Screamer, No Screaming

Tory’s latest trick is screaming; terrible, anguished, therapy-requiring screaming complete with wild limb flailing. He’s throwing tantrums on at a level surpassing children twice his age. A variety of unpleasantries can spark these tantrums, such as closing the dishwasher as he’s about to remove a knife, closing the refrigerator as he’s about to chew on the ketchup bottle, and closing the bathroom door as he’s about to suck a soap bottle dry.

By far, the event that traumatizes him most is me setting him down. When I enter their room in the morning, I see two happy little men chatting away in their cribs, and usually a sleepy little girl wishing her brothers would knock it off. I walk to Ian’s crib first, hoist him in the air, and ease him onto the ground, giving his legs time to engage and support his weight. He quickly toddles into the kitchen and climbs into his high chair to hasten breakfast, or possibly just to search for Tasteeos lodged in the cushion from the last meal.

I then walk to Tory’s crib and hoist him in the air, watching the joy on his face as daddy rescues him. As soon as I begin to ease him onto the ground, though, his body tenses and a whine grows from deep inside his body. Like a car having transmission problems, I know something is wrong but I keep plowing ahead in hopes that the gears magically realign. Also like a car having transmission problems, things never work themselves out and we always quit moving right in the middle of a high-traffic area.

As soon as his feet touch the floor, his body goes limp and the whine becomes a fully accredited scream. If I let him go at this point, he will crumple to the floor in an abandoned pile of fury. I usually continue lowering him to the floor in hopes that he’ll be smart enough to catch himself before his nose meets the carpet, and he usually disappoints me. I might stand over him for a minute hoping this will be the time he realizes that he’ll be rewarded for following his brother into the kitchen, or I might give Abbie a break and pick him back up. Either way, I always wind up carrying him into the kitchen, only to repeat the screaming when I lower him into the high chair.

He’ll scream at other times when I set him down, this first in the morning scene is just burned in my head since it’s the day’s first exposure to him. Releasing him from his high chair is a big screaming occasion, as he has to simultaneously deal with being set down and being unable to eat anymore. Laying him on the changing table also tends to trigger a tantrum as he copes with the indignity of a diaper change. I used to think that Ian’s determination to roll over made diaper changes difficult, but that’s nothing compared to Tory’s furious flailings and rigid screamings. Setting him down in his crib also makes him scream, which has me searching for a way to set him down to sleep without breaking contact with him.

I deal with his screaming by trying to distract him. Maybe I’ll play with a toy or shove a couple Tasteeos in his mouth. The important thing is he learns to medicate his pain with material objects or food. Sometimes I ignore him until he calms down since I have two other children demanding my time, although they’re less furious about it. Occasionally I’ll pick him back up and do chores one handed for a while, though I try to avoid that since I have to trigger the tantrum by setting him back down eventually.

Abbie went through a similar stage when she was young. I believe hers lasted from birth until about 18-months, during which time I grew adept at doing chores with one hand. Her screaming lessened as her mobility increased, and she discovered that climbing on furniture was much more exciting than being confined in daddy’s arms. Maybe Tory will also calm down as soon as he can easily travel to more exciting activities, though hopefully those activities are safer than eating soap and playing with knives.