A Lovely Little Tantrum

So I promised a big ol' serving of crow for myself. So here it goes.

Every week, Stella and I excitedly trek down to our local library for Story Time. For twenty five minutes, Stella intently watches the dynamic children's librarian read, grooves to the tunes and basically tries to say hi to everyone in the room. She loves it as do I.

Several weeks back, I found myself racing to the car with a half dressed toddler who was still clutching her fist full of cereal because I really wanted to make it to Story Time. (I realize now that these outings are as much for me as they are for Stella.) So we ran into the library, slipping into the Story Time room as quietly as possible. Despite already being totally pitted out at 10am, I felt proud of myself for schlepping one tired mama bum and one cute baby bum out the door. I quickly took Stella's coat off and starting fervently singing "Where Is Thumpkin?"

Little did I know, but Stella has already figured out that some of these kids songs are, well... pretty stupid. It's not like she doesn't play along at times. But it's like she's not convinced she belongs in a group of toddlers. I imagine her wondering "Where are the big kids, like me?" So to keep herself entertained while all the tiny babies cooed at dancing thumbs, she headed for the stage. Normally, I wouldn't begrudge her this instinct. Even to those not drawn to the spotlight, any stage is pretty exciting. At least it's more exciting than Mazy and her friends. But the stage is the one place in the Story Time room that kids aren't supposed to play. They can roam on the stepped seats and in the front where the librarian reads and sings, but the stage is off limits.

I will only allow myself one indignant moment in this whole story.

Why, pray tell, is there a stinkin' stage in the Story Time room?

Harumph.

After trying to lasso her back to my lap about seventeen times, I simply grabbed Stella and brought her back to our seat. It wasn't an ideal move on my part, but I had to wrangle this kid.

Lord have mercy. I've never felt Stella move in the ways she did just then. She arched her back like a professional gymnast, flung her head around like a rock star and howled like a banshee. Like. A. Banshee.

My previously harmless pitted out state immediately catapulted at mach speed to thoroughly offensive. I removed her from the room and let her play in the main library for a short time thinking she just needed to run for a few minutes and then we could return to the fun.

Upon our return, she threw a similar but less dramatic tantrum. That was it. My daughter was in full on Bette Davis mode and there was pretty much nothing I could do to stop it. Fortunately, Story Time finished right then and we quickly tried to make our way to the door and flee. But of course a friend of mine spotted me and stopped me.

Okay, can I just say that I'd like to make a rule among parents that they should allow a fleeing Mama to do just that - flee. I know we've all been there, and we'll be there again, but it really is embarrassing to be That Mom for that moment. But this friend grabbed me and told me "Stop it."

I was totally perplexed. I thought to myself, What the hell is she talking about? Stop what? I'm not the one throwing a fit here. My kid is being That Kid, and I'm doing my best, Lady. Back off.

Then she said, Just relax, Katherine. I saw you giving that look. You know, the one that every Mom has when their kid is acting out. It's a look of shame and guilt. It's the look of why-can't-you-just-behave-you-small-human! Don't worry. Really. It's no big deal. Stella is just off right now. She'll be fine in ten minutes. Plus, we've all been there. Seriously. It's just your turn today.

Not really taking in what she was saying but appreciating her kindness, I nodded and smiled and muttered something about Stella going through a phase right now.

My friend laughed, grabbed my arm again and said, Life is really just a long line of phases, Katherine. So get over it and just deal with each moment.

Dang it.

She was right. Dang it. Dang it. Dang it.

So my kid threw a tantrum, and I ate crow. It's not like this is revolutionary. Every kid does this. But this was the first time my kid did it, and I foolishly thought I was getting close to avoiding one. I know, pure silliness on my part. What I learned even more than how effortlessly crow goes down is that other moms really do get it. It's not like I returned to Story Time the next week to a room full of icy stares and cold judgment. Rather, I returned to a room full of moms and dads who alternately take turns being That Mom with That Kid. This can be a seriously wonderful club.

Like any professional toddler with spunk and spirit, Stella is going to express her immediate feelings and opinions with admirable passion. If I can prevent most of the more traumatic meltdowns, I consider that a success. But I also recognize that I can't anticipate everything for her. I can only do my best. (I actually agree with her that it totally sucks that nobody is allowed to play on that stage!) So I'm comfortable eating crow on this one. I'll gladly eat it, because I feel like I've learned something through the whole experience and, most importantly, I've figured out new ways to respect Stella's needs with a greater sense of foresight and empathy.

(Just so ya know... We now only head to Story Time with full bellies and plenty of time to spare, arriving early so we can grab a seat that is dauntingly far from the stage. We enjoy ourselves and quell Stella's penchant for stage diving. Nice work, Mama.)