Hug It Out

Next week, Charlie will be 18 months old. I can’t believe he has already been with us for a year and a half. I was perusing through old photos the other day and looked in awe as I saw my scrawny baby in the NICU. My, has he thrived over the year! He’s growing up so quickly, it almost scares me. At times, I find myself wishing he could talk and be more independent to make things easier on me, but then I immediately switch to wishing he was still a tiny 4 month old baby. But most of the time, I am just amazed with who he is at this very second.

At this point in his life, he’s not yet a toddler but certainly no longer a baby. He is not yet walking, but he is well on his way (he is still a little behind because of his pre-maturity). He enjoys hoisting himself up to a standing position and counting the seconds until his little booty hits the floor. Most often, he is so proud of his stance that he claps, knocking him off balance, sending him immediately to the ground. I absolutely adore watching his pride spread across his face. His eyes light up as if to say, “Do you see what I, Charlie of only 17 ½ months, am capable of doing? Can you believe it?” He bears his teeth in a proud grin and giggles with pleasure at himself.

With his communication skills, Charlie is moving along at rapid speeds. He is learning and using new words every day. Most recently are hi, bye, and yes (stated with a giant head nod, “yesssssss”). He is beginning to understand the power of words and, in my opinion, is on the brink of having full multi-sentence conversations with us.

All of these new developments are great. But lately, I feel like he gets a little overloaded sometimes, especially after school. After he spends a full day actively playing and learning, he’s completely spent. When I pick him up from school, he peers at me happily through the door. He smiles and scoots over to me and gives me a giant bear hug. We say goodbye to his classmates and teacher and head for the car. Somewhere between stepping out of the building and getting secured in his car seat, he loses it. The drive home is usually spent trying to soothe him. This is most often done by tossing Teddy Grahams back to him from the driver’s seat, hoping that a few will land in his lap. Then, the snacks run out and I make a mad dash down curvy Quince to get home before my nerves explode.

We get home and he his happy to see the dogs and sighs in satisfaction as we take his shoes off. And then, the screaming begins. We race to get him something to eat, hoping to sate his hungry little belly. But over the past few weeks, food has not been the thing to calm and distract him - even if he is hungry. In fact, everything pisses him off. We put milk in front of him. He throws the cup. We try crackers. He screams and shakes his head no. We try to hold him, and he does the baby stiff body with arched back thing that makes me almost drop him on his head. We try to give him his blanket and he throws it on the floor and kicks it. We try to distract him with a book or a toy that inevitably gets thrown across the room and whacks one of the dogs in the head.

Finally, succumbing to the fact that he is just overcome by evil spirits in a fit of rage, we decide to ignore him and let him get it out of his system. During this time, he scoots from me, to Maggie, to Daddy, to Roxie and back again, kicking each of us on the ankles in frustration, all the while screaming and crying with his little face swelling up and burning red. I can’t help but laugh during this time because

1) The whole situation is so ridiculous and I’m trying not to let it get to me (although sometimes I want to run out of the house screaming myself because it is JUST SO HARD to endure this kind of thing sometimes), and

2) When he is making his rounds trying to kick each of the people/dogs who love him most dearly in the world, he is just so cute. I honestly don’t believe that he is trying to be aggressive; he’s just working out his frustrations. The funniest part about it is that his kicks are so light and soft, they feel almost endearing, like a whisper-soft brush of the hand. They make me want to scoop him up and smother him with kisses.

Eventually, after letting him work it out, Charlie calms down and returns to being the sweet, bright-eyed boy that we know. The metamorphosis is almost frightening because I can visibly see the tantrum drain from his face and limbs and then seconds later, he will look up at one of us with a giggly smile. Relief that the episode has passed washes over the entire house, and I no longer feel the prickly nervous sensation throughout my body.

At that very moment, he scoots over to my feet and pulls himself up to standing, reaching for me to pick him up. I raise him up; he looks me in the eyes and leans in for a giant hug.