Worst Tantrum Ever
Yesterday, Ian threw the largest tantrum I have ever had the misfortune to witness. With naptime nearing, I was rushing to finish the naptime routine. The only remaining step was to read a few naptime books. Naptime books are infinitely more interesting than normal books because I announce, “this is the last book we’re book we’re going to read before naptime,” which makes everyone pay extra close attention lest I shut the book prematurely and send everyone to bed early.
Except Ian wasn’t paying attention. He was out in the hallway starting his tantrum. My tantrum strategy is to ignore the child while he screams. Every piece of Expert Advice says if you give in to a tantrum, the next one will be worse. I continued reading, confident that the dulcet tones of “A, B, C” would pique his interest and soothe him into the bedroom. Plus I wasn’t sure what I’d be giving into if I paid him attention, so I figured I’d best play it safe.
Ten minutes later, the scheduled naptime had passed and Ian was still in the hall screaming. I pulled him into the bedroom and continued reading under the assumption that his screams drown out the suspense of which letter follows “S.”
Ten minutes later, he was still screaming. His flailing was the alarming part, though. He was rolling wildly on the floor, slamming his appendages across anything they could contact. I picked him up to comfort him, and set him right back down when he continued flailing. He was thrashing so violently that I couldn’t hold him without gripping him tightly, a move that was likely to infuriate him more. Nothing I tried to do calmed him. His screaming broke every couple of minutes as he stopped cold to catch his breath; otherwise his tantrum was continuous.
I knew he was tired, so I finished the naptime routine, shut the door, and let him scream himself to sleep. Ten minutes of constant tantrum later, I pulled him out of the room to try soothing’s Big Guns. I offered him milk, Goldfish, and even ice cream to calm him, and he refused all of them. I was at least getting a response now, so that was progress, but I was worried something might be seriously wrong. I seriously considered calling 911 for his sake, or at least my sanity’s sake. I knew he needed to sleep, but was too worked up to calm down.
Unsure of what else to do, I carried him into the bathroom for a dose of acetaminophen. When I opened the cabinet, he grabbed for their contents. Pleased that I finally found something to interest him, I let him play with every bottle with a child-resistant cap while we listened to music.
Within a few minutes, he’d stopped screaming and opted to play with the hairbrush instead. I eased him toward his bedroom, and slipped back to the bathroom when the complaints returned. After a few more minutes of calming hair brushing, I eased him back to the bedroom without complaint. I set him down quietly so I didn’t wake Tory, shut the door, and listened to quiet as he finally slipped to sleep.
The total tantrum time was over 45 minutes. Everyone needed a nap after that marathon, especially me.
Except Ian wasn’t paying attention. He was out in the hallway starting his tantrum. My tantrum strategy is to ignore the child while he screams. Every piece of Expert Advice says if you give in to a tantrum, the next one will be worse. I continued reading, confident that the dulcet tones of “A, B, C” would pique his interest and soothe him into the bedroom. Plus I wasn’t sure what I’d be giving into if I paid him attention, so I figured I’d best play it safe.
Ten minutes later, the scheduled naptime had passed and Ian was still in the hall screaming. I pulled him into the bedroom and continued reading under the assumption that his screams drown out the suspense of which letter follows “S.”
Ten minutes later, he was still screaming. His flailing was the alarming part, though. He was rolling wildly on the floor, slamming his appendages across anything they could contact. I picked him up to comfort him, and set him right back down when he continued flailing. He was thrashing so violently that I couldn’t hold him without gripping him tightly, a move that was likely to infuriate him more. Nothing I tried to do calmed him. His screaming broke every couple of minutes as he stopped cold to catch his breath; otherwise his tantrum was continuous.
I knew he was tired, so I finished the naptime routine, shut the door, and let him scream himself to sleep. Ten minutes of constant tantrum later, I pulled him out of the room to try soothing’s Big Guns. I offered him milk, Goldfish, and even ice cream to calm him, and he refused all of them. I was at least getting a response now, so that was progress, but I was worried something might be seriously wrong. I seriously considered calling 911 for his sake, or at least my sanity’s sake. I knew he needed to sleep, but was too worked up to calm down.
Unsure of what else to do, I carried him into the bathroom for a dose of acetaminophen. When I opened the cabinet, he grabbed for their contents. Pleased that I finally found something to interest him, I let him play with every bottle with a child-resistant cap while we listened to music.
Within a few minutes, he’d stopped screaming and opted to play with the hairbrush instead. I eased him toward his bedroom, and slipped back to the bathroom when the complaints returned. After a few more minutes of calming hair brushing, I eased him back to the bedroom without complaint. I set him down quietly so I didn’t wake Tory, shut the door, and listened to quiet as he finally slipped to sleep.
The total tantrum time was over 45 minutes. Everyone needed a nap after that marathon, especially me.
posted by Matt at
10:55 PM
1 Comments:
Rio did the same thing yesterday! She just rolled and screamed. We still have no idea what it was about.
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Anonymous, at 8:28 AM
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