Tantrum Celebration
Last night, I celebrated at least three, major Hannah tantrums.
After work, I met the family at Gabriel's karate class, and we took the kids to McDonalds. Janette and Gabriel picked up the food at the counter while I held Hannah nearby, singing to her, spinning her around, tickling her, etc. (being Daddy). As we took our seats, Janette ate her burger while feeding Hannah through her g-tube.
After dinner, we split up. Hannah's patience seemed to be wearing thin, so she and I took a walk around the Barnes and Noble Tanasbourne center. Gabriel and Mom stayed at McDonalds to play in the playstructure there.
Usually, a walk is a cure for Hannah's boredom (my initial guess on Hannah's mood). Tonight, no go. At Wherehouse (my first retail alma mater), Hannah had her first tantrum, crying and kicking at the Kid Cart's footrest. We stopped looking through the store. I went down on my knees to talk with Hannah eye-to-eye.
"Hannah, stop." I signed for stop with my hands.
Hannah acknowledged by calming down for five seconds, enough to give me her sign for lay down: a near-horizontal leaning of the head. Ah. She was tired.
"Hannah, we can't lay down here."
More screaming. I gave her a time out, turning her chair around away from me, giving her some contemplative time to calm herself. She pulled herself together, and we walked out the door, heading to Barnes and Noble.
Starbucks line: tantrum #2. "Hannah, stop." I signed again.
She complied briefly, but emphasized she really wanted to lay down with an emphatic tip of her head almost horizontally left.
"In a little while," I promised. "Let's go look at books!"
And tantrum #3 launched itself shortly thereafter.
Hannah got more than her fair share of time outs, and I got multiple opportunities to appreciate my daughter's ability to vocalize loudly via the Pasi-Muir on her trach. I struggled with letting Hannah know I understood what she was saying, but I was choosing not to comply. Eventually, I threw up the white flag, rang Janette's cell phone, and said, "Hannah's done. She's tired and ready to go home."
After confirming that I did not say, "Going to Canada" via intermitent cell phone bursts (my spontaneous jaunts with the kids are famous, though I've never gone quite that far), Janette promised to leave the playground and come pick Hannah and me up.
Meanwhile, Hannah and I dueled it out near the checkout line. Screaming and kicking. Time out. Reconciliation. Repeat. Janette arrived shortly thereafter, and we all loaded into the car and headed home.
Hannah is sleeping quite well now at 3am. She did get about an hour's nap tonight on returning home, and that seemed to do the trick for her.
Me? I am still appreciating the fact that Hannah is oh-so-finding her voice. She is my three-year-old princess, increasingly sure that the world revolves exclusively around her. At least for now, I can step out of my Nurse Dad role and just be Dad: dolling out tickles, time-outs, songs, and kisses, often in equal proportions. In-the-tantrum-moment, this isn't the first thing that crosses my mind. This morning, though, with the luxury of hindsight and currently-sleeping-kids, it is a thought I can entertain.
-- Dad
