Molars I guess.

Oh, people, my head is SO not in the game right now.

My head is still spinning on the floor of AJ's bedroom, where last night he had a mental breakdown that should possibly have been recorded for use in child psycho-analysis classrooms, it was that out of hand. Out of his mind. Out of body experience. He threw himself back and forth, scratched at his own face, kicking and punching me, and cried, cried, cried 'til MY heart actually broke into pieces and I cried, too. I know that he's TWO and can't control his emotions or verbalize what it means to just feel crappy for no apparent reason. We have used every technique we can think of. Timeout. Speak calmly. Distract, distract, distract. "No more movies." Hold him tight. Pop his butt when he blatantly disobeys. Nothing gets through. It's "Hold me," then, "NOOOOOOdon'tHOLDmeIdiin'tWANTthaaaat..." Inexplicable. After a quick screaming bath I was down on the floor with him while he thrashed around; I suddenly took his shoulders in my hands, and looked into his eyes.... they were not his happy, sweet soft doe-eyed brown ones that I know. They were from somewhere else. He was heaving with raspy "WAah, wah, wah" sobs, and I told him, "You're scaring mama. You're going to hurt yourself." And I think it was as bad as any parenting day can get. In the end his blankie, the one that always comforts, helped him to take a breath, and we shut off all the lights in the room and I just held him close and whispered, and he finally lost his battle with whatever demon seemed to be inside him. I have to describe it that way, because that is how it felt. That bad. I try to breathe deep about it and say, "He's two." But it feels much, much heavier than that this morning.

It was maybe a tougher weekend than we would have liked. And yet, I really, really wish I were with him right now in case he needs me.