Terrible Twosome

It's been rough goings around our house recently. Within the span of a few weeks, I got a nasty ear infection, the husband blew out his knee and has since been utterly useless, and Sweet P started cutting her second set of molars and contracted a cold on top of it. And now, after too many days of playing mother and nurse and employee without a break, I feel hopelessly on the verge of succumbing to whatever germs have been swimming around my shirt-turned-toddler-tissue.

Tonight, the strain of our woes seemed to be too much for Sweet P to bear--or maybe it was just that she hasn't had a decent nap in days. Whatever the reason, I witnessed one of the firsts that all parents dread but know is inevitable--the full-out, horizontal tantrum.

Before bedtime, were playing quietly and happily with her animal flashcards in her bedroom--she wanted me to read each one aloud before she put it back in the box, but slowly her tiredness got the best of her, and before long, her aim was way off. She became suddenly and utterly frustrated by the fact that she wasn't getting it right. With her little nose all red and chapped, and her face drawn into a dramatic scowl, she kicked the box away from her, then dove into the carpet with a flourish and proceeded to writhe around screaming, twisting her body in the agony of knowing she was out of control.

The most terrible part? I could not help but feel like laughing at the intense absurdity of the episode unraveling before me. Somehow I managed to choke down my chuckle, but the stifled giggle was the only thing that kept me from diving right onto the carpet next to her and pounding my own fists in frustration.

A deep breath, a favorite book, and our stand-by night-night lullaby CD later, and the tantrum was forgotten, dissolved into the still black night. And, by some small miracle, the child went peacefully into her own bed, where she still slumbers as I sit here and pay bills, sleepily sort through email, and try to wait it out until at least midnight, convinced that as soon as my weary head hits the pillow, she will cry out for me in the dark.

I'm fifteen minutes away from tomorrow, and I cannot fight it anymore--I must relinquish control and throw myself into my pillow and hope that my sleep is uninterrupted for just one night. One night is all I ask--or October is going to be off to an especially ghoulish start this year.