Aye, yi, yi.
So, I'm not sure what has crawled up my toddler's mini britches, but lately he has been a mad dog. I mean, really hard to deal with.
I know he is entering the "I can do it by myself so get out of my freaking way" phase of todderhood. But, does that really mean he has to throw scrambled eggs at the Christmas tree and have a meltdown when I keep him from chasing the dog under the bed? Does that really mean he has to throw a tantrum when I wipe his nose so that the boogers smear across the carpet and weild the toilet cleaning brush like a sword until I try to grab it from him, which just causes him to run from the bathroom to our bedroom where he rubs the dirty, poopy, uriney, brush end all over our bed? I mean, really.
And he used to be well-behaved for a one-yr old in Wal-Mart, Target, places like that. I say "used to be" to indicate that he isn't anymore. Not after yesterday.
So, yesterday's trip to Wal-Mart started out rocky from the get-go. Max has begun a new "bye-bye" routine which includes kicking his legs and screaming when I try to buckle him in his car sear. He wants to buckle himself into his car seat. Problem? He is one year old and can't do it. Those buckles are baby-proof for a reason. But, if we want to go anywhere, I have to start the car, so eventually I take over and buckle his car seat. Meltdown.
So, from the beginning, he was crying. When we get to Wal-Mart, I put him in his stroller and he starts screaming and kicking his legs again. This time, I have no idea why. It is one of those mystery cries which have driven mommies all over the world to drinking. But, I figure he will quit once we get inside, so I keep going.
I enter Wal-Mart on the produce side, right in front of all the registers, cashiers and the people waiting in line who have nothing better to do than stare at the woman with the tortured toddler. He is just screaming louder now. I am thinking, "Oh, nightmare of nightmares, please make it stop. If I take him out of his stroller and carry him, maybe his head will stop spinning like Linda Blair."
Boy, I was wrong. When I tried to take him out of his stroller, he screamed louder, if that was possible, and started kicking his legs and pushing against my face with his little fists. His legs were stuck under the tray table on his stroller and I was pulling and pulling while he tried to punch my head off my body. A man walked by and said, "Is he mad or is he mad?" Yes, he's mad. If you couldn't tell.
By this point, my face was bright red and I refused to look up and see how many people were staring at the scene we were making. But, I wasn't going to let him win. I wasn't going to leave completely defeated and humiliated. I was at least going to get some of the things on my list. Whatever I could carry while carrying my son and pushing his stroller. I must have looked totally out of my mind.
Well, turns out all I could carry was orange juice, a jar of lil' sausages, and fruit strips. Forget the toilet paper. Forget the eye make-up remover. My son was starting to scare people. They were peeking around the ends of aisles to look at us.
So, I left, after the check-out girl commented on my son's runny nose, like I didn't know he had one. My son cried all the way home and the minute we walked into the house, it was like none of it ever happened and he was the happiest little bugger you've ever seen.
So, did he win? I don't know. Let's call it a tie.
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