London Bridge is falling down...
Three o'clock in the afternoon is not a good time for Maeve. It's not a good time for her to do anything or be around anyone. People who know her would be surprised to see what she's like at three. Three o'clock in our house is time to batten down the hatches and wait till Dad gets home.
Last night's meltdown was extreme. Maeve wandered around the living room, crying forlornly at random objects and events. She would be fine for a few minutes, then something would send her just completely off the wall. She cried when she saw herself in the mirror. She cried when she sat down. She cried after I read to her. She cried when Dad came in the door.
Then when we tried to feed her dinner, she half-gagged on a cracker and started the crying all over again. It took me singing to her and letting her skip the high chair tray to get her calm enough to eat her dinner. But the second that sweet potato and turkey was gone, the crying started back up, so DH and I whisked her off to bed - at 5:20.
You would think she would've slept badly or at least woken up early, but no, she only woke at 10 and then at 5 this morning, and now is still sleeping at almost-7 am. So it's not so bad. I just wish I could make her feel better when she's having a total meltdown. Usually my efforts result in a few minutes of not-crying, but not even close to a smile.
Oh well, yet another phase to wait out, grin and bear it, because there's nothing else you can do. I had no idea how much parenting consisted of helpless waiting.
|Off to get into trouble, counting down till 3 when I can go berserk.|