Not The Bathwater, Just The Baby

I had to call my girlfriend yesterday because I was on the verge of throwing the baby out the window. Like, I actually comtemplated all of the ramifications of giving her a swift kick on her cute little tushy, out the sliding doors, over the balcony. Okay, not really; I'm being dramatic, but it was a difficult day, to say the least.

Bryony and I had both had a late night the night before due to a trip out of town, a malfunctioning car, and my getting lost on the way home (which is a totally different blog post). Needless to say, she didn't get to sleep that night until around 10pm, so yesterday morning she was not the happiest child to be around. She made Stewie Griffin seem absolutely cuddly.
So where to begin with the all-day meltdown-temper-tantrum-atomic-bomb that was my daughter yesterday? Well, I got out of bed (skipping my very coveted shower, mind you) in time to take her to the baby sing-a-long at the local library. Just as we were rounding the corner and could see all the parents and kids waiting for the story room to be opened, Bryony let loose. I don't even know why she got upset (Didn't want to hold my hand? Was trying to run someplace she shouldn't? Realized Oprah is going to be off the air in just a few months and couldn't deal?). She threw herself down on the ground--her usual M.O.--and screamed until I picked her up, kicking and crying(her, not me). I tried to lift her in the air, which usually makes her laugh, but this time only infuriated her. I tried to cuddle with her but she smacked me in the face. I got upset and scolded her which only made her scream even louder. And then, she instantaneously stopped crying, saw some puzzles she wanted to play with and slid out of my arms, and down to the ground to play. It was overwhelming and embarassing and exhausting for me all at once; I had become the mother that I usually look sideways at for having that kid. Now, that kid was mine.
Sing-a-long went well at first, but Bryony started to get busy, no longer wanting to participate but rather to explore parts of the room she shouldn't. Like her daddy, she loves electronics, and she can entertain herself for hours on end pushing the magical buttons on a CD player that make lights shine and music play (not to mention make the CD loader pop up!). I tried to gently take her away from the CD player in the room but that instigated a mother-baby fight (baby was winning, by the way, while mother was crawling into that shameful hole that all parents need to hide out in when their kids are misbehaving). Upon deciding that we were likely not going to be able to stay for the socializing part at the end of the hour, I started packing up our stuff to go, while Bryony converted into a hellion and ran ramshod throughout the library, yanking random books and VHS cassettes off of shelves as she passed. Meanwhile, I was trying to carry bags, clean up her mess and still keep up with her before she made a bigger mess of things or was hauled off in baby handcuffs by a police officer, considering the police station is part of the library building complex. I kept my head down to ignore the disapproving glances of the library staff as Bryony ran out into the main (Shhhh! Quiet!) part of the library.

After finally getting her in my arms and walking to the car (where she decided to be ever-so-cute by kissing my arm and shoving her finger up her nose to prove how adorable she is), we drove home. Once inside, the full explosiveness of her sleep-deprived soul came out. I spent hours running after a baby who has learned to scale shelves so that she can press buttons--the ON/OFF button on the TV, volume and channel controls, the DVD player, etc.--unceasingly. And since our apartment came fully furnished (and is not meant to have babies here) we can't install all of the drawer/cabinet locks that we normally would because of damage to the surfaces. So, that means having to keep an ever-present eye on our holy terror as she grabs bottles, cans, paper and cardboard set aside for recycling and decorates the living room floor. It means making sure she doesn't pick up the landline phone in the bedroom to dial Israel. And, it also means looking in every possible nook or cranny for that set of keys or wallet that you left on the nightstand because the only thing you see in its place is her toy hammer. Which, of course means that your keys or wallet or whatever must be in her toybox...but no, that would be too easy. Let's try the oven broiler instead!

With every one of Bryony's antics yesterday came a corresponding "No!" from me, which made her bottom lip poke out dramatically, tremble, and then she cried crocodile tears, which I knew were fake because she was half-laughing at herself. That made me want to laugh because she was so darned cute, but it also made me angry because I felt she wasn't taking the discipline process seriously enough. Once she decided she would rather laugh at her mama rather than cry, she walked over, stuck her finger up her nostril and pinched my breast. Ouch. Then she laughed.

She went down for a nap at some point, which is usually the cure for the common tantrum. But not yesterday. Yesterday, she woke up as cranky--if not moreso--than she went to bed. I was also cranky from lack of sleep, but between speaking to a friend I'd been playing phone tag with for several weeks, and needing to clean up the kitchen, I didn't have time to nap while she was sleeping. I guess I was a little resentful of that fact, too, which made me even less patient with her when she woke up tearful and pouty.

I finally did the only sane and rational thing I could think of. I called my friend Emily, who has a daughter one month younger than Bryony. She laughed as I recounted the events of the day and expressed the totally irrational desire to toss baby out the window. She assured me she'd had one of those days TWICE in the last week and it was perfectly normal. It was nice to hear someone empathize with the situation. I told her how when we were going through our birth class together, our midwife told the class that "one day, your baby will drive you so crazy that you will understand how people kill their kids." I remember being so repulsed and had thought, "no way! Not me!" at the idea of understanding how someone could murder their kid. And I just want to be clear, I still cannot understand how anyone could FOLLOW THROUGH with killing their child. Just seeing Bryony with a bruise on her eyelid from where the cabinet door hit her makes me cringe; I could never purposely do her harm. However, I can understand the feelings of just wanting your kid to go away for awhile, to just have them out of your sight so you can be left alone, devoid of any parental responsibility. As I told Emily, while I would never do it, sometimes I just want to put Bryony in her crib, grab my car keys and drive off to be by myself for awhile. Sometimes I just need a break.

The day ended on a high note as Bryony ate a good dinner (a rare feat for my child) and then happily sat in the jogging stroller as we took a few spins around the complex. Bedtime came late again because I had allowed Her Royal Terror-ness to have a late-afternoon nap (partly because it meant I'd have a chance to rest up from the day's drama), so I was left wondering what kind of child I'd wake up to today.

As they say, today is a whole new day, and it was like I had a whole new child. She actually smiled at me most of the day. We played endlessly. She ate her lunch and her dinner without much complaint. We played some more, cuddled, bonded and had an overall fun day. And then she tweaked my nipple and picked her nose.