The past week with Elliot has been torturous. I know that sounds like I may be exaggerating but I’m not kidding you: he’s been a holy terror. One minute he’ll be all sweet and cuddly and the next, he’s obstinate and yelling and biting and FLOPPING. For God’s sake, the flopping! In the parking lot, he’ll do the “I’m not walking” bit and I’m THAT mom who’s dragging her kid by one arm, his body gone limp like a bag of bones. Then of course, he’s yelling about that so I look like the bad guy. I figured this was just another phase; a side effect of the fact that he’s about two and a half and subject to various emotions, etc. I never once thought it might be, you know, A MOLAR.
But it is. Ash said he pried into his toothy jaw last night because he had to know and sure enough: two of ’em bursting through his tiny pink gums. So that pretty much explains it. He’s cranky and in pain so he’s acting out. I think he’s basically using that as an excuse to be a royal pain in the ass. I have had to find new ways of ignoring him/calming myself so that he doesn’t end up on a spike in the front yard. Sign saying: Free to good home. His recent behavior is making our lives seem so stressful, so stretched thin and wavering, as if to break apart at any second. I am waiting for this to all be over.
Then it’ll begin again with two kids in the house; an infant and a toddler? OMG. For now, let’s just see if we can survive the toothy monster of doom.