She's crazy. Oh she's still sweet, and fun, and lovable in a million different ways. But crazy. We've entered full blown tantrum mode this past week, which I know is perfectly normal for things her age. But MY WORD. I don't even think SHE knows what she wants but hooboy is she ever willing to hurt herself over it.
When we have "hurts" with the littles they're called "bonks." So if Claire trips and bumps her knee she cries over the "bonk" gets hugged and kissed and we move on. Lately, it seems she's become a little too attached to this process though because there's been a suspicious rise of bonks around the house. Now don't get me wrong, I'm all about luvs and attention whenever I can get it (except at night when I'm tired please don't touch me) but even I realize that there are rules.
Before when Claire went Hiroshima she’d fling her body back full force and bang her head into the ground. Carpet, tile, wood floor, whatever. Now I know that these things aren't the smartest at this age but damn. Time and time again she'd knowingly bash herself about in mad attempt to demonstrate just how deep the rage lied. And then despairingly cry, "BONK!" Right... But you still can't play with the toilet plunger or have the cookies for breakfast. They're mine.
Then she upped the ante. Now when facing dejection she looks me straight in the eye with her tear filled blues and accusingly yells "BONK!" before launching her cranium into the floor. All with the face of "THIS IS GOING TO HURT ME A LOT MORE THAN IT HURTS YOU!" Yes indeedy and WTF?
Now I can't judge her too harshly for this crazy ass behavior because I did much the same thing during my single years in college. In fact head banging might have even been the better solution. But alas. Why?! And how do I make it stop?!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Because love is heroic
After several days of resisting formula Lily worked herself into quite the predicament. And it was painful for her. Twisting and turning, she cried helplessly as her body struggled to rid itself of toxins. We ran out of prune juice last week and running to the store takes time. I stripped her down, placed a diaper and a towel underneath her and gently cycled her legs while tears ran down her face. Then I held her feet up by her head with one hand and massaged her little bottom with the other. Finally I took a baby wipe and cleaned her bottom area hoping that perhaps the stimulation would motivate some movement. It did. After the mess was cleaned I bathed her and put her in some comfies. She laughed and smiled and went back to playing with her toys.
Later Claire and I went to the park while Lily napped at home under Claudia's supervision. It was the first sunny, warm day of the year and both of us were anxious to be out of the house. We arrived at the playground and the ground was a bit damp from the previous night's thundershowers. The slide was dry but for one large puddle that had pooled on the plastic at the bottom. It had been so long since we'd been able to play outside and my toddler was so excited to "side and sween sween". I hadn't brought anything with me besides one of my favorite jackets so we made due. We'll wash it later. We laughed and played for well over an hour.
Our days are filled with the mundane. Sometimes the repetition stifles and feels as though it will never end. The sacrifices we make for those we care for are uncomfortable, frustrating, and constant. With deep breaths and closed eyes we endure moments (days. weeks.) of mind-numbing tedium and irritation. We wipe spaghetti from the walls, sleep when we can, try to rationalize with the unreasonable, stimulate "business", and sometimes cry in the laundry room.
My husband eats lunch with senators and ambassadors on a daily basis. He helps to influence legislation that affects millions of people around the globe. He's an educated man who uses his intelligence to solve problems on a grand scale.
I clean peanut butter out of the VCR and kiss fingers that have been shut in cupboard doors. It's what I do that matters. I make the difference. I am needed and I am loved. It's the love we give that's heroic.
Later Claire and I went to the park while Lily napped at home under Claudia's supervision. It was the first sunny, warm day of the year and both of us were anxious to be out of the house. We arrived at the playground and the ground was a bit damp from the previous night's thundershowers. The slide was dry but for one large puddle that had pooled on the plastic at the bottom. It had been so long since we'd been able to play outside and my toddler was so excited to "side and sween sween". I hadn't brought anything with me besides one of my favorite jackets so we made due. We'll wash it later. We laughed and played for well over an hour.
Our days are filled with the mundane. Sometimes the repetition stifles and feels as though it will never end. The sacrifices we make for those we care for are uncomfortable, frustrating, and constant. With deep breaths and closed eyes we endure moments (days. weeks.) of mind-numbing tedium and irritation. We wipe spaghetti from the walls, sleep when we can, try to rationalize with the unreasonable, stimulate "business", and sometimes cry in the laundry room.
My husband eats lunch with senators and ambassadors on a daily basis. He helps to influence legislation that affects millions of people around the globe. He's an educated man who uses his intelligence to solve problems on a grand scale.
I clean peanut butter out of the VCR and kiss fingers that have been shut in cupboard doors. It's what I do that matters. I make the difference. I am needed and I am loved. It's the love we give that's heroic.
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