This morning, I feel stuck in a rut of frustration and sleep deprivation. I'm sitting in semi-darkness, nursing a cup of coffee like it's a cure-all and listening to Henry scream. Again.
I remember his big sister going through something similar when she was about his age. I remember the adrenaline-fueled flights up the stairs in the middle of the night after awakening to the top-of-the-lungs screams of a kiddo, only to find that just a sip of water was desired... and the cup was only three feet away the whole time.
I remember all the steps we took to understand- then cull- this behavior. I remember buying books like Toddler 411, On Becoming Toddlerwise, and What to Expect: The Toddler Years, devouring them, then giving them to Goodwill because quite frankly most of what was written was already something we were aware of (and had probably already tried).
I also remember my aha moment: no one can solve this one for me, because no one knows exactly what needs to be done... no one knows my kid (at least not any better than I do). Also, trial and error is OK, and having moments in the 'error' part of the process is OK, because I don't have all the answers either, and that's OK.
What I do for my kid(s) I do out of love, concern, and usually with a decent base of research. I am not out to harm them, I am not enjoying their misery, and I celebrate their success and joy with my entire being. SO when the nights are long and frequently interrupted, the mornings kick off early with screaming and yelling, and no one is well rested, I have to remind myself: I'm not missing the 'right way' to deal with this, I'm trying my best, and this won't last forever.
...and I can always make more coffee.
Side note: I know the photo in this post of my grandma's juicer has nothing to do with my rant, but it made me smile, so I stuck it in here.
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