Judgement Day

Kymee had a melt down at the store today.  
I had the audacity to tell her she couldn’t pull a child’s suitcase around the store and fill it with everything off the shelves. I know – I’m a horrible mom.
She fell to the floor and started crying and screaming her high pitched wail … and didn’t stop –  I did. I stopped. I stopped shopping. I stopped breathing. I stopped thinking like a rational adult. 
The pregnant lady,
 probably with her firstborn,
glared at me as if she knew how to parent better than me.
The old lady looked at me as if to say,
“Back in my day,
I would have picked up my kid and beat their rear- end
if they did that in the store.” 

And then there was the “perfect mom”
who stooped down to her child’s level, held them by the shoulders,
 pointed to Kymee and said,
“You’re such a good boy for not acting like THAT.”

I tried to reason with my three year old. Disclaimer: I already told you I had stopped thinking rationally.

I tried to hug her and pat her back. She kicked me and screamed louder.
What I really wanted to do was sit down next to her and cry and scream with frustration. Instead, I looked around for the closest exit. 

If I had been a part of Andres’
“Zombie Survival Squad”
I would have known the fastest way of escape with a screaming toddler.
I left my cart in the middle of the isle – at this point I had to make a choice between offending the poor clerk who would have to restock my stuff or the poor customers who had to listen to Kymee scream. I choose to offend the clerks.

I picked up my screaming child,
headed for the door 
I started singing the first thing that came to my head … “I’ve got peace like a river; I’ve got peace like a river; I’ve got peace like a river in my soul.”  
We must have been a sight to see – a screaming little girl held by singing mom. Too bad no one had their phone camera on for “America’s Funniest Videos.”
I threw her in the car – still screaming, still screaming, still screaming.  As my stress boiled inside of me ready to spill over at any moment, I continued, “I’ve got peace like a river,” I started praying in my head, “Dear God, make the river have rushing and roaring waves which engulf me and drowned me with Your peace.”
As we drove down the road screaming and singing, God gave me peace …

 in the form of a McDonalds  

Now all my “Food Nazi” friends can judge me – you know who you are: you are the ones who posted Face Book pictures of the inside of you fridge to brag about how healthy you eat – or to make the rest of us, who sometimes feed out kids nothing but bananas all day, feel bad. But today, God gave me peace through a McDonalds – because as soon as we turned into the drive through line, Kymee stopped crying. She sniffled and swallowed her sobs along with the French fries.

I stopped singing. Rational thought returned. I survived to tell the tale. I survived the ridicule and stares of strangers. And I learned it’s not over til the fat lady sings, and buys french fries.


Some mornings are good.
Most mornings are good.
Kymee wakes up cheerful and offers huge smiles, warm hugs, and cooing “I love yous” to
Mommy, Daddy, Grandma and Grandpa. (Brother and Sister are still in bed – so always miss these precious moments.)

Some mornings are bad.
Some mornings,
and lets be honest,
some random afternoons, evenings, and nights
are very, very bad.
Thus was this morning.
Kymee woke up screaming – you heard me right – not crying – SCREAMING

She does this randomly. Not quite as often as she used to, but still more often than I’d like. She can be playing, perfectly happy with tummy time – and then be screaming. Or like this morning
she just woke up that way.
Why you may ask?
1) The doctor calls it “Colic” – a label I have learned means nothing except “I have no idea why she cries and doesn’t stop – and your insurance doesn’t pay me enough to find out.”
2) The therapist says, “She hasn’t learned self-soothing skills, she must be taught” – but
they have yet to teach me how to teach her how to stop the screaming once it starts.
3) The cardiologist says, “It is most likely still the drugs in her system she had en-vitro” -this one makes the most sense to me
4) Mommy says, “I don’t care why – just make it stop”
Forget “Self-soothing” I try “Mommy-soothing”
I sing. I cuddle. I rock. I pace.
She glares at me out of the corner of her eye, as if to say, “You’re my Mommy you’re supposed to make it better.”
I offer her “Wubby”

No Luck.
I offer her “Bunny”

No luck.
Side Note:
I have never believed in inadament attachment objects – I believe babies should be attached to real live people who love them. But all my reading, and talking to other moms with medical need babies – attachment items can help get them through moments when Mommy and Daddy aren’t available – like when you are being wheeled into an operating room, or waking from anesthesia in the recovery room. So – we are trying hard to “make” Kymee attached to her “Wubby” or “Bunny” – her seemingly favorite comfort items.
Back to the story: She continues to scream.

Mommy offers a handful of comfort.

I pray for her as she grabs my fingers in desperation. I pray God will heal her and give her peace. I pray for me too, that God will give me wisdom and patience.

She finally wears herself out, falls into a fitful – hicuppy sleep.


Or better yet
God’s Grace
Answered Prayer
Some episodes are 20 to 30 minutes, some are an hour and a half.
This one:
One Hour
Ten Minutes.
An hour and ten minutes of God teaching me how to love like He does.