This morning was toddler HELL.
Now that Sammy can pretty much tell us anything - and usually in clear sentences started with "I" and in some real insistent tone - he's getting pretty demanding. Actually, pretty demanding isn't quite right - screaming at the top of his lungs over and over until he gets what he wants? That's a bit more like it.
Su & Reilly brought this tin of awesome chocolate covered heavenly cookies that I REALLY need to stop eating. Sammy's obsessed with walking around with one white chocolate cookie and one dark chocolate. He doesn't want to eat them (like mama does), he just wants to carry them around. And the concept of not bringing cookies to bed? Did NOT go over well. There were real tears involved. TEARS! Over cookies!
I mean, I may have cried over cookies, but there was usually at least some serious PMS involved.
(And yes, Sara, I just cut and paste my email to you.)
Keep in mind, we weren't allowed to let Sammy cry much when he was younger as it was too much strain on his heart. And really, he never asked for much, mostly because he couldn't, so there wasn't much opportunity to tell him no. And he very, very rarely cried, so this is all very new to us.
Now? 3:30 in the morning demands to "GO DOWNSTAIRS! WATCH TV! MAMA! DADA! I WANT TO GO DOWNSTAIRS!"?
Perfect opportunity to practice our "no", right?
And you know what he did? HE SCREAMED FOR AN ENTIRE HOUR. At 4 in the morning. Jay and I stood by our guns - it's not time to play. It's not time to watch TV. It is time to sleep. We said no, and no amount of screaming will get you what you want. We sounded like we had read the right books and knew what we were doing. If we cave now, what message are we sending?
Yeeeeeeeeeeeah. Right.
There's crying it out and then there's the full-on hysterics he brought out this morning. And after an hour of listening and starting to get terrified that it was going to cause him to start skipping heartbeats and/or have a stroke (and out of sheer exhaustion and desperation for more than 4 hours of sleep), I brought him into our room and turned on Dora. Perhaps the wrong thing to do, but I didn't know what else to do. (Suggestions?) He showed no signs of stopping and I couldn't take it anymore, and really - he was so upset he was gasping and we were certain he was going to make himself throw up. Going into his room to calm him down only made things worse, and what kind of message would I be sending to him if I let him work himself into that state and ignored him?
Sammy, 1. Mamadada, 0.
Ugh. I'm not ready for this.





My name is erika-renee, but call me eka - pronounced "eh-ka." I'm suddenly somehow 32, though I still love pigtails and overalls and silly, happy things. I live north of Boston, and I'm happily married to
I'm a mama!
