a delivery parked behind my car. To who? Don't know. For how long? Anyone's guess. So here we are, tired, hungry and oh yes, it's hot out, with a few blocks to go and no way to get out.
He was fascinated with the truck for a while and I was getting antsy. We sat in the back seat with the hatch open so he could see and the air conditioner on. I didn't have a good snack with me. I didn't want to give him a drink because he would fill up on water. His eyes were getting red from being tired. And I was more than a little annoyed now.
Finally, we get to move and motor on home. Walking in the door, he sees Tino so I think he's happy and I can put him down. Wrong. He goes into tantrum mode. Whatever, he can do that while I make lunch. At least I know where he is.
While waiting for the microwave to do my bidding, I check the messages. Great, one from the eye doctor's office saying they won't fill the order I want from 1-800-Contacts. It's not a brand I've used before and they aren't comfortable doing it. In reality, they are probably not comfortable with the fact that I a.) skipped my exam because I can't afford it, and b.) I usually get the stuff from them, not someone else. I am not in a good mood. And someone is still screaming.
Lunch is on the table! Let's go, let's eat! Let's...continue our tantrum in the high chair. Awesome. Food starts flying. The dog and one cat are loving it. I am not. After a little sip of water, he tries some bites. Oh yeah, this is good stuff. He tries some more. He asks for the plate. I bring it to him and realize he's about to grab it and dump it. So, no, I take it away. That seems to be the final straw for him.
Full on meltdown.
And guess what? I'm not far behind.
I see the pile of stuff from this morning that still needs to be cleaned. I haven't eaten lunch yet. I discovered the microwave is a mess after a blow-up in there yesterday that didn't get taken care of yet. The dishwasher never ran last night. There are calls to make. Emails to respond to. Work to do. A sick cat. I have a raging allergy headache.
I scoop the G-man out of his chair without even washing him off (which I will regret later) and pop him in his crib. There may have been some cross words, too. Ok, there were definitely some cross words. And, um, maybe a little yelling outburst.
Back to the kitchen to do some clean up and get at least a few things under control, including myself. G-man is still telling the world what a horrible mom I am, but there's a thunderstorm going on so no one will hear him anyway.
After a few minutes, I go back in to see him. I'm happy to try lunch again if he is. Turns out, he's just really tired. I pick him up (seeing that the food that was on him is now squished into the crib sheet - more laundry - joy.), give him a pacifier, and gently rock him to sleep. Poor li'l guy.
I've saved his lunch in the fridge and straightened up the house now. Feeling a little better, I'm ready to face the afternoon if he's willing to do it with me.
