Holy hell’s bells. Today is One of Those Days. Let me preface this post with the fact that Mitchell is teething. I think it’s the molars, because he’s been going to town on one of his fingers for the last couple days. But knowing that his awful mood can most likely be attributed to his teeth doesn’t make me crave a glass of wine for lunch any less. Or breakfast. Or brunch. Or whatever you call it when you drink in the afternoon (other than alcoholism). (Just to be clear, I haven’t imbibed these craving yet. Keyword: yet.)
For the last couple of weeks, Mitchell has been scared to death of his crib. I have no idea what happened to make him so scared of it, other than he’s probably put two and two together and knows that crib=sleep. So, terrible mother that I am, I’ve taken to rocking and/or nursing him to sleep again. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, I usually just bring him into bed with us. I always tell myself I’m not going to do it, but most nights I wake up and he’s already in bed with us. It turns out I sleep walk. So I’m working on that. I’ve ordered some books that hopefully contain the magic answer that won’t involve temper tantrums or, really, any crying of any sort. I’m a wuss. He just looks so terrified, though. Oi.
So anyway, Mitchell and I are both rather exhausted. Which can’t help the teething thing. But for some reason, I decided that we should still go to BlockFest at the library. Here’s the scene: six different large stations with different types of blocks at each station. Each station had several totes of the blocks. Picture lots of angelic children, discovering how to stack/play with blocks, laughing with their parents or other children. Then enters Mitchell, or, as one parent called him, the Whirlwind of Destruction. His idea of BlockFest was to run a lap of the stations, knocking over each and every stack of blocks, pausing only to push the big totes of blocks around the room. I had time to profusely apologize to the child and parent whose stack of blocks had just been destroyed before I had to race to the next station to try to clean up Mitchell’s mess. By the time Mitchell started making the second lap of the stations, kids started hovering over their blocks when they saw him approach. One parent saw me forcibly keeping him at one station while he threw a temper tantrum and told me the kids were supposed to be allowed to play at each station. She said it in a lovely British accent, so I felt myself immediately let go of Mitchell. He seized the opportunity and ran and knocked over her daughter’s castle. God love her, she just said, “Oh.”
So when Mitchell discovered the window and decided that’s where he wanted to hang out, I let him.
Of course, all good things must come to an end, and after five minutes or so, Mitchell resumed his laps. I’d gotten wise, though, and started catching him before he got to other kids’ towers. Mostly because some of the older children looked like they were planning defense tactics and another child told me point-blank that he was building a fort. He then turned and glared at Mitchell. I took the hint and decided we needed to get out of there. When one of the organizers was unsuccessful in trying to convince me to stay, she offered to watch Mitchell while I filled out the feedback form. In the two minutes I took to fill it out, I saw her apologize to no fewer than three different groups of children. She didn’t attempt to get us to stay after that.
So I took Mitchell to his favorite place ever, the fish tank. Where it turns out three other BlockFest rejects went. So Mitchell was in good company. He started playing with his second favorite thing ever, the house with shutters.
Unfortunately, another child also wanted to play, and they weren’t in agreement on whether the shutters should be open or closed (Mitchell advocates for closed. Always closed). She scolded Mitchell at one point (not terribly), which he decided was the Worst Thing Ever. He spent a good five minutes huddled on my lap looking terrified. Later the mom of the girl told me that Mitchell “really likes to control things.” Ugh. Yeah. That’s putting it mildly. Of course she had to tell me this while he was throwing another temper tantrum because I wouldn’t let him steal another kid’s toy.
But when we got home and I said we needed to go night-night, I didn’t even get finished with the second “night” before he was in his room waiting at the rocker. He didn’t even want to nurse, he just wanted to lay there and be rocked. He looked so pitiful, I almost felt guilty for being so embarrassed at BlockFest. Almost.