Teadora lives her little life like a roller-coaster. The ups. The downs. The loop-de-loops. I’m ready to throw up.
When she goes to the nursery at church, the ladies taking care of her tell me she’s a perfect peach. She doesn’t fuss. She plays cheerfully. She’s happy to be there. She only pushes kids down when she wants their snack. Tea is just an easy going girl.
Most of the time, I just can’t believe the report. It has to be a lie. (Right in church!) My daughter just isn’t that chipper.
Today they told me Tea was rubbing her eyes a bit, but generally happy throughout the service. That should have been my first clue. I put her smiling self in the car for the 2 minute drive home expecting the same—and she LOST IT. The roller coaster went down, down, down. Way down.
Screaming and kicking and flopping persisted. I got her in the door, and she threw herself into the couch, sobbing her little eyes out. Thinking this display must be a combination of hunger and sleep deprivation, I snuck a few bites of yogurt into starving belly while distracting her with the wonder of apple cinnamon puffs. But when it was time to move on, the screaming intensified. Seven-fold.
I wrestled her to the ground. Managed to get the dirty diaper off. Kicking. Screaming. Throwing things. Clean diaper goes half on. Child wiggles free. Wrestle back down. Screaming. Sweat. Child stiffens and twists. Arms pinned down with my legs. Other half of diaper back on. More sweat. Body racking sobs. More screaming. Faces red. Skin raw. Tears plenty.
I got to the point where I couldn’t hold onto my daughter anymore—and not because of her flailing. I just had to put her down before anger replaced gentility. Frustration high, I set her in her crib and ran out of the room. The door shut behind me, I fell to my knees and let the teary sweat of stress fall from my eyes. Prayers to the Father for mercy whispered from my lips. A couple minutes passed, and my heart calmed. The crying in the room behind me ceased.
Tea was just laying there with eyes open, clearly exhausted. She let me turn her on her tummy and rub her back for a few minutes. My child—the one who can frustrate so much—was frustrated because of me. This was a battle of misidentified needs. She just wanted sleep. My mother instincts said, “Keep her on her schedule. Food first. Then sleep.”
Clearly, I was wrong.
I’ve got to figure out how to let my ideals and plans and schedules go and actually listen to my daughter. It’s not like she needed to eat before nap. She’d be fine. This was not one of those battles the parents have to win. Not a tantrum of will; her screams where her way of telling me she was too tired to function. This struggle was my own need for order. I’ve got to learn how to hear her needs behind the gibberish. I’ve got to read her body language better. She’s communicating, I just have to pay attention.
Sleep came quickly. Mother learns slowly.
Took me a long time to figure that out (still am sometimes) so it seems that you are learning quickly! You’re going to be a great mama.