The Rascal, Part II

Today started out as the toughest one I’ve ever had with Kenny.   I’m not dismissing the trials I went through trying to figure out the brand new born baby thing… but this  morning was the most challenging time  I’ve had with him since he has become his own little person.   He was a pistol, a brute even.   Screaming to get his way, pounding his little fist into the stereo and wailing because I couldn’t figure out how to turn it back on after he reprogramed all the buttons.   Turning over his breakfast AND his lunch plates because I didn’t give him any crackers.   Writhing his kinetic 23 pounds in all directions as I tried to carry him upstairs for a nap.   Screeching like a pig at slaughter when I put him in his crib for a nap.

At that point, I went downstairs, disolved into a defeated heap and ate a huge slice of triple layer chocolate cake, fat salty tears turning it to soup.

And yet, ten minutes later, after piling him and Dudley into the car just to get out of the house, his sweet little face resigned to sleep and I stared in awe at the angel in the backseat.   I even managed to turn the car around and get him back upstairs and into his crib without waking him.   And I had 40 blissful minutes of solitude in which I charged around, vacuuming, making phone calls, opening mail and picking up lost lego pieces from under the couch.

And then everything was fine.   We took a sunny walk, Kenny in the backpack, and strolled through our neighborhood playing “I spy.”   (Kenny’s favorite are the mailboxes.   And the pickup trucks.)   We rubbed noses, he kissed me with his big slobbery kisses over and over on the face, and we hugged and tickled.   We got back in the car and ran errands, he joyfully and exuberantly charming everyone in sight with his banter and mega-watt smile.   When we got home we found Casey already there, pulling his jetski in for the season, and surprising us with an early work day.   Kenny tramped through the yard, ate a huge snack and danced all around the living room.   We all sat down for a steak dinner and then the little guy went to bed with a happy grin on his face, ready to rest up for another day.

Is it possible that this was all the same day?   How do I turn those awful mornings around sooner?   What do I do when he infuriates me to the point of absolute frustration?   I won’t yell and I’ll never, ever hit.   So what do you do to discipline a rascally 13 month-old?   How do you show him you mean business?   I don’t like the idea of “time out” because I want him to learn that it’s ok to play alone or have quiet time; that solitude is a great thing and that his room is his haven.   I think that “go to your room!” and “time out!” undermine those goals.  

Do I ignore his bad behavior?   Do I calmly listen to his tantrums and then move on?   He’s just starting to get to the point where he understands that certain things that he does are wrong.   He knows it’s wrong to throw his food on the floor, to feed it to the dog, and to knock over things on purpose.   He knows when I say, “No” to something, and yet he will do it ten times more, earnestly watching my reaction.   I know that he is testing his limits.   That he is wondering if my reaction will always be the same, or if I’ll start to yell or if I’ll take something away.   From a child development point of view, I can mentally understand all that he does, and yet when I’m caught in the thick of him stomping his feet in the kitchen, banging his hands on the cabinet screaming, “CRACKER!”, or shaking the contents of his sippy cup onto the carpet for the 40th time in one day, what can I do?   (Right, I know.   Take the sippy cup away, don’t let him walk around with it.   See, I know the answers.)

So maybe I know the right answers, but my goodness, it’s not easy.   Moms of one-year-olds…. HELP!