Quiet in the Library!

Today marks the day of my child's first public temper tantrum.

Don't get me wrong, he has had little tantrums.  Like any 18-month old, there are multiple times in our days when he gets frustrated or hurt or angry and he expresses himself the way any toddler does: crying, flailing, and general childishness.  

But today was a different story.

Jonathan was working at the VA all day, so I tried to fill our day with some errands.  Riggs is taking fewer and fewer morning naps, and although he was yawning and rubbing his eyes a bit before we left the house, I decided to press on and shoot for a one-nap day.  This would prove to be a bad choice.  

We headed to our public library with aspirations of a new novel and a few baby name books for me, and a few Thanksgiving-themed books for Riggs.  Being the prepared, efficient mom that I am (insert sarcasm here), I had already looked up the references for my books and headed straight to the second floor fiction section to grab my novel so that we would have plenty of time in the children's section later.  We arrived in the correct aisle, and I plopped Riggins down.  Usually, he just walks up and down the aisle, or stops at the end of the aisle to look out the huge windows and say "Vroom Vroom" to the cars below a few hundred times.

But not this time.  He bolted.  Down the aisle, around the corner, and down the row, darting into another aisle halfway down that section.  I scurried after him, partially because I didn't want him disturbing the peace of the library, and partially because the main branch of the Memphis Public Library sees some...umm...characters...and I really didn't want my toddler out of my sight for a second.  

I barely caught him, snagging him with a finger in the hood of his little sweatshirt, and scooped him up in my arms.  

And that is when he let out a blood-curdling scream like nothing I have ever heard from his mouth before.  It could have been a sound bite for a horror movie, and it felt as though it lasted at least 15 seconds.  

He squelched his scream with a gasp, and it gave way to frantic cries, as he simultaneously began to smack me across the face, one hand after the other.  I was seriously getting walloped by my child.

When I finally gained control of his hands, he went limp noodle on me, but the screaming cries continued.  I foolishly attempted a quick walk back to the aisle where my book was located, thinking that the change of scenery might snap him out of it.  Of course, it didn't, and I only became more frazzled to the point that the books' titles and authors were a blur and I gave up.  

And so today, I did what all the books said I would have to do some day: pack up and leave when your kid starts acting like a demon-possessed banshee.  

I carried my screaming, flailing child back through the crowd of people who had surely assumed that a poor young soul was being severely harmed in the back corner of the 2nd Floor Fiction section.  

Once we were halfway to the escalator, he finally snapped out of it, looking around at all of the people like, "Dude? Did you hear that kid back there?  What a basket case!  Who was that guy???"  

By the time we got back to the first floor, he was totally calm.  After a moment of collecting ourselves, we went to the children's section and had a delightful time wandering the aisles, pointing to the huge poster of Elmo, and sitting in the stained glass house.  I taught him the fun of laying on his back in the house to admire the beautiful stained glass ceiling, and watching his face light up at the sight made our roller coaster visit to the library worth it.  

And that, in a nutshell, is the somewhat insane beauty of parenting a toddler.  In the span of 15 minutes or less, you can go from feeling infuriated and helpless by an outburst, to feeling elated and empowered by a tender moment.  My prayer is that I have a quick forgetfulness with those difficult moments, but an everlasting memory with the beautiful ones.