I've got a dumpster diving, fit throwing toddler on my hands. The last couple of weeks have been full of extremely dramatic meltdowns. At least he is old enough now that when he melts down he gingerly throws himself down so he doesn't cause any damage to his person anymore.
Oh, and the dumpster diving? Well, he loves digging in the trash. I struggle to keep him out. We spend a lot of time cleaning up garbage and washing hands around here.
The poor kid is teething. But even so, mom is getting a little tired of all the tantrums. It's hard to believe that something this cute is capable of such drama:
And probably for him it's a good thing he's that cute. I can't hold a grudge against that. Even after what happened yesterday. . .
Yesterday I was sitting at the piano playing the opening song for Family Home Evening. Cormac wanted to play (and was throwing a fit about it) so I put him on my lap after the song. He pounded for a little while and then I closed the piano. That didn't go over well. He threw a complete fit. He threw all of his not insubstantial weight against me and pushed off the piano, hard. And over we went. I bundled him up to keep him from hitting his head on anything. Ammon responded in time to catch my head before it hit the ground, but everything else made contact with the ground and the bench against the floor.
I can't bend my left knee without significant pain in the back of it right now. I ache all over. Man I'm getting old.
Why am I telling you this here on this blog? No idea. Maybe I just wanted to explain my lack of awesome posts yesterday and today. Maybe I just wanted some sympathy. Perhaps I wanted to write an ode to mothers. Maybe I wanted to tell my own mom that she's awesome (Mom, I'm so sorry if I ever threw a fit). Who knows.
Uh oh, I can see another meltdown coming, I suppose I should get going. Thanks for listening. Thank heaven they outgrow this. Right?. . . Right?
Motherhood. . . it's not for wimps, that's for sure.