Prepare yourself for the understatement of the week.
William seems to be quite strong-willed.
I mean, I know my parents have always talked about how stubborn I was as a child. Diane and Aaron love to tell us about how David threw Donald Duck-style fits as a little boy. And I'd say it's probably fair to say that David and I both maintained some degree of stubborness as adults. Just a little.
So anyway, our child. The first child of two first children. The first grandchild of four first or only children. Genetically speaking, he was going to have to be hard-headed about some things. It would only make sense. William is a loving wonderful hilarious boy...except when he gets riled up.
So, this loving wonderful hilarious boy got all out of sorts on Thursday afternoon and threw the mother of all temper tantrums. I mean, it was epic. I've never seen him act like that before. I half-worried that I was going to need to put plywood up over the windows.
What precipitated such a hurricane, you might ask? Well, let me tell you.
He woke up from his nap all sweaty. His shirt was damp, his hair was drenched, and needless to say, his diaper was full. So I stripped off his clothes and his diaper and prepared to re-dress him. Usually, this sort of thing happens without incident. But not on Thursday...
For some reason, William became angry at the prospect of having to get redressed. He wiggled away from me and began running around the second floor of our house in a mad frenzy. He wailed and shrieked and screamed and hollered "No! No! No!" He apparently wanted to put back on his sweaty plaid shorts without anything under it. Which meant he wouldn't let us put a diaper on him first. So, every time one of us tried to grab him and wrestle him into a diaper or Pull-Up, he began thrashing and kicking his legs so powerfully that I seriously worried that he was going to knock the other one of us out cold. ("How'd you get that black eye, Jen?" "Oh, well, you know, my my two-year-old kicked me." "So your horse kicked you?" "No, no, that came from my two-year-old son.") So we let go, and he spun off in hysterics. And he defiantly carried his plaid shorts with him, like a soldier carrying a flag into battle, as he stomped around the house.
"But William, you have to wear a diaper!" I tried to call after him, thinking about what could happen to my carpet.
Yeah, that was effective.
Anyway, the fit went on and on...and on and on. Nothing, absolutely nothing worked. Not ignoring him. Not being stern. David tried plunking him into the Pack n Play for Time Out, and William just threw one leg over the side and immediately hoisted himself back out. Thunk! And from the second floor, I heard the sound of a screaming, angry toddler running back upstairs again. We tried to leave the room every time he followed us into another room, and that just seemed to further inflame him.
Eventually, seasons passed. Glaciers moved. Snow caps melted. And William began to calm down. The wild hyena shrieking began to diminish. Eventually, we managed to talk him into a Pull-Up. And we let him put his plaid shorts back on. And he went into his room and picked out a t-shirt (which didn't match the plaid shorts at all, but like I was going to argue that point).
Order was restored. I felt like I needed a strong drink. Maybe a double. But all we had in the house was wine, and a girly glass of chardonnay was just so not going to cut it. All that over a Pull-Up. Geez.
Most of the time, he's a really good kid. Really. But when he gets angry, he gets Angry. Have you ever heard of the Incredible Hulk? Whew.
We experienced a similar tantrum this morning. Except the problem was that William wanted a juice box, and I, the oppressive dictator parent, said "no." That tantrum didn't last quite as long, though, and at least his bottom was covered. It's the small things that I appreciate.