You know the old adage, "It takes a village to raise a child." Well, I'm here to tell you, it's true. Some "villages" are very small, some too large. And I've noticed the size of the village can, and should, fluctuate according to the circumstance.
This weekend, and this past week, I've observed a few different types of villages and parenting styles within those villages, including my own. First, I'll share my experience. My son recently turned two. Evidently, he has now realized that he is two and is determined to at least try on the "terrible" hat to see how it feels and if it fits. This is one hat I wish he'd never picked up. He is still my sweet and funny little man a lot of the time. But he's also decided to test boundaries and learn what's what. I think I'm usually a pretty patient mom. But Sunday afternoon, I was ready to string him up by his toenails. (Not to mention we'd had a bad afternoon last Wednesday.)
Sunday, I went and picked him up from his nap like usual. He snuggled into my shoulder. Like usual. Then I changed his diaper. Like usual. This is where things began to shift. He was less tolerant of the diaper change and began fussing and kicking. I persevered, picked him up, and carried him downstairs. He hadn't eaten much, so I figured he'd be hungry. Thusly, I offered him a drink and some food. He reacted as though I was trying to poison him! He threw his sippy cup. He hit me. He refused bites. I tried letting him feed himself (which is sometimes his preference and he will refuse to eat otherwise.) He picked up a handful of food and threw it at me as hard as he could. All the while screaming and sobbing with crocodile tears running down his face. To say I was at a loss would be an understatement.
Because his tantrums are still relatively new and uncommon, I am still trying to figure out what response from me changes his behavior. First, I tried denying him an audience and walked away. (He was safely confined and couldn't fall or otherwise hurt himself.) He calmed down a few minutes later, so I walked back in and asked him what he wanted. As soon as he saw me, he started the tantrum again. So I walked away again. We did this little dance a couple of times. I tried talking to him in a normal tone and offering him what I thought he wanted. He continued screaming. So I thought I'd try to shock him. I screamed back. Not in anger, entirely, but to let him know screaming wasn't going to affect me. Mommy can scream too. Wanna scream? Let's scream together? Nope. That didn't work either.
My husband, my village, sat patiently, supportively, with me as I tried to navigate this particularly nasty tantrum. He was perfectly what I needed. He didn't undermine me with our child. He didn't take away my authority in front of our son. He didn't get impatient and tell me to shut him up. He didn't take over. And he didn't ignore the situation with a "you deal with it" attitude. He quietly encouraged me. He tried to also deal with our son. But he knew this was a tantrum I had to cope with since I'm usually home with him and since it was me he was lashing out towards.
Then, I had to do it. Nothing else had worked and I'd always said I wasn't above a spanking if nothing else was getting through to the child. But I did one thing (at least, this time) that I always said I wanted to. I didn't spank out of anger. I was in control. I pulled his shorts up a little and popped him once on the thigh. Not to bruise, maim, damage, or even hurt. But enough to get his attention. His crying changed for a few seconds. Then, subtly at first, but surely, started fading into the snuffles and eventually stopped. He went to his dad first. And I can't say as I blame him. But after a minute, he walked to me, laid his head on me, and gave me a hug.
We had a good rest of the afternoon together as a family. We went for a walk around the track at a local high school. I decided if he had that much pent-up energy and frustration that he wanted to hit, I'd let him wear his backpack to give his muscles more "work" (on the recommendation of our therapist.) He walked farther around the track than normal. He even ran a good deal of it. And when we took the backpack off, he tried to put his arms back through the straps to get it back on! So we let him wear it a while longer. We then went to dinner, where he almost fell asleep at the table. But had a much better afternoon.
The Village, part II, tomorrow.
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