When You're Beside Yourself, Check Your Diaper

Well, we've entered a new stage, the stage of rage, with Brigid. At almost 18 months, she is finding it necessary to throw tantrums, objects and herself when challenged. Tonight, she repeatedly screamed, ran away and threw herself to the floor when I tried to a) pick her up; b) take something away from her that she wasn't supposed to have; and c) take her from Margaret when it was time for Margaret to go bed. As I was getting Brigid settled on my lap for some nighttime boob and some rocking, she pitched a major fit -- lots of crying and screaming -- until I finally just put her in her crib. She cried for a short while but for now, seems to be out. Welcome to the Terrible 18-months, formerly and unjustly called Terrible Twos. In between meltdowns, she's charming and funny and a joy to be with (she's always a joy; she's just not always joyous).

Yesterday she didn't seem to be herself, in fact, she didn't seem to be herself for a few days until I realized we hadn't had a dirty diaper from her. Last night, she was squatting in the living room and I figured she was filling her pants. Well, she was, and her onesie, and her socks and her shoes. The poor kid had one massive diaper, but it didn't seem to bother her; in fact, she seemed to feel 100 percent better! Maybe that's the solution to all the world's problems. Everyone should take time to squat.

Margaret and Patricia continue to have good days in school. Patricia got information home the other day about taking an instrument. I don't know if she's ready to commit to that kind of thing, but Margaret continues to show promise on the flute. She is also in chorus this year and is taking Spanish as well. She already knows how to ask if she can go to the bathroom. See? Everyone should take time to "ir a el bano."