Merry freaking Christmas

All I want for Christmas is a full night's sleep. Sydney figured out how to crawl out of her crib last week and it's been all downhill from there. We switched her to her big girl bed and we are all trying to figure out how this new phase of life is going to work. She is fascinated with the concept that she no longer HAS to stay in her bed. Mommy may come in to put her back in bed, but she can just get right back out. Amazing! Liberating! And just as interesting a concept between 2 and 4:30 a.m. as it is at 8 p.m. Joy to the World, my butt. And the mere thought of "Silent Night" is a concept that I just can't currently grasp.

My friend Maggie was visiting when Sydney first got out of the crib by herself. She had wanted to lay down in there and was having a not-so-great morning so I put her in there and went back out to the living room. "You should have seen the look on your face when Sydney walked into the room," Maggie said. She said it was like I was like I was shell-shocked or something. Uh yeah, shell-shocked is a good word because I was thinking of the absolute war that I knew would follow. And I was not wrong.

Before this out-with-the-crib fiasco, Sydney had already been going through a nice phase in which she throws these crazy temper tantrums. In the middle of these episodes, she's so irrational, it's fascinating. Sydney: "MOMMA, I need a chocolate milk!" Me: "You would like some chocolate milk, please?" Sydney: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I don wanna chocolate milk!!!!" (throws self on floor and kicks her feet) "I go night-night!!" Me: "okay, I think that's a good idea. Let's go." Sydney: "Nooooooooooo! Aaaahhhhhhhhh!" (narrowly avoids throwing herself against the corner of the wall.) She'll also stand right in front of me, about 6 inches away. She inches closer, but if I put up my arms to hold her, she'll throw herself down again. She'll get to the point where she'll bury her face in my neck, but if I put my arms around her, she totally flips out. I know. It's crazy.

Someone gave me the link to this great article from Mothering magazine. It's a pretty crunchy magazine in all, but I do agree with what the lady says. (Here's the link: http://www.mothering.com/articles/growing_child/toddlers/tantrums.html ) Her idea is that basically at this age, toddlers can't process all the information that's going into them. They can't deal with their feelings. She's basically asking for help in trying to untangle all these emotions inside her, but she doesn't know how to communicate that to me and it makes her roaring mad. I feel the same way. She needs to get it all out, and she needs me near, but not trying to fix it for her. It's sorta like a sneeze for the body... a needed action to get out the bad stuff so you can go on with living. But I'm telling you, this is some sort of gargantuan sneezey-temper tantrum. And let's not get started on how loud it is.

The hardest part is trying not to attribute all the insanity to my own parenting. I know I'm not a bad mom, but it sure feels like it when I'm carrying Sydney who is flailing horizontally under one arm while pulling the cart with a bewildered Brenna sitting in it up to the front of Wal-Mart. There I have to apologetically ask for help taking the things out of the basket that I cannot take the time to purchase, even though I need them, because the entire store full of people is developing a massive headache from the screeching of my very upset child.

All my mommy friends have been incredibly supportive, and have loved Sydney through this time too, even when she has systematically shoved every single one of their kids into something (Annabelle) or smacked them with a toy for no apparent reason (Olivia) at playgroup or in the church nursery in the past month. I hope they know how much that means to me that they can see through this stage to the sweet, smart, beautiful little girl that she still is somewhere inside. We're all gonna be okay, but holy cow. This is rough.

That's it for now. I feel a little better just getting it all out. Just like the sign in my kitchen says, "This too shall pass. Now would be good."