... by "terrible twos." Boy I tell ya, tonight was a doozie. It started off nice enough. We picked up Roan from daycare and decided to stop off at the park on the way home. She had fun on the slide with a family of 6 kids (ages 1, 2, 3, 4, 6 and 8... how do those parents do it?!?!).
When we got home she set about eating dinner with enthusiasm: mixed veggies, chicken and blueberries. Tuesday has been our night for running club, but now that days are getting shorter and colder, we're switching to a new schedule. Arwen and I thought we'd try taking turns on Roan duty while the other hits the gym.
I made it to a weightlifting class just a few minutes late; it was great to be back in the gym after too many months off. I was home an hour later, walking in the door with a spring in my step. Arwen greeted me at the door with a wild look in his eye and exasperation in his voice. In the short time I'd been gone all hell had broken loose.
After playing happily with Daddy for a little while, Roan fell to pieces over something small and had spent a full 45 minutes kicking and screaming for Mama on the floor by the front door. Arwen swears he's never seen anything like it. She was crying and screaming with such intensity that she was wheezing, coughing and having trouble breathing. She was absolutely inconsolable, and Arwen was very near that point himself by the time I got home.
As soon as I walked in the door she was happy again... for a little while. Before long it was time for bed though and I saw for myself a little what Arwen was talking about. One moment she was happy and playful and the next she was completely freaking out about the pajama bottoms I put on her. I mean she totally lost it. Wailing, shrieking, snot coming out both nostrils. At first I tried to comfort her with some snuggles, but there was just no calming her. I left the room for a little while, then came back in and waited it out. Eventually, still in tears she brought over a different pair of pajamas and when I offered to help put those on her instead she was placated.
We managed to get through the bedtime routine uneventfully but as soon as I put her in bed the real crying began. We had already decided not to indulge in a bunch of back and forth picking her up and putting her back to bed; we have to be clear with her that when it's bedtime, that's it.
She made it quite clear, however, that that was not it. She proceeded to cry and scream for an hour. Then after about half an hour of quiet, just when we had poured ourselves a beer and breathed a sigh of relief she started up again. And this time it wasn't just crying. She started saying things. Like "help." And "down." And "dada hold you." It was soooo sad. We were nearly fit to be tied by this point.
The thing is, we would love to be able to go in her room, give her a hug and fill her with enough happiness and security to drift off to sleep with a big ol smile on her face. But we keep getting bit on the ass on that, excuse my french. Every time we walk in there it seems to just prolong the suffering and make it more likely that she'll wake up crying again.
So we steeled ourselves with alcohol and toughed it out tonight. All I can say is, I hope we all have a good night of sleep.
In any case here is a video of our, ahem, little angel, just goofing around in the mirror.