Survive
August 30th, 2010
You know, thus far, 18 months is a challenging age, to put it mildly. And yes, I know I know, all the “Just Wait!” people are going to come out and be all, wait until she’s two! Wait until she’s three! Wait until she’s a teenager! This is nothing!
Ask Moxie’s in my corner here, is all I’m saying. So is Kakaty.
It’s not that she’s not wonderful — God, the highs are so high, full of moments that simultaneously lift and shatter my heart. She’s developing a sense of humor, and is starting to do things deliberately, for no other reason than to make us laugh. She dances like a little fiend. She raises her arms to the sky and yells a toddlerese version of “TO THE FLY BOAT!” when the Wonder Pets are on. Almost every morning, she’ll walk right up to Adam and have a deep, completely garbled conversation with him about … well, we don’t know about what, because she’s shouting absolute nonsense, and the funniest part is that she’s deadly serious. She cannot be cajoled into breaking into so much as a smile when she’s on what we have begun to lovingly refer to as her Tiny Hitler Rants.
(Adam: “I’m starting to seriously wonder if this is what Hitler was like as a baby. It doesn’t make me feel good when I think about it.”)
The best/worst part is that her arm gestures are entirely mine, and her inflections rise and fall in the same intonation that I use when I’m angrily tearing into something. Reflections of ourselves are sometimes a little scary, especially wrapped in a tiny body that we’ve been referring to as “Fuhrer.”
She’s a snuggler, and when she’s tired, she likes nothing better than lying next to me on the couch, a sippy cup of milk in hand, zoning out to the dulcet sounds of Moose A. Moose. She wakes up with a smile and says, “Hi Mama!” before launching into a discussion about the zebra on the wall.
She’s the cutest little person I’ve ever known, and sometimes I am so stupidly overcome by how lucky I am to have her, because oh, what richness and joy she’s brought to my life, truly.
But. Dear God, this blows. I’m sorry, friends, this sucks horribly, and I don’t know how else to say it. The tantrums! The fits! The foot stomping! The insistence upon doing EVERYTHING herself, but with the complete lack of ability to actually follow through on that desire! Her language comprehension is sometimes startling — I’m amazed at what she understands, and the complex commands I’ve thrown at her, assuming there’s no way she’ll be able to follow through, and yet there she is, picking up the garbage, putting it in the can, giving her daddy a high five and THEN putting Mr. Mouse in the baby carriage.
If only her expressive language was remotely close to that, because let me tell you, the futile pointing is getting VERY OLD. She points! She yells! When we don’t deliver precisely the object she was pointing at, either because we misunderstood or worse, because she can’t have it (I’m looking at you, wine glass), she begins to scream and stamp her feet to such a degree that I’m surprised the walls haven’t melted from sheer sonic force.
She wants to drink out of a big girl cup — no sippies for her, thanks — but when, a) I won’t give her one because it’s glass, or b) she gets one, and promptly spills the contents down her front, you would be wise to run. Run as far away as you can get, because your face is about to be shattered into little bits from the yelling.
She wants to dress herself, but YOU try putting on a hooded sweatshirt when you have the upper body strength and coordination of a person who’s just downed seventeen tequila shots in less than an hour. Failure is invariably followed by screams of frustration and more foot stomping, along with — oh my God — occasionally CLAWING AT HER OWN FACE.
And then there is the sleeping. She’s so tired, and yet … she wants to be awake, because she’s got SHIT TO DO, PEOPLE. Baby carriages to push, and blocks to stack, and sippy cups to reject, and snacks to demand and … oh, we are all so tired.
We went to the Cape this weekend — a lame attempt at our first family vacation — and while it had its moments of wonder and delight, when I tell you this next part, you are going to wonder how such a statement is even possible.
We were promised a room that would be TWO rooms — an actual suite, if you will, and let me tell you, I asked no fewer than nine times if the rooms were separated by a wall and a door, A WALL AND A DOOR, and was repeatedly assured that yes, there was a WALL AND A DOOR.
There was no wall. There was no door. So we made a wall with a bedsheet, thinking that this! This would stop her from seeing us and want to be awake in the night! HA HA! FOOLED YOU, SAM!
She woke up at 2 a.m. FOR THE DAY. TWO DAYS IN A ROW. FOR THE DAY. You think I’m kidding! OH HO HO! I am not! I am not kidding! We drove to Provincetown at 4 a.m., hoping to score some breakfast, only to be horrified and irritated when NO BREAKFAST PLACES WERE OPEN AT SIX AM. We drove around in circles, desperately trying to get her to sleep, only to find that we were too tired ourselves, so we PULLED OVER AT RANDOM REST STOPS AND SLEPT IN THE CAR.
It was a nightmare. It was. A nightmare.
There’s a part in Alexa’s wonderful book where she talks about the things people say to you when you are going through a rough time with your children. And though I never experienced anything remotely on par with what Alexa did, in terms of day to day instability and uncertainty of the life of my child, I did experience a similar sentiment from well-meaning friends and acquaintances when Sam was going through her 10-hour-a-day screamfests. I was constantly regaled with, “I could never do that,” and “Oh, I would simply not do that! I couldn’t!” or “I could never sit there holding her for all that time! I just couldn’t!”
Alexa accurately points out that much of it is tinged with some unpleasantness — the underlying smugness that THEIR child isn’t the one going through this, that THEY somehow drew the longer straw, by fate or design, or that THEY would have figured out a magical solution much sooner than I did. In my more generous moments, I like to think that the real message is that they are afraid that they could never. Afraid that they would shrivel up and die and not survive such adversity.
The thing is: we all can. We all would. We all do. A few years ago, I’d have been saying to someone like me that I could NEVER get up for the day at 2 a.m. — I just simply couldn’t. I could NEVER endure a kid who didn’t sleep and screamed all the time. I could NEVER deal with a kid who, after not sleeping for three consecutive days, I’m afraid may be coming down with roseola like the rest of her little friends (OH DEAR GOD PLEASE NO). I could NEVER deal with a tantruming kid who’s throwing a fit for no other reason than the Play Doh is the wrong color and JESUS, LADY, I WAS POINTING TO THE OTHER PINK ONE. THE OTHER PINK ONE. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?
But I can. And I did. And I will, whatever happens. So will you.
It’s crazy, right? We just DO. And the paradoxical thing is that it is both better and worse than you ever imagined it could be.
*Probably many people, but right now, I’m thinking of Jimmy Buffett
Entry Filed under: All Riled Up,Beeber McSteebs
39 Comments Add your own
1. Sundry | August 30th, 2010 at 10:07 pm
1) 18 months is awful. AWFUL. Yes, wonderful and amazing and la la la AWWWFULLLL.
2) I know what Alexa was saying in her book and totally can see that point of view, but what I always think when I hear that/SAY that “I couldn’t” stuff is that it’s just an awkward sort of small talk, partially fueled by the desire to acknowledge the crap someone’s going through. Like, a way of saying jesus, you’ve got it rough right now and I admire your ability to soldier on without shooting up a convenience store. That’s my maybe-generous take on it, anyway.
2. Jennie | August 30th, 2010 at 10:20 pm
I don’t know if this will make sense, but whenever I’m asked how I got through a particularly rough time: a colicky baby, living with my in-laws, commuting two hours a day/every day, a couple parts of my childhood, I never actually know.
It’s almost worse in hindsight because when I talk about these things aloud and people say, “I could never!” I think “Yeah, I know, it sounds like some impossible shit, doesn’t it? AND I DON’T KNOW HOW I GOT THROUGH IT.” I don’t know where the strength comes from or where the memory of the strength goes.
Life is strange, yo.
(I wish I lived near you for no other reason than to come over, take Sam for an extended afternoon somewhere, and let you take one helluva nap.)
3. Ali | August 30th, 2010 at 10:32 pm
I have followed your blog since before you had your chitlin, and the entire way I have thought to myself, that kid is my kid, in fact I’m pretty sure they are twins separated by birth and time and parents. The colic, so much of it, I’ve been there! We’re all hanging in there. Like you said, the highs are so very high, and the tantrums, oh lord. Sometimes as a mom I feel very determined and I grit my teeth and get through the cranky baby days, and some days I frantically call up my mother in law and beg her to take the devil child for the day. There is no explaining all of it, you do it because you are the mommy, and that is your job.
4. SwingCheese | August 30th, 2010 at 10:33 pm
Oh God, I can’t believe I ever thought this, but: in my pre-child life, I never understood the tantrum in the store. I assumed it was the parents (I know, I know), or…or…SOMETHING else that would never happen to me.
Then today, boyo had a complete meltdown, on the floor, red-faced, screaming, back-arched tantrum in the grocery store. And all I could do was stand there until he stopped, because I had things to pay for (we’d eaten there, among other things, so I couldn’t leave without paying). And then again at the park, he turned into noodle baby in the swing. (This after discovering that the back arch was rather ineffective in a swing.) So yeah. He’s turning 19 mos. tomorrow. The highs are amazing. So are the lows, but in a different sort of way. Parenting = the toughest job you’ll ever love. (FWIW, I agree with Sundry’s take on the comments. At least, that’s how I’d like to think they’re intended.)
5. Mama Bub | August 31st, 2010 at 1:10 am
I’m reading a book that says that the half years – one and a half, two and a half, etc., are periods of unbalance for children. I’m not sure what good that knowledge does for you, but there you have it.
Yes, two and three (and, I imagine, beyond) are hard, but that doesn’t make 18 months less hard. They just trade one hard thing for another. Things only seem less hard in retrospect because we aren’t living in the midst of a “this is how it is going to be forever” moment.
6. Raven | August 31st, 2010 at 6:41 am
Sprog had colic and screamed for 8 hours a day. I thought I was going to crack. I really and truly did. When I took him to the doctor he was passed out cold and I was raving! My pediatrician assured me that he believed me because *I* looked more horrible than he had ever seen me, so he had a good idea what had been going on and that the baby was sleeping now because he had probably finally exhausted himself.
I will forever remember that moment in the pediatrician’s office, Sprog passed out in my lap and the moment of panic that the dr would think I was faking the hell that I had been through for days prior, Sprog is 15 now.
7. Mon | August 31st, 2010 at 7:17 am
I’m not a mom, but have seen my sister in action several times using “toddler-ease” a way of speaking to my 2 year old nephew during this new period of his life called “tantrums”. It works every time! I used it as well on him this past weekend when he started to tantrum a bit (he wanted to go downstairs and we told him no), and it worked coming from me as well! And all I was emulated how I saw my sister speaking “toddler ease” to him! I believe it’s outlined in this book: http://www.amazon.com/Happiest-Toddler-Block-Well-Behaved-Four-Year-Old/dp/0553802569
From what I can understand (not being a mom or reading the book), it’s a way to diffuse the tantrum in verbal ways a toddler brain can understand.
8. A. | August 31st, 2010 at 7:55 am
“And the paradoxical thing is that it is both better and worse than you ever imagined it could be.”
RIGHT ON. I’m going to steal that line from you because it explains and says so much. You don’t know how you get through everything, but you just DO.
9. Amy | August 31st, 2010 at 8:16 am
WOW. I have no other comment except to say YOU ARE EXACTLY RIGHT.
10. Swistle | August 31st, 2010 at 8:27 am
I deeply dislike the entire stage between ages 1 and 3.
11. Melanie Kerton | August 31st, 2010 at 8:36 am
You know I honestly think that when most people say “I could never do that” they are not being smug, I believe most people just don’t think they can, and are marveling at your strength to get through it. I think when we are in the throws of “hell” we are looking for reasons to be pissed, we can’t be pissed at the innocent baby, so we are pissed when people make remarks that are insensitive because we are OVER SENSITIVE because seriously how could we not be?? My baby had some pretty serious acid reflux (she didn’t throw up, oh no, she would turn purplish red and try to choke the shit back down–how many trips I made to the ER with a baby I was terrified was choking to death)…. coupled with a hemangioma “strawberry” birthmark on her forehead, and a couple of other random annoyances (eye infection here, thrush there)…… the reflux was bad enough that Allie spent a great deal of time screaming, it took a LONG TIME to get meds at the right dose…and sleep patterns were erratic at best. I remember sobbing in walmart because of people’s comments, old ladies who clucked “its such a shame, she would have been a beautiful baby” when they noticed her birthmark (usually first accusing me of harming my child)….. or the time I took her into the ER because of the choking and she was literally foaming at the mouth and the nurse grabbed her and looked at me with hate-filled eyes, so SURE I had caused the issue (she did apologize to me when she found out it was a bad reflux episode).
My point is, these people were good people, they didn’t mean to be rude or hateful… it WAS a shame my daughter got a birthmark on her face…it DID suck that we had reflux issues like we did…..but no one was out to be mean to us, but I was in a place where I felt like I was barely hanging on to a thread, if anyone spoke to me slightly wrong I wanted to bite their heads off. No one gets it, until they go through it… and even then two years later, you forgot how the hell you managed it.
12. Life of a Doctor's Wife | August 31st, 2010 at 8:38 am
I don’t have kids (yet) and I am one of those people who just kind of stares at you in slack-jawed awe.
You say: “But I can. And I did. And I will, whatever happens. So will you. ”
And dear god I hope so. But I AM afraid. It sounds like motherhood takes strength and durability and perseverance that I do not possess.
13. -R- | August 31st, 2010 at 9:04 am
The shouting sounds so cute! I love the babbling with adult inflections and the mimicking of gestures.
We took our first family vacation recently too, and while I’m glad we did it, it was not relaxing AT ALL. At least B mostly slept in until 4:30 am, which did not seem that great at the time, but is now looking pretty good relatively.
14. Jamie | August 31st, 2010 at 9:39 am
Ahh, yes, 18 months. I remember them fondly, but only b/c the children I witnessed at that age were not my own. I say this not to be smug, but to remind you not to forget to ask for help when/if you can – my nephew spend months 16-18 calling every food item in the world “cracker.” And WOE the frustration if you did not bring sir his cracker, not this one, THAT one, idiot. (crying ensues) On a family vacation, we all wore a hole in the kitchen floor of our rental house between the high chair and the cabinets/fridge just trying to figure out WTFDOESTHISKIDWANTOHPLEASEJUSTEATWHATISPUTINFRONTOFYOUJESUSLORD. I just sort of looked at Sean and ran downstairs to take my birth control pill.
That said, thank you for the reminder that I will be able, once I am ready. I appreciate your candor and cock-eyed optimism, as always.
15. MLB | August 31st, 2010 at 9:40 am
I have 3. An almost 3 year old, 4 year old and 6.5 year old. 18 months is the absolute worst age, hands down. No question. It hits all my weaknesses and is completely and totally exhausting. So, no “just wait” over here. Really – there is nothing worse than 18 months for all the reasons you went into and more. It does at least get better/easier though in many ways – at least from a sheer physical exhaustion perspective.
16. Nicole | August 31st, 2010 at 9:41 am
I think 18 months is a difficult age. My younger son was born when my older one was 17.5 months, and then he was colicky. It was a very difficult time in my life and I just did what I could to get by. It wasn’t even day by day, it was more like hour by hour. But you know? People talk about how awful the two’s are, and I think that two is a wonderful age. There’s so much more verbal expression, rather than screaming, and there is so much amazing development. I always hated when people said “Oh, just WAIT. Just WAIT.” That is not helpful.
17. Alias Mother | August 31st, 2010 at 9:54 am
I’m laughing as I read this because the “I couldn’t do it” people are exactly who I was referring to just the other day on Twitter. When people ask me how I work full-time with two young kids, I really don’t know if they mean it as an insult or a compliment. And your response to me was along the lines of, “I couldn’t do it.” Of course you could. You just do it.
See? Just like that.
18. Marie Green | August 31st, 2010 at 10:07 am
I think each year of a child’s life has an extremely unpleasant season. That’s all it is- seasons. Some good, some not. And it seems like no particular age is the magical “good” age or the horrific mystical “worse” age- all the ages have at least a little while that sucks.
Also, having twin people would always say things like that to me. “I don’t know HOW you breastfed two!” The thing is? You just DO it. What bothered me more was the “Well, God won’t give you anything you can’t handle” sentiments. I’m sorry… WHAT? Listen, I can handle a HELL of a lot, but please forgive me for wanting more from my life than “handling” it. I’d like to enjoy my life, ya know?
Anyway, I hope ya’ll get some sleep soon.
19. Jessica | August 31st, 2010 at 10:46 am
I personally found 18 months to be pretty delighful with both my boys. I don’t think it’s parenting amnesia, I really just think I lucked out with my kids for that age. That said, my best friend is currently dealing with her 18 month old and is tearing her hair out. 3 and 4 years…those have been rough for us. Like I want to run away from home by 6PM every single weekday ROUGH. They are so very verbal and so very opinionated and the debating. They debate everything. My six year has since improved, but my 4 year is, I am convinced, out to get me. I am 8 months pregnant with boy #3 as we speak. And it was planned. Not sure what my thought process was with that…
20. Blythe | August 31st, 2010 at 10:51 am
The “I could NEVER do that” thing makes me crazy. CRAZY. And not just when it comes to my kid. People say it about anything they deem difficult. I can only imagine what it must be like when someone goes through a tragic time (death of a loved one, health problems, name your nightmare) and someone else says to them, “OH you are SO AMAZING, I could NEVER survive something like that.” It even bugs me when I’ve done something not-so-amazing but also not-so-fun (live in a fifth floor walk-up with an infant, pack all my clothes in one suitcase for a two-week trip) and I hear the same response.
To me, it diminishes the strength it takes to get through a difficult time. I realize it’s just a way of saying, “That sounds really hard.” But it feels like a hollow way of telling me I’m wonderful for choosing a difficult route when, actually, I don’t feel wonderful, I feel exhausted and defeated and I didn’t choose it at all and I’m just muddling through the same way they would.
Also (and here is where I’m sure I will piss someone off), I find that I hear this sentiment almost exclusively from women. Without meaning to, these women are playing into a meek stereotype that drives me bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S. Gwen Stefani would never say, “OMG, I could never ride a camel onstage with fire shooting from my toenails! Cher, you are are amazing!” Gwen would just jump on the camel and go.
(Wow, that went to a strange and interesting place. You’ve hit a nerve with me apparently!)
So, in summary, if I ever have the impulse to say, “Wow, I could NEVER do that, ” I try instead to say, “Wow, that sounds terrible and crazy. You made it, and I’m so proud to know you. If I ever go through something like that myself, I’ll know who to call for advice.”
21. Lauren E. E. | August 31st, 2010 at 11:11 am
Oh, yes. Yes. I am right there with you. This is such a wonderful, hilarious, memorable time. And it is freaking HARD. It makes me feel so much better to know that other people understand my misery. The tantrums are impossibly hard. They happen sometimes for no explainable reason and I feel completely lost and inept. A friend told me that it’s not my job to try to pull my son out of them, but I hate just sitting there while he’s feeling like his world is ending. The giant tears and the wails. Oh, they break my heart. But it seems there’s nothing that I can do about them. I love this age so much–the discovery of the world, the new language acquisition, the fun and delight he experiences when doing new things, how much he loves his trains and trucks–it’s all so good. I tried to hold onto that last night as he wailed and thrashed for two hours in the middle of the night. For no explicable reason.
22. Sharon | August 31st, 2010 at 11:34 am
Okay, I’m with you on the YES WE CAN! Just do it! etc… but I have to say…
THERE WAS NO WALL? NO DOOR? WHAT KIND OF HORRIBLE PEOPLE WOULD MISLEAD YOU LIKE THAT?!?!?!? Argh… I would seriously have demanded a different suite or a refund or something, and I am just about the most non-confrontational person on earth. SO NOT COOL. Seriously, when we travel (1 preschooler, 1 baby here) that is the ONE non-negotiable thing! I’m so sorry for you!
23. jonniker | August 31st, 2010 at 12:29 pm
Alias Mother: Touche! But in my defense, I really think I said I was in awe, which I meant as a compliment, not a “I could never…!” kind of thing. In that context, I totally get how it could seem insulting, because the unspoken implication is that you made a CHOICE and the chiding person made a DIFFERENT, BETTER CHOICE and HOO BOY.
As for the other comments, I think most of you guys are totally right in that it’s not smugness, but the more generous reading I was giving. But! I will say that the comments that REALLY set me off, like REALLY AND TRULY, were the ones – and this was most often – when people said things like, “I could NEVER let my baby cry like that.”
ORILLY, YOU COULDN’T? RILLY? The implication to me was always that I was doing something WRONG by not, I don’t know, rushing to the emergency room or doing something different, or trying another method or whatever superior mothering that person did.
But it’s exactly as Melanie states, and this is where Alexa’s observations are so dead-on, you are SO HYPERSENSITIVE in those moments, with all that agony before you, that unless anyone says nothing but “YOU ARE A GODDESS, I BOW BEFORE YOU,” you’re ready to rumble.
24. Jen | August 31st, 2010 at 12:49 pm
I am just starting to enter this lovely stage with Avery over here, so all I will say is I FEEL YOUR PAIN. Yesterday featured a lovely fit when we left the library because she did not want to hold my hand while walking. Trying to carry her to the car was like trying to carry a huge inking slippery OCTOPUS so that was fun.
Also, A had roseola a few months ago. She was miserable for a few days, but then when the rash finally came, she was fine. Has Sam gotten the rash yet?
25. The New Girl | August 31st, 2010 at 12:54 pm
18 months is when 2 started for us. The tantrums and the hitting and pushing random kids in classes for no other reason than that they STOOD TOO CLOSE TO her.
I still feel that it was better than those all-day scream fests but since those were in the past and the ‘having to gather her up and run from music after pushing her third kid in a row’ was in the present, it still sucked quite a lot.
You’re so right about it all, though. I’d do it again in an instant for her. I would.
26. Survive A Jail Or Prison &hellip | August 31st, 2010 at 4:52 pm
[...] Survive | Jonniker. [...]
27. Elsha | August 31st, 2010 at 9:06 pm
Kalena went through a phase at 18 months where she believed that anytime after 4 am was an acceptable time to get up for the day. I was 8 months pregnant and I just thought I would DIE. But somehow you manage.
Also, my parents tell me that they referred to my younger sister as “tiny hitler” when she was a toddler.
28. Deb | September 1st, 2010 at 12:03 am
We called ours “Dear Leader”, which was simultaneously amusing and worrying.
Unsolicited Advice: Teach her some simple sign language. We signed with both our babies (WAY less effort than it sounds like), and avoided the terrible two’s, which I rather think are primarily caused by communication frustration. There is a book – Baby Signs, which sets it out for you.
The Three’s, though…..I’m getting my ass kicked over here.
29. jonniker | September 1st, 2010 at 5:20 am
Deb: We did. Way less helpful than I anticipated. She can do basics, but … well, apparently she’s got some complex thinking to do.
30. jonniker | September 1st, 2010 at 5:20 am
Deb: We did. Way less helpful than I anticipated. She can do basics, but … well, apparently she’s got some complex communication to do. After all, sign language won’t give her the glass she wants OR put on her sweatshirt for her OR make her any more independent with silverware.
31. Kristin H | September 1st, 2010 at 8:02 am
My son had roseola but we didn’t even know what was going on until it was over. He developed a really high fever on a Friday afternoon and it persisted through Saturday and Sunday, when he slept a lot (yay!) (oops, I mean, boo!). Then Monday morning, the fever was completely gone, so, parenting geniuses that we are, we took him to daycare. They called us later that day with news of his rash, but he was fine in all other respects so they didn’t send him home.
Then, of course, everyone else got it and we all learned about roseola. The end.
(But I hope Sam doesn’t get it. No one likes a feverish baby. Except for the sleeping part. I might like that part a tiny bit.)
32. julie | September 1st, 2010 at 3:12 pm
Would it help if I told you I don’t even remember 18 months? And my daughter’s only 2 1/2? I’m not sure it’s a good thing – as you know it’s been a hellish ride all along. But I can tell you that lately, I sit back in awe and wonder much more than I stomp around with clenched fists, quietly swearing. The speed with which she’ll develop over the next 6 months will astound you. It will take your breath away.
I see a lot of similarities between our daughters. Have you read Raising Your Spirited Child? Didn’t help me, but it *helped* me, if you know what I mean. And if it’s any consolation, her 2′s have, to date, been much easier than anything that’s come before.
Hold tight, sister.
33. Ruby | September 1st, 2010 at 7:41 pm
First, let me introduce myself. I’m Ruby (Sam’s twin within). Ever since you took us to Nanna’s and Nonno’s, Sam, and I have been reading this “Jonniker” blog. At first, Sam was really amused. She’d read the posts and then tell me how funny Momma is and how she could tell that her Mommy and Daddy just loved her to pieces. That lasted a few weeks. A little over a week ago Sam said to me, “Ruby, I don’t understand Momma. She doesn’t seem to understand a thing I’m saying or trying to show her. I know she’s a really intelligent, atriculate (Nonno taught me that word), and insightful woman and I love her and Daddy with all my heart but this is really frustrating me. What can I do about it?” So I (Ruby, the twin within) said: “Sam, I’ll start posting some comments on Momma’s blog and maybe we can get a dialogue, or would it be a “triologue” going where we can try to explain more clearly what you want to tell her.” Then I said to Sam, it probably would be a good idea if you worked on that sleep thing.
We love you Momma – Sam & (Ruby- the twin within)
34. kakaty | September 1st, 2010 at 8:06 pm
I think about half of our pictures of M from age 15m – 20m are of her crying, screaming, or throwing a tantrum. She threw some epic ones and you just had to laugh. The best was when she encountered a closed door. DOOM! to anyone who dared close a door.
And yes, what Sundry said about the “I could never…”comments. I think they are an awkward way of trying to show empathy.
35. Carmen | September 2nd, 2010 at 3:20 pm
We are still sometimes in that shrieking stage with Lexi (at 23 months). She pronounces some things in such a way that I CANNOT for the life of me figure out what she wants. Something that I have done several times is to finally take her over to the fridge or cupboard or whatever, open it up and ask her to touch the thing that she wants. That solved those particular tantrums. Of course, that only works if you will be happy no matter what she chooses in the fridge/cupboard/location. Otherwise, then you’ll just have a new, fresh tantrum on your hands.
Now if I could only figure out how to prevent the tantrums regarding the desire to wear winter boots in the dead of summer or the desire to draw on the walls with markers.
36. alimartell | September 2nd, 2010 at 11:09 pm
okay that story? the one about the cape and the lack of wall and door and the non-sleeping thing? We had that. When Emily was just over one. And that’s when I decided that we wouldn’t be taking family vacations until, well, THIS YEAR. She’s going to be ten in March. heh.
37. AmandaJo | September 3rd, 2010 at 9:19 pm
So, we call our son The Littlest Fuhrer. Because sometimes, God love him, his attitude is absolutely from hell. Not often. Most of the time he’s awesome, and regardless of whether or not he’s threatening the ol’ ovens, we love him more than life itself. But there are times I look at him and can’t help but laugh at the “wtf”ness of him.
Just.. yaknow. I hear ya.
Also: 2AM… holy shit.
38. afteriris | September 6th, 2010 at 4:45 pm
Oof. You have so perfectly described my daughter’s behaviour at 18 months that I’m having a physical reaction to the stress of reliving it!
It is hard. So hard. My girl is now almost 4 and it is better. Most of the time. It can still be hideous, but she’s getting there and your daughter will too (as I’m sure you’re sick of hearing.)
You are doing great.
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