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I thought I had seen every possible toddler meltdown cause known to man with my daughter. Today, she proved that there’s more to meltdowns than man can explain. Or in my case, mom can explain.
The morning went as usual, got miss moshpit up and changed, oldest was scrounging around the bathroom for some unidentified object, and we went downstairs to eat breakfast. Sesame Street graced my daughters presence this morning, so there was no tantrum whatsoever. Just complete enthrallment in the TV and all the Elmoisms that existed.
After a few hours of intolerable PBS kids, we went upstairs to relax, and for mommy to get some much needed work done. Which really isn’t “great” work per say, but it helps when the bank account is dwindling rather rapidly due to bills and an insane $1,000 degreeless student loan payment. Thanks Navient!
Anyway, I put on some anime, I believe I put on the preview of The Shield Hero, and she was completely enamored by it, as was I. I bent over the bed, falling in the process, to grab my laptop. Mini me however, didn’t dare move because The Shield Hero was just too amazing. My oldest came darting around the bedroom door, curious to see what the loud noise was. He was pleasantly greeted, to his belly laughter, at my contorted body half on the floor and half on the bed. At least this time he actually attempted to help me up before just giving up completely, and pulling me to the floor.
After a few minutes of struggling, I finally make it back on the bed and pop open the laptop. Ready to work these menial $.10 tasks. Apparently a scene that wow’d my daughter came across the screen and she just peeked over at me, mouth wide open clapping. I quickly looked over to the TV to see they were trying to frame the shield hero and giggled a little at her reaction. And back to work I went.
After a little while, The Shield Hero ended, and mini me lowered herself to the floor and began running like a mad scientist around the bedroom. Getting into everything that she could possibly get into, including the laundry basket that would help aid in a world ending meltdown.
This little itty bitty dollar tree laundry basket, caused the absolute most ridiculous toddler meltdown I have ever had the luxury of seeing.
I was trying to adult and fold the mountain of clothes that I had washed a week prior. If you didn’t know, I don’t like folding clothes, at all. When I do laundry it’s a fend for yourself type of adventure. Trying to find which laundry basket has your bra and which one has your underwear.
Anyway, I digress. So there I was folding, and constantly refolding, because spawn would grab the folded clothes off the bed to hand them to me, and clap when I finally took the, now unfolded, article of clothing from her.
This continued until there was finally an empty laundry basket. Which she then took upon herself to stake claim. It became her laundry basket and he laundry basket alone. No one was allowed to touch it.
She did everything with this basket. From bringing it to me, so she could grab my sweatpant leg and get into it as unaided as possible; to rolling around in the basket as if she was playing Super Mario Kart. Then it happened. She could no longer get into the laundry basket by herself and started fishing around on the floor. Lungs full of scream, face full of tears. So I walked over shaking my head at her antics, picked her up, and put her in the basket. Apparently I wasn’t supposed to do that, because she didn’t want that. Enter the tear filled banshee wails from hell.
She tipped the basket over, landing oddly gracefully on her back, kicking, screaming, and flailing her little limbs everywhere. I just sat on the bed, full thinking man, trying to figure out what in the world is going on. So I ask her if she’s okay. She rolls out of the basket, stands up, and gives me the full Children of the Corn you’re dying tonight stare and then lets out this blood curdling scream. I jumped back, not only startled, but in full fear of my life from this monstrous little 15 month old.
I scoot further away from the edge of the bed as she begins to waddle run towards me. Arms angrily beating on her body like an angry Silverback gorilla doing a display of dominance. That’s when I made a big mommy mistake. I tried to comfort her during her full fledged tornado tantrum. I scooted to the edge of the bed and went to hold her to let her know it’s okay.
This little girl grabbed my face with her two little hands, opened her mouth evily wide, and screamed in my face like something you see out of a horror movie. I didn’t know what to do at this moment. I was offended, scared, and offended. So I picked her up and stood her in the middle of my bedroom. She continued to fish, scream, angry gorilla, and throw toys for about 20 minutes.
My husband had apparently come home and heard all the commotion upstairs. So like a ninja, he sneaks up the stairs and peeks over the baby gate. I’m on the bed confused and scared because of everything that just happened. What does this little girl do? She waddle runs to daddy and he picks her up. She’s all smiles and laughs as if nothing happened.
My husband just laughed as he carried her downstairs to spend some time with him. I just shook my head and continued to fold the Mt. Everest of laundry uninterrupted.
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