Luca: 1 Mom: 0

Dear Son,

First, allow me to ask, (and do please pardon my saying), but WHAT THE HELL was in those shots you received Friday @ your 12 month checkup? Yes, I signed the immunization consent form, but no where (not even I the fine print might I add) did it say ANYTHING to the effect of "the immunizations you child will be receiving today can and will cause said child to lose his/her mind."

*sigh*

Ok. Heres the thing. You've always been an extremely laid back baby - from day one. People often have asked, "does he ever cry?" They comment . . . "oh, you're so lucky - he's so well behaved. Watch out for the second one." They constantly marvel at how well behaved you are, for "such a little baby." And I assure them that it's none of my doing - your behavior can only be attributed to constant prayer while you were in the womb, that remained constant even after you were in the world. (Although admittedly, my chest has swelled a few times as I've thought "hey, I really MUST be doing something right here, he IS pretty special.")

So I guess God decided to showcase a bit of his sense of humor.

One week ago today you had those dreadful immunizations . . . and I do declare - I believe I have brought home a different child. While I have taken into consideration the fact that you are teething, (duly noted that this is your 7th tooth, - and none of the previous 6 have elicited such a reaction,) and that I do know some times immunizations leave babies feeling "fussy", (again, we've been through this before with no problems) . . . .

keeping in consideration all these things:
You have learned the art of the temper tantrum, and Son . . . . you are an ace.

It's all out and out drama - complete with head banging and the most high pitched scream you can fathom coming from a human ( think banshee). Not being one to rest on my laurels, I decided to grab the bull by the horns and get control of these . . we'll call them "episodes" before you decide to make them a habit.

This morning @ 11:15am, all was right with the world. I'm rinsing dishes, you are taking in an episode of The Backyardigans . . . little did I know the storm that was brewing. Suddenly, it was 11:19am, and you were in complete melt-down come-apart mode. There was nothing wrong with you (i.e. - your tummy was full, your bottom was dry . . .and besides, we mothers just know these things - you were in no pain, no distress . . . you just decided to throw a fit.) Indeed, there was a part of me that wanted to just scoop you up and hold you close . . . but that would have only encouraged the behavior tomorrow and the days to follow. So - it was with a slightly (and only slightly mind you) heavy heart that I placed you in your crib . . . and walked away.

What happened next can only be described as . . . well, to be honest, I'm not sure I can give a completely accurate description. To say you reached a new level of boldness would be putting it mildly. There were shouts and screams and moans and groans. You whizzed every toy in your crib to the floor. You gagged - you wailed. I took it all for about . . . six minutes. Then I had to return. It was just too much to sit in the other room and listen to. So - I told myself there were clothes and toys to be put aways in your room - and I could take care of these things while you finished your tantrum . . . I'd leave you in your crib - and perhaps as long as you could see me in the same room, you'd calm yourself down and we could go about our day.

(Aren't I ever the optimist?)

Things didn't go quite as planned. As I picked up around your room - you became more and more agitated - a veritable cornucopia of snot and tears and sweat. I remained calm and focused on the task - calmly assuring you that "if you'll just calm down and stop crying - mommy will take you out and we can go play." My tactics were futile . . . I offered you stuffed animals - they went flying passed my head . . . I gave you toys - you shoved them away . . . what about a nice cool washcloth? . . . yeah right. I read you books. I put on a puppet show. I sang you a song.

Nothing. Nill. Nada.
50 minutes had passed.
So, I did the only other thing I knew to do - . . . I left you in there to continue crying.

I had just made it down the hall and back to the sink to finish the dishes . . . when I heard it:

KERPUNK.

Huh? Theres nothing left in his bed for him to throw out.... and even had there been - it wouldn't sound like THAT. I rushed down the hall . . . only to bed met by you at the other end coming my way like an angry bull.
You had somehow . . . escaped - from your crib! But how? How could you have possibly gotten over the side rail? There was nothing for you to boost yourself up with . . . but there was no time for figuring it out.

You were not crying . . . you were not sad . . . you had a certain look of determination I'd not witnessed from you before.

OK OK!! I give . . . you win.

This battle anyway.