Truth Tale #3: Tantrum Envy

Yesterday I saw a young mom and her toddler son coming out of some kind of martial arts class. The little boy, looking so tiny in his over sized white pants, feet peeking out the bottom, the white robe top, being held on to his body by a giant belt that looked more like a tail, dragging on the ground. Mom and boy holding hands.

I miss that age so much! My heart ached with muscle memory seeing this sweet duo. The thought of simple times flashed through my mind. And within seconds, this calm moment I was witnessing, turned into something that some might find akin to a miniature exerscism. Screams spun through the air, the boy melting to the ground, and the mom’s nervous system tweaking into a gear opposite of calm.

I miss that too! I know that might sound strange, especially to those who are in the midst of the tantrum stage. Nothing about the situation was easy, I’m sure, but when his mother scooped him up off the sidewalk and into her arms, boy kicking with his little muscles, which I’m know became as strong as a well exercised pure bread pit bull.

I know this because I have experienced it….not with my first born, mildly with my second, and pain scale 10 with my third. I will never forget the time my daughter had her first public tantrum. We had recently relocated to a town in the south, which was filled with strip malls, decorated with Walmarts and Dollar Stores, and other random things…like pet stores. I took my daughter in to the pet store, just to see what was even in a place like this. It was a quick in and out visit, but on the out, she decided she wanted a ball. A cat ball. I get it- all jingley and colorful, but no. We had already purchased something for her earlier. Well. Trying to explain rationally, to a toddler, that what we bought hours ago, is all we are getting today, is like trying to convince a narcissist of an idea that is not their own. It’s just not going to happen.

My daughter whipped out a new super power I had never experienced before. The power of turning your body weight of 25 pounds into something that feels like 250 pounds, in a matter of seconds….making the parental scoop up impossible. I’m trying to carry her out of the pet store, her screams sound like they are echoing in a never ending tunnel, and I am starting to sweat- hands, feet, and under my arms. I try to keep up with her contortions, holding her tight, but arms flailing and feet kicking made that hard to do, with grace anyway. Somehow I got us to the mini van (yes, I did have one). I open the side door to try to get her into her carseat, facing the Walmart and realizing there are a dozen security cameras facing us. All I can think, is that at some point, a cop will show up, thinking I am torturing my little daughter. It was then I had my first heart palpitation. Yea, so…she had her first tantrum and I had my first atrial fibrillation symptoms. Not kidding.

Eventually, we were both in the van, with seatbelts on, and crying (me, silently..her, loudly). The experience was more surprising than anything else, for me. But the sweating and the heart palpitations were scary. This landed me with a cardiologist, which was good, because I actually found out I have a couple of things that are fucked up with my heart (come to find out 12 years later, that it is all part of my chronic illness). Multiple tests, resulting in some medication, seemed to keep this fluttering heart at bay.

So when I say, “I miss that age/stage!”, I really mean that. And here is why. Sure, no one wants to have their screaming kid draw attention from strangers, feeling like they are judging your parenting skills, encounter cardiac arrhythmia etc., but…. when I saw that mom gather her little son into her arms, I couldn’t help but feel that I wish I could STILL do that- lift my son off the ground, cocoon him with my love, and make everything ok. I would take back the sweating and the disorganized signals in my heart, the beta blockers, and even the minivan, to be able to keep them safe by the squeeze of my arms.