There Are a Lot of Italics in This Post

Life has changed dramatically in the last week.  RR, who previously was a sweet child, now defies description.  True, she has been grappling with some things she normally doesn’t have to deal with (at least not all at once): a rash on her face, teething in multiple spots, early signs of pink eye (defeated, thankyouverymuch) and a classroom where the children have rotated through pink eye and puking like they are in some sort of bizarre and unpopular virus amusement park.  We’ve escaped the worst of these so far, but it’s clear something has infected our tiny, untarnished soul.

Tantrums are upon us.  She has several new moves which leave me in a state of utter disbelief every time she busts one out.  Surely this is not my sweet cup of sugar.  Surely, this is a changeling switched in the night by a fiendish fairy.  Surely, this is Not. My. Child.  And then I feel a stillness inside.  Sort of a dampening over my ears and a cottony heart, as if I’m observing this terrible behavior from another room.  I love her and cuddle her, but since I want to cry (and, in fact, have cried) I think I might be reacting by curling up and dying inside.  Obviously, I’m so ready for a teenager.

Lest this post drag you all down with me, I bring you a day in the course of our lives.  For a saner take, see my wife’s rendition.  Clearly, one of us is more stable.

–Wake up shouting.  Bellowing.  Screeching.  Mamas wonder “What happened to baby babble?”
–Give our tiny ball of joy milk as she coos at us.
–Slide her onto the floor to play while we accomplish basic personal necessities like brushing teeth.
–Commence Clinging for Dear Life (Shrieking, weeping, wailing and clutching at a leg.  Clawing to get up and bouncing like her feet are burning in a pool of lava.)
–Distract her, sort of, with music and/or tampons.
–Dress everyone.
–Commence Battle Roll (Violent flipping onto one side as far away from the mama as possible while moaning, hollering, wiggling and kicking.)
–Proceed to breakfast and a moment of peace.  We are, of course, accustomed to and prepared for, “all done” get down” and givememoremusicnowdammit which manifests as a pleading “peease.”
–Try to put on coats and leave the house.
–Commence Fleeing in Terror of Outerwear (Said fleeing is done loudly and with a great many tears, as if the coat will flay her with its razor-like lining.)
–Drop her at daycare.  Pretend not to be crying in the car.

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–Pick her up at daycare.
–Commence Drag to Hell (Pulling on a mama’s finger and charging for the door screaming bye bye at every teacher and child in a frantic, sob filled voice.)
–Strap her into car seat.
–Commence dramatics which cannot even be named (The seat is a lion and she is a steak.)
–Take her home and enter the house, skipping past Refusing to be Held, Demanding to Walk and Bludgeoning the Door if it Doesn’t Open Fast Enough.
–Pick her up when she asks throughout the evening.
–Commence Straight Back Slippery (In which she throws her arms up, arches her back and weeps as if you are a perfect stranger all while trying to escape.  It’s the most fun move of all.)
–Put her to bed and silently die inside.

This doesn’t cover the two parking lot tantrums we’ve had this week.  My god, what will the twos be like?