A few weeks ago, Jude was up almost every hour during a night screaming. I'd go in, try to comfort him, ask him what was wrong. He doesn't have a ton of words, but generally he can get his point across. When I'd ask what was wrong, each time there was a different answer: TOES HURT!! Tummy owie!! EAR! (the toes thing is a Jude specialty usually indicating some general discomfort) At some point I gave him a little tylenol, and weathered the storm, but getting more and more tired, frustrated, and angry with each awakening. At one point I'm sure I even yelled at him, "what is wrong with you?!?!"
The next morning after fighting over breakfast, getting Milo to school, Mike came home, and I had to leave for a meeting. I told him about the night, suggested that if he didn't get any better that we get him in to see our family doc and check his ears. Sure enough, he had blown out his ear drum, and we started antibiotics.
This week on a walk, Jude started out happy and chatty, riding happily in the stroller. As the walk went along, he started whining a little bit. I asked him what was wrong, he whined some more, said his shoes were owie. Okay Jude, I'll loosen them. Still whining, not crying like in pain, just whining. What's wrong? More whining. I turned on some music on my phone trying to distract him and me. More whining, louder and more insistent as I tried to ignore him. What's wrong Jude? More whining. I finally took his shoes off and threw them in the basket under the stroller. He erupted, thrashing and screaming. I got down on his level and tried to reason with him: if your shoes are owie, you can ride without them, we'll check them out when we get home. No reasoning with him, screaming, hitting, kicking.
As I walked the last 10 minutes of our walk thru the neighborhoods, I thankfully only passed one person who gave me a condescending look like, "what is wrong with you? your poor child needs something from you and you are neglecting him" We finally got home, Jude still screaming. I put him on the deck, put away the stroller, and walked into the house. I held the door for the wailing minion, and he followed me in, still screaming. I made sure there wasn't anything scary out, filled his water bottle and left it within his reach, and I went and took a shower. He calmed down while I was in the shower and finally stopped. Mike came home shortly, and Jude was all cute and smiles. Rascal.
How am I supposed to know when there's something I can do/should do, and when he's simply being irrational. There's no indicator lights or concrete warning signs. And now that time-outs are being yanked from my parenting tool belt, I'm left with a feeling of powerlessness and parental guilt. Yippee.
