The Exciting Conclusion to "I'm feeling annoyance and frustration, but also tolerance." "I feel validated by that."
After collecting enough boys’ clothes to keep Abbie’s future brother adorned in dinosaurs for his first year, we drove home. At least I drove; she rode in the backseat, expressing her displeasure at being gone for so long. Abbie has about a two-hour limit on excursions before whining her frustrations about being restrained every time we pop in and out of the car. This time limit was fine when she only lasted three hours between naps, allowing me to rummage during her first wake period, purchase Vital Supplies during her second wake period, and return home with plenty of time to make dinner and order a pizza to replace the food I burned. Now that she theoretically only takes one nap per day, I need to cram more into each excursion if I’m going to return home with enough time to ruin dinner. The result is Abbie misses her toys, hates her restraints, and whines more than a Cub fan who, for some reason, thought that this season really would be different.
We returned home, I administered the cure for whining, a tray full of Tasteeos, and prepared Abbie for her nap. I hoped that she would take a long peaceful nap and awaken with no memory of the morning’s traumatic three-hour excursion. I had no luck on the first count when she, in a stunning display of clock watching, napped for a shade over two hours, the bare minimum I allow without subjecting her to a second nap later in the day. I soon realized I had no luck on the second count either when she started whining profusely soon after waking. I tried entertaining her with books, which used to keep her satiated for hours. Sometimes she still will sit calmly while I repeatedly read the same so many times the opposite pairs run into each other and I start proclaiming that “hot” is the opposite of “in.” On this day, no book, no matter how many flaps it had to lift or how weak the binding was to pull apart, could keep her happy; she just kept squirming and wandering and whining, like she knew what she wanted but couldn’t find it.
I tried taking her in the backyard where she used to wander endlessly through the grass. Now she’s learned that outside means rocks, which are a lot of fun to throw on the porch as they make cool rock sounds. Unfortunately we have a two-inch gap between the step and porch, a gap just large enough for thrown rocks to fall into, but small enough to keep little hands out of. Inevitably, she would pick a favorite rock from the 1,576,842,132 rocks surrounding our porch, throw it towards the porch, watch it fall into the gap, and degenerate into a wailing banshee when she was unable to recover her rock because she wanted that rock back, not one of the other 1,576,842,131 remaining rocks.
We somehow made it to supper; I may be suppressing memories of the rest of the afternoon. The meal went well, and I hoped that it would calm my little screecher at least long enough for me to clean the dishes. Abbie toddled off to her room, remembered that she hated all of her books that day, and returned to the kitchen to play in the cabinets. Normally I don’t care if she plays in the cabinets pulling out plastic containers while I load the dishwasher because returning a few containers to their place is a lot easier than fighting with her to return the same dirty dish to its place in the dishwasher several times. On this day, though, she wasn’t just content to throw containers, she wanted to climb into the cabinet, a task she lacked the dexterity to accomplish. She howled in frustration until I wished she would start pulling out dirty dishes instead.
With help from her crib, I managed to load the dishwasher. We spent the rest of the night in the park where there are no rocks to lose in crevices, only woodchips to insert in the mouth. She was content ambling about the park for the rest of the night, leading me to wonder if that’s what she wanted all along. Life would be much easier if she would just say what she wanted, and understood when she couldn’t have it. Ellie says she’s too young to enter her terrible twos, but some days I wonder how much more terrible she can act. I laid her down to sleep, and hoped tomorrow would be better.* I relaxed for the rest of the night while she slept, content that I had survived another day and glad I could finally rest. Then Abbie woke up screaming at 10:30, completing the cycle started earlier in the day and reminding me that I’m never not a parent.
* It was better, especially the part where we went to a wedding and left her at home with a babysitter.
We returned home, I administered the cure for whining, a tray full of Tasteeos, and prepared Abbie for her nap. I hoped that she would take a long peaceful nap and awaken with no memory of the morning’s traumatic three-hour excursion. I had no luck on the first count when she, in a stunning display of clock watching, napped for a shade over two hours, the bare minimum I allow without subjecting her to a second nap later in the day. I soon realized I had no luck on the second count either when she started whining profusely soon after waking. I tried entertaining her with books, which used to keep her satiated for hours. Sometimes she still will sit calmly while I repeatedly read the same so many times the opposite pairs run into each other and I start proclaiming that “hot” is the opposite of “in.” On this day, no book, no matter how many flaps it had to lift or how weak the binding was to pull apart, could keep her happy; she just kept squirming and wandering and whining, like she knew what she wanted but couldn’t find it.
I tried taking her in the backyard where she used to wander endlessly through the grass. Now she’s learned that outside means rocks, which are a lot of fun to throw on the porch as they make cool rock sounds. Unfortunately we have a two-inch gap between the step and porch, a gap just large enough for thrown rocks to fall into, but small enough to keep little hands out of. Inevitably, she would pick a favorite rock from the 1,576,842,132 rocks surrounding our porch, throw it towards the porch, watch it fall into the gap, and degenerate into a wailing banshee when she was unable to recover her rock because she wanted that rock back, not one of the other 1,576,842,131 remaining rocks.
We somehow made it to supper; I may be suppressing memories of the rest of the afternoon. The meal went well, and I hoped that it would calm my little screecher at least long enough for me to clean the dishes. Abbie toddled off to her room, remembered that she hated all of her books that day, and returned to the kitchen to play in the cabinets. Normally I don’t care if she plays in the cabinets pulling out plastic containers while I load the dishwasher because returning a few containers to their place is a lot easier than fighting with her to return the same dirty dish to its place in the dishwasher several times. On this day, though, she wasn’t just content to throw containers, she wanted to climb into the cabinet, a task she lacked the dexterity to accomplish. She howled in frustration until I wished she would start pulling out dirty dishes instead.
With help from her crib, I managed to load the dishwasher. We spent the rest of the night in the park where there are no rocks to lose in crevices, only woodchips to insert in the mouth. She was content ambling about the park for the rest of the night, leading me to wonder if that’s what she wanted all along. Life would be much easier if she would just say what she wanted, and understood when she couldn’t have it. Ellie says she’s too young to enter her terrible twos, but some days I wonder how much more terrible she can act. I laid her down to sleep, and hoped tomorrow would be better.* I relaxed for the rest of the night while she slept, content that I had survived another day and glad I could finally rest. Then Abbie woke up screaming at 10:30, completing the cycle started earlier in the day and reminding me that I’m never not a parent.
* It was better, especially the part where we went to a wedding and left her at home with a babysitter.
posted by Matt at
9:19 PM
2 Comments:
If memory serves your bday is in August. I would swear, with 35% accuracy, that it was today?
By
Anonymous, at 8:18 PM
Very good memory. I think I'll write about my birthday experience tomorrow. Unless I don't.
By
Matt, at 9:53 PM
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