He started it off by waking up at around 1 a.m. this morning. He went from fussing to having a real come-apart in the span of a couple minutes. Usually I let him cry these things out on his own. If I go in there, the length of such episodes is tripled or quadrupled. But this morning he sounded in real distress. Yet that distress was nothing compared to what I was about to witness.
I put it thusly to a friend earlier today in an e-mail. Incidentally, this friend has a 6-week old and is therefore going through sleep issues of his own (DISCLAIMER: I haven't edited out the profanity):
"Did I say last week that he's a good sleeper? I should NEVER make such statements. He's not only decided bedtime is the equivalent of a diaper-rash cream application in how it must be approached (READ: kicking, screaming, etc.), but he's woke up between 11:30-1:30 the last four nights acting like Nazi paratroopers have just landed in his room and are trying to abscond with him. Last night, in addition to the imagined kidnapping, he also acted like something was trying to eat him alive from the inside out. I do NOT exaggerate. Apparently he'd entered a Mother of All Tantrums contest and was aiming to win the grand prize. Holy. Friggin'. Shit. I thought I knew what a come-apart was, but my kid proved to me last night that when it comes to having come-aparts, he's turned professional. It went on for like 20 minutes and ended with him on flat on his stomach on our living room floor in a pool if his own panic-induced slobber. If that was a glimpse of my future I'm finding a dark closet to cower in. I'll say one thing for the very-very-wee-infant stage, brother ... at least they're not aware they have free will yet."
I still have no idea what it was about. I guess it was either a very bad dream that he hadn't quite woken up from or he was actually in some kind of pain. We popped in a Baby Einstein finally and, after a couple minutes, he chilled to the point where the next door neighbors probably couldn't hear him anymore. Poor guy.
OK, so that was the beginning. The middle consisted of the usual succession of nos and head shakes and flopping on the floor in protest. Normal toddler stuff. This is getting long, so I'll wrap this last part up real fast. I had to change a dirty diaper right after dinner and before bathtime, giving him a few minutes to run around naked as a jaybird. He took this opportunity to pee on my left foot, which was wearing one half of my favorite pair of sandals. Got that cleaned up. Put him in the tub. That was going nicely. Then he crapped. In the tub. Thank God by that time Jerry has gotten home (he worked late tonight) and was able to quickly come in and scoop him out of my hands. So the kitchen floor is mopped up, the tub is sanitized and the tub toys are in the wash. I need a drink ...
That said, here are a few photos from this weekend. I wanted to post more but I'm tuckered.
Playing in the stream at the zoo.
What could evoke this reaction? A bear? Lion? Elephant? ...
Nope, it was this guy. And I agree with Wilder; he's supercool.
Yes, I am a GIGANTIC dork.
Jerry and Wilder hanging in the tent during our front-yard camping experiment. (NOTE: It did not last all night.)
Jerry laughing. Why? I was drinking a Crown and Coke and, after I told Wilder no three times when he asked for a drink, he threw his bink in, fished it back out and proceeded to suck the whiskey coke off. Booger ...
Yes, we watched "Nemo" on the laptop in the tent.
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