Tuesday, April 9, 2013

I’m your mother. It’s my job to torture you.

Yesterday, my friend sent me a link to this post, “Reasons why my son is crying.” Apparently, her son was having one of “those days.” Coincidentally, Quinn had one of “those days” yesterday, too, so the post came at the perfect time. It was just the laugh and reassurance I needed.

The day started with Q asking for his new monster truck the second he woke up. Our neighbors had a moving sale this past weekend, and they gave us one of their kids’ old trucks for free. It’s loud as hell, and one of the buttons plays “music” that strangely resembles House of Pain. Now, I know why the neighbors wanted to get rid of it.

Anyway, we decided that since the truck was so loud, it would be an outside toy that Q could play with in the sand. (The neighbors also gave us a free, almost-new sand table, which I guess sort of makes up for the demon monster truck.) I told Quinn he could go outside and play with the truck as soon as we changed his diaper and got dressed.

Q screamed “NOOOO!!!” as if he were being tortured. Apparently, “yes” is not good enough when the answer Q’s looking for is “Yes, you can have it right this second. Let me run outside and get that noisy, sand-covered truck and let you play with it in your bed right now.” So Quinn screamed through the diaper change, the whole time I was getting him dressed, and all during breakfast until he was finally allowed to go outside.

His happiness lasted about four minutes before he proclaimed it to be too windy outside (which it totally was) and wanted to go back in the house. Sigh.

So we went back in the house… and then he started screaming for that f**king truck again!!

Yeah, so now the sand-covered monster truck that blasts House of Pain is an inside toy. Yay.

Later that night, toward the end of dinner, Quinn lost his shit again because I couldn’t make his friend, Kedric, magically appear at the table. Or, more specifically, Kedric’s dump truck that Quinn played with one time at the aquarium almost two months ago. What made that dump truck pop into Q’s head at that moment, I have no idea. Never mind that he has no less than FIVE dump trucks of his own. This meltdown resulted in Q’s first real time-out, complete with a little timer and everything.

(Another coincidence? It was Kedric's mom who sent me the link to the above post that very morning. I'm convinced the two boys are telepathically plotting against us.) 

The sequel of the “Dump Truck Meltdown of 2013” occurred as we were getting ready for his bath. Q sat on his step stool and screamed “KEDRIC’S DUMP TRUCK!! WAHHH!!” over and over while the tub filled up. I gave him no reaction. I just plopped him into the tub and let him finish getting it out while I sat in floor and played “Words with Friends” on my phone until he decided he was done. (Since the time-out didn’t really work for Q, I thought I better give myself one. It’s all about sanity preservation. And, by the way, if anyone wonders why I totally suck at that game, it's because there's often a screaming child nearby, which tends to hinder one's concentration.)

Then suddenly, he stopped crying. He started playing with his bath toys and acted as though nothing ever happened. Meanwhile, I sat there shell-shocked, weary and feeling all run-over-by-a-bus, and I'm pretty sure I sprouted a few more gray hairs.

These meltdowns are pretty rare for Quinn. He’s usually a really well-behaved kid. But if I’ve learned anything in my two years of parenting, it’s that everything is a phase, even the good things. Now that Q is two, I have a feeling these meltdowns will become a lot more common, and this phase is likely to last a while. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to hunt down a screwdriver and extract the batteries from a certain monster truck. 

PS: If you liked "Reasons My Son is Crying," check out "46 reasons why my three year old might be freaking out." Trust me, you'll feel better!