Look. It’s the Boy and the Nephew crawling across the floor today at The Children’s Place, where my baby siSter and I took them.
My son’s posterior looks a bit enlarged, doesn’t it? This is not altogether surprising, seeing as how his diaper was so unbelievably full that he was soaking wet all over by the time I got him home, but I think it’s just the angle of the picture. You know it adds at least 10 pounds. But still, perhaps I’ll consider changing his diaper during our next outing.
Anyway, I don’t know why they were crawling, since they do know how to walk, as well as run, as well as tear up and down the entire length of the store yelling their usual “AAAAAAAAH!!” and screeching in delight, pressing themselves up against the glass in front and being grabbed by their mothers just before entering the stock area in back, but I suppose they thought crawling would be a nice change of pace. Maybe they were tired from all that screeching. Me, I didn’t screech a bit, but I’m dead to the bone. Must be old age.
I didn’t screech, but I did explode violently at YS, but that wasn’t in the store. It was here, and it was much later, when she was refusing to go to bed and had pushed a bit too far in terms of being playfully defiant. Limits, my friends, limits. YS apparently doesn’t grasp them, and I apparently have some that do not enjoy being left behind. Not that I don’t still feel like trash for screaming at her, because I do. Not because I lost patience, but because I lost control; not because I yelled, but because I frightened her, and I frightened myself. “Maybe she’ll calm down,” I heard R whisper when they met outside my door. Yeah, maybe. I did calm down, but I feel like trash. I believe this is only the second time I have done that since I became a parent. Last time I addressed it right away. This time I was too angry and too upset, by her and by what had happened, and I didn’t address it at all. I probably will tomorrow. I hope I will tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is a new day.
