Tantrum

We all know that children have their ‘moments.’  We’ve seen mothers wrestling toddlers in supermarkets, infants thrashing about on the grass in the park, fathers sobbing pitifully as his little angel melts down like an overheating nuclear reactor.  We are that family.

She’s not always like that.  Far from it.  Indeed most of the time, she is a little angel.  Happy, happy, happy.  Then a glob of pure sodium dropped into a pail of water.  Because dolly won’t fit in the pram, because the cat meowed, because the grass is green, because the everything in the world has just remained exactly as it was.  Because that’s the fiendishly clever thing about it - it’s entirely unpredictable.  It’s not the consequence of being scolded, deprived or frustrated.  It seems it’s just a consequence of life.  You can’t plan for it, anticipate it or pull out the bullet-proof vest in readiness.  Nothing like that.  Though we’ve tried.  My God, how we’ve tried.  We’ve attempted every form of deterrence, every pre-emptive strategy, still she catches us out.  Like my old Scottish gym teacher and the ultimate failure of my cunning cross-country shortcuts.  She knows, you see.  She’s smarter than us.  She is the mistress of the unexpected.

And so she erupts.  Of course, the advice is to leave them to it.  Let them burn themselves out.  It’s a wonderful theory.  Rather like the idea of giving a gambler a blank cheque in Vegas and hoping he’ll get bored.  In theory, the little one realises that she won’t receive any extra attention by trying to perforate our ear drums.  In theory, she runs out of energy after demolishing all of the family heirlooms and the larger part of the retaining wall.  In theory, she gets fed up being ignored.  In theory, I’m a leprechaun.  Whoever came up with this brilliant scheme, has clearly never meet my daughter.

Two weeks ago, she threw a paddy in Sainsbury’s car park.  She’s not two but already she’s constructed of steel. She went so rigid, I swear we could have sat on her without her bending.  It took two of us and twenty minutes to fasten her into her car seat. 

We left her to scream last week and she flayed around so violently she split her own lip.  As if leaving her in such distress wasn’t upsetting enough, we turned around to see blood pouring from her mouth.

Last night, at 3 am, when she wouldn’t settle, we tried again.  Her fury had not diminished by 6.  She had, however, woken the neighbours both sides, and presumably, the Social Services.  She has unfathomable wells of energy, drawn I suspect from the depths of Hell. She doesn’t tire.  She is unstoppable. 

And then she stops.  Without warning.  With no change in inducements.  Or obvious circumstances.  She returns to her angelic self.  No sulking, no bitterness, no obvious sign whatsoever that we’ve all just gone through purgatory.  Although she stares with curiosity at the frazzled look in Mummy and Daddy’s eyes.

Comments

[Mrs RW]

I laughed when I read this. Then tonight older daughter called to say that Princess Granddaughter (4 1/2) threw her first ( and I hope last) temper tantrum in a crowded restaurant during the dinner rush. 100-decibel full-out screaming, stiff arms/legs, full-Nelson wrestle into the car seat, and this after she nearly toppled a patron carrying a tray full of food.

Definitely one of those times I'm so-o-o glad I'm a grandparent and not the parent.

[LondonGirl]

Ooof. That sounds wearying. I'm told my mother got so desperate with my sister she left her in her pram at the bottom of the garden to scream while she went to sleep for an hour or so, otherwise she feared she'd lose the plot!

I'm sure it's a phase. Good luck...

[Carlton]

4 1/2 and her first tantrum?! I suspect your granddaughter is indeed a wonder child, Mrs RW! Still, a crowded restaurant is a good place for her debut!

Ah, the pram at the bottom of the garden solution. Lots of people swear by it. Neighbours mostly!

And you'll be pleased to hear we haven't had a full scale meltdown for five days six days now!

c