I don't know who made up the whole "terrible twos" adage because no parent I know has had much complaint about the behavior of their two-year-old children. It should be renamed something - I don't even know what - because in my estimation, age 3 just bites it in the challenging behavior department. And yes, the acting up stems from developmental progress and it's a natural part of learning boundaries and challenging and working through fears of this big, confusing world. For Mr. Smacky, it's all about that...but what will send a normal tantrum into a bizarre freakout is a night of disrupted sleep or not enough. In this house, well-rested = good times for all. But if we dare let the routine slip, we shall pay. Oh, how we pay.
Since we've returned from vacation I've switched his baths from nighttime to mid-morning. This wasn't done with much conscious thought but rather has been due in large part to the fact that school has not yet started up again and since he loves a long bath, why not? The day is long and he can play and swim around and have a good time to his heart's content. While he's in there I'll play with him a little and then straighten up in and around the upstairs hall area - mostly directing washed and folded piles of laundry to their respective bedrooms. From there I don't have to let him out of my sight for more than a second or two and can continue conversations with him. It's been a win/win...there's no rushing to get him out to continue with the bedtime process and I get to get some things done while he enjoys one of his favorite things.
This past Wednesday we visited the aquarium and have since had frequent conversations about all things aquatic - of most interest is the topic of how some fish swim together in schools. Today he "swam" in the tub, chatting aimlessly with some toys and proclaiming that he too, was a fish. After a long while I pointed out that his fingers were becoming "raisins" and in two minutes he would need to start letting the water out.
I urged him to begin the process of taking out his toys. He yelled a stern NO MAMMA. STOP IT.
Thinking this was related to the fact that he stayed up late last night due to a visit from Uncle Todd, I knew this transition was going to be a challenge. I began giving him more info and warning times (you should know that part of his routine is to wait while every last drop of water goes down the drain before coming out of the bath). NO MAMMA. PLEASE STOP. STOP. His hands went up at me, his face in a scowl. I gave him another minute. It was time. No really, this bath was over a half hour already. Time to get out, now, Smacky. It's time to let the water out. Would you please flip the switch? (meaning the lever to allow the water to drain).
And as I knew that today was the kind of day he'd never do it on his own, I moved to do it for him. And I did it. And had to hold it down while he struggled to remove my hand and flip it back up. This enraged him.
He began clawing at me, hitting me. He threatened to scratch me (verbally said this) and basically, went apeshit. He's tired, I kept telling myself, and, knowing a timeout would be useless in such a scenario, decided to remove him from the bathroom, dry him off and let him work through this...after that I'd put him down for a nap, I thought. He continued to yell STOP MAMMA STOP! THE WATER! THE WATER!! while flailing and hitting. I walked away in the hopes of taking away some of the steam. He ran after me, punching my legs, hysterical, crying, yelling. God this kid needs sleep, I kept thinking. I normally pick him up and hold him at this point to help him calm down. But today, for reasons unknown to me, I wondered if this somehow was encouraging his hitting behavior. So I walked away to my bedroom and shut the door, letting him stay out in the hallway to cool down for a bit. Because if I became uncalm the whole thing would deteriorate further, and I was getting a bit tired of getting hit. He began pounding the door, screaming. At this point I didn't even know what to do - what the hell was all this?
I waited a few minutes - he never let up - and opened the door and just grabbed and hugged him - I picked him up, kissed him, and took him to his bed where I put him down with his quilt tucked over him. He touched my hair and through his sobs chanted I'm sorry, I'm sorry. God, I thought - he knows this is all wrong but clearly couldn't help himself. I've got to spend more time talking about emotions with him...this can't happen again - it's exhausting for him and me and can't be good. Plus I'm just freaked out by it.
I waited a few more minutes and he began talking again and asked me where water goes when it goes down the drain. I briefly explained about sewers and treatment plants where the water goes to get clean again.
Can it come back up? he asked. From the drain? - no, I explain...once it goes down the water goes away for good. There is a pause, and I see he is thinking. It doesn't come back up? he asks again. No, I assure him. He's quiet, then says, "The fish are all gone." Which fish? "Our school of fish - our school was swimming in the tub and now they're all gone."
More discussion revealed that while in the tub, my son had made friends with quite a few invisible fish whom apparently he had developed quite an affection for...and I, with my linear parent thinking, had callously allowed those very good fish to slip away forever down a dark drain for the sake of moving on to the next step. Smacky, simply protecting his new friends, was worried about where his fish went - and, in addition, later revealed that he was afraid about the drain and wanted to be sure that he too, wouldn't slip down there and never come back.
Fear. It was all about fear.
It wasn't about defiance or rebellion or him just being difficult or needing to do it himself - it was about him being three, about him feeling scared, and not knowing how to ask for reassurance or how to handle his sometimes overwhelming emotions. I need to remember this. Always.
I will never, ever look at a tantrum the same way again.
Update: early this morning, Smacky told me that he was angry about the water. I agreed and told him again that he was far too big to slip down the drain and I would never, ever let anything like that happen to him...this made him giggle. I asked what we could do differently today. He didn't respond. Later, when I started the water, I made it clear that he would be the one to activate the drain, and I'd help if needed. It turned out to be a very happy bath.


