Hi there! Last weekend I took a quick trip to Evansville, Indiana to surprise my best friend Katie for her birthday. Boy was she surprised! While I was away, Dan and Zahara and some lovely daddy-daughter time. They had a great time--mostly. Here's a little gem he just shared with me. It's a perfect representation of life with a toddler. Heartbreaking and beautiful.
I love her.
I say it as much for myself as I do for her. She's beautiful, but it's a terrible beauty. I feel powerless to help and she wouldn't want me to, even if I could. I miss Calli, and of course she does too, but rather than bind us together, she blames me and pushes me away.
It's been two hours now. Two hours since the cat's whine woke her up. I tried to comfort her, but she only grew angrier in my presence. For over an hour we sat in her room in the dark because she didn't want me to touch her. Eventually, I picked her up anyways. Of course it was a fight, with her hitting me the whole way. I hoped by getting her food, or toys, or anything else I could possibly offer I could break her out of the tantrum. We spent another hour in the living room with her throwing the offered food and hitting me. I don't even respond anymore, I just let her do it. Maybe if she hits me enough she will feel better and I will feel less guilty.
Two and a half hours now. I can't take it anymore. For her, for me, I need to get away. I wrestle her into her highchair, somewhere I know she'll be safe. I put a bowl of cereal in front of her and I go upstairs. I know I'll hear the bowl crash and have to clean up cereal later. Up here, the screaming is slightly attenuated. Not much better, but at least I don't have to see her anguished face. After 20 minutes it's strangely quite. I take a deep breath and head downstairs.
And what does my 25 month old say to me? "Uh oh spaghetti-ohs! I need milk and a spoon."
I've never gotten milk and a spoon faster in my life.
I say it as much for myself as I do for her. She's beautiful, but it's a terrible beauty. I feel powerless to help and she wouldn't want me to, even if I could. I miss Calli, and of course she does too, but rather than bind us together, she blames me and pushes me away.
It's been two hours now. Two hours since the cat's whine woke her up. I tried to comfort her, but she only grew angrier in my presence. For over an hour we sat in her room in the dark because she didn't want me to touch her. Eventually, I picked her up anyways. Of course it was a fight, with her hitting me the whole way. I hoped by getting her food, or toys, or anything else I could possibly offer I could break her out of the tantrum. We spent another hour in the living room with her throwing the offered food and hitting me. I don't even respond anymore, I just let her do it. Maybe if she hits me enough she will feel better and I will feel less guilty.
Two and a half hours now. I can't take it anymore. For her, for me, I need to get away. I wrestle her into her highchair, somewhere I know she'll be safe. I put a bowl of cereal in front of her and I go upstairs. I know I'll hear the bowl crash and have to clean up cereal later. Up here, the screaming is slightly attenuated. Not much better, but at least I don't have to see her anguished face. After 20 minutes it's strangely quite. I take a deep breath and head downstairs.
And what does my 25 month old say to me? "Uh oh spaghetti-ohs! I need milk and a spoon."
I've never gotten milk and a spoon faster in my life.
