Last night was weird. My big four and a half year old had a few nightmares, eventually making me remove a large white plate that has been hanging on his wall since he joined our family. The plate was given to me at the baby shower held in Matthew's honor and has well wishes from my friends and family written on it. Suddenly he is terrified of the plate. So my son is scared of a plate and I immediately begin to wonder if this new fear is adoption related. If you think that sounds like a crazy leap, from nightmare to adoption related anxiety, all over a plate, then you are not an adoptive parent.
We eventually calmed our sweet boy down, tucking him back into bed and giving him his scrubbie to hold. That's right, his scrubbie. A while back Matthew found the scrubbie on the kitchen floor, where his little brother had been playing with it, and carried it off to bed. He likes the way the rough scrubbie part feels against his skin. I know, right? I try not to panic.
But before all of the bad dream drama we had some tiny toddler drama going on. Last night was not our best night. My tiny guy spent so much time hitting his older brother with toys that my oldest son eventually just put on his football helmet. Smart kid, that one. We have been dealing with this issue since day one and have tried numerous techniques to put a stop to this behavior. And it has gotten better. Not that you could tell that last night. So to keep him contained during his time outs the toddler spent some time in the pack and play last night. Where he learned a new trick. He can pull himself up, swing his leg over the top and climb out. Not abnormal, I know. Toddlers hurl themselves out of these things all the time. But the way he was doing it, slowly and somewhat stiffly- he looked just like that creepy girl/monster thing in The Ring. Oh. My. God. Most disturbing thing ever. And the truly sucky part was that I felt like such a horrible mother that I couldn't share my terror with my husband. He would think I was a lunatic.
Finally I did mention it to him and, turns out, he had been thinking the same thing. Sign us both up for Parents of the Year, people.
So I had a hard time sleeping last night. I kept picturing my tiny toddler disjointedly climbing out of the pack and play just like that girl in the movie climbed out of the well. And out of the TV. As soon as I would get that image out of his mind the adoption guilt would creep back in. And what the heck is up with the scrubbie?
To recap: My Current Worries...
1. Will the tiny toddler ever stop throwing hard plastic objects at my head?
2. Is it weird that my big four and a half year old sleeps with a kitchen scrubbie?
3. Why does a large white plate create such drama for my oldest son?
4. Is any of this weirdness due to adoption stuff?
5. Is it wrong to compare my tiny toddler to a horror movie character?