IN, OUT. IN, OUT.
It's the only way to get through it.
The screeching. The wailing. The whining. The "NO!", over and over and over again.
Repeat slowly to yourself: "you are not given anything you cannot handle", followed by, "this too shall pass". Cliche? Yup. These lovely little isms are over used for good reason. They provide a sense of relief in moments where I want to throw myself on the floor and throw an embarrassing-style fit to expel some of the frustrated energy that is threatening to blow my Mommy-cover.
The good times are good. Like, really good. I can light a Super Wal-Mart with my proud beaming. The good times fill my cup and make a sloppy mess on the floor as it spills over and we slosh around in the glory of learning together, reading together and running wild through supermarket aisles together. For my purposes today you can go ahead and equate the word 'good' with "not throwing a seemingly nothing-induced fit of epic proportions".
This fit has many faces and is rarely preceded by an event that one would say is fit-worthy. It shows up with a hearty, "What the hell?" and as many longs breathes coupled with slow eye blinkings as it takes to get through the mess with out causing physical harm. I've been successful 100% of the time. I am mother, just try me.
Under my calm, composed exterior I am freaking out. I wonder if this one is gonna last only a few minutes and just fizzle out into happiness again ("What the?") or if it'll be the one that breaks me. The one where I cry too.
The new screechy sound that she has discovered doesn't help. I imagine it was by accident, during a particularly intense roiling of emotions that she came upon this sound that made me wonder if she was seizing or possessed or some such frightfulness. She wasn't (well, I suppose I don't know for a fact that she wan't possessed). And since that day, oh happy day, she whips out that lovely tune whenever the fit strikes her.
Most recently these displays include falling to the ground, throwing things, flailing feet (hey, when you're strapped into a car seat, you do what you can) and loud, loud screaming.
My signature move is non-reaction. Oh, man is it a challenge. Part of my philosophy is to let her have her feelings instead of telling her she can't experience them (making her stop doing what she is doing- short of hurting someone/thing) by interacting with her non-reactively and inquiring as to what is going on for her. It may not be everyone's cup of tea- but it works really well for us. The way I see it, she gets acknowledged for her feelings and feels paid attention to and loved. This gives the reason for the season (er...'fit') no more fuel, and off we go!
Reaction. Therein lies the rainbow colored sloth in the room. My internal reaction is everything I've already said and it ain't no picnic.
Whoever said parenting wasn't for sissy's was a gal-danged wordsmith.