All this weekend, my 16 month old was driving me crazy. Changing her diaper had become a wrestling match. I would pin her down across her waist to stop her from rolling over and off the changing table, while she protested, “No! No! No!” You’re only 16 months old. You’re not supposed to be telling me “No” yet.
She’s a happy, content, cuddly baby most of the time. Now it seems like she thinks she’s a big kid, wanting to be like her older siblings. She almost climbed up the ladder to the top of the bunk bed within seconds of leaving the girls’ bedroom door open. I was exhausted from chasing her. I kept repeating to myself, “This kid’s gonna be the death of me. I’m going bonkers, bring me to Butler.” Not in all seriousness all the time, but the thought was ever present.
Last night around 4:30 a.m., my baby was crying. Not the usual, I’m half asleep whimper to a cry. This was full-blown hysterical crying. My husband brought her to our bed and she just sobbed and sobbed for a good thirty minutes. She slung her body across my chest, almost like she had me pinned down, with her face close to mine. I rubbed her back and took deep breaths to silently demonstrate calm breathing.
The crazy making self-talk melted as I held my sobbing child. I realized I was the only one making myself crazy. She needed me to be there for her, to make her feel safe and loved. She had me pinned down. And while I held her, my heart widened to that truth.