Walking In Her Shoes

We've all been there. Wal-Mart, the doctors office, the mall...the location varies. We witness this poor, pitiful mother, one kid in the buggy, a sweet smiling baby on her hip, and then...there's her toddler. Screaming to the top of his lungs, stomping his feet, throwing himself on the floor, replying with an emphatic, "NO!!!" to her every request, limbs flailing in every direction, his face contorted into the most unpleasant of faces, covered in a filthy mix of tears, spit and snot. We walk by, disdainfully staring at this train wreck of a child, wondering what his mother did, or most likely didn't do, that she would have a child who would act this way in public. We wonder what brought on his outburst (apparently the devil) and think to ourselves, "That woman needs to do something with that kid! He needs his butt tore up!!". Yes, we snub our noses as if we are better parents, because, "I would never let my kid act that way.". Right??

Yeah, well, not any more. Last Thursday, in the doctor's office, I didn't witness this scene. I was this scene. Yes, my friends, I was this mother, and Brady was this child.

Noah had an appointment for what I suspected was an ear infection. Turns out my suspicion was right, but that's irrelevant.

Brady had to come with me to the appointment, so I went armed. I had his portable DVD player, every movie he owns, an arsenal of snacks, and his beloved blanket and "O-Bear". I just knew I was safe. Yeah. Right.

For the first 20 minutes, my child was an angel. Perfect! Brady sat in the chair with his milk and bear and watched TV. He'd occasionally get down to talk to this sweet little girl, but if he wondered off too far, I just had to say, "B, come back. Sit down and watch TV.", and he'd comply without the slightest hesitation.

Then in comes a mom with three boys, the oldest of whom, was probably about 6 and a bit rowdy. He immediately sought Brady out. (Why Brady is a magnet for these type of kids, I'll never know. It's like he has a smell, or something.) Anyway, the kid starts crawling under the chairs and running around the room. Brady, the 2 year old in perpetual motion, begins following him under the chairs squealing like a pig in the mud. I tell him no, that he can't crawl under the chairs. He stares me down for about a minute and then, deciding that I must not mean business, tries to crawl back under the chairs. Because I have Noah in my lap, I give him one more warning that if he crawls under the chairs again, I'll take him in the bathroom.

Now, he knows, from past experience, that if we go into a public restroom that he's really messed up. He knows that I carry my "spanking spoon" everywhere we go and that it's in the bathroom that I wield it.

It was this one, simple, warning that prompted a fit that could have been included in the movie trailer for Poltergeist. Seriously. It was like I flipped a switch.

He threw himself on the floor, and began to scream at a decibel, that at times, I'm pretty sure, only dogs could hear. He completely ignored my commands to get up and the more I talked, the louder and more violent he became.

I put Noah in the car seat, grabbed the diaper bag, my child off of the floor, who went limp, yet still managed to kick and punch (which made it near impossible to carry him to the bathroom) and picked up the car seat and carried it cross the waiting room to the bathroom, which seemed miles away. Once behind the privacy of the locked door, I pulled his little shorts down and popped his legs twice with the spoon. I waited for him to calm down, which he never did, to talk to him about his behavior. When he became even more violent, I left the room thinking he would follow me. And he did.

He flung the door of the bathroom open, and flung himself onto the floor, screaming even louder than when we went in. At this point I was getting pretty. darn. angry. Not to mention, embarrassed beyond words. (I know, your thinking it must end pretty soon. Right? Well, think again. You obviously don't know Brady very well.)

Since I could do nothing with my child inside, apparently his audience was fueling the fit, I asked another mother, with a well-behaved, sweet, quiet child if she would mind watching Noah for a minute while I went outside with Brady.

We get outside and the screaming continues. I take him around the side of the building, away from the windows and watchful eyes, and grab him by his shoulders. All I wanted was for him to look at me, in the eyes. At this point I just want to calm him down. Somehow, he pries himself away from my grip, throws himself back and smacks his head on a brick column. This sends him into orbit, running and screaming away from me. Remember we're outside. In a parking lot.

So, I have to chase my child, in circles, around the parking lot. 3 times. (Yeah, he's a quick little sucker). Looking back, at this point, I'm thinking we must have looked as if Barnum & Bailey had come to town. I should have charged admission.

I watch in horror, about 15 yards away, as a Suburban pulls into the parking lot. My heart literally. stopped. beating. Thank heavens that the driver was paying attention and slammed on her brakes. If she hadn't, I wouldn't be writing this post from the comfort of my home. Instead, I'd probably be sitting by my child's bedside in ICU. Or worse.

I ran over, grabbed Brady and whisked him inside. As I walk in, the woman who was watching Noah, was holding him and my bag and the nurse was at the door to take us back. I carry them both, crying, to the back. I just left Brady on the floor, screaming as I sat, clutching my stomach, head reeling, waiting for the doctor.

Finally, after Dr. Rhodes arrived, witnessing the fit, and ignored it, it stopped. After he examined Noah, I in tears, recounted the entire story to him and asked for advice. His opinion...Brady was acting out for attention, because of the baby. I should set limits, follow through with consequences when he crosses the line, and then ignore the tantrums. "So he's not a bad child? I don't need to be concerned about his behavior?". No. Apparently not.

If I learned one thing from our circus...don't judge other mothers. They are, most likely, as I am, doing their best to parent their strong willed toddler. They are, most likely, tearing up his butt when he crosses the line. His fit was most likely not caused by anything that his mother did, or did not do. And, now that I've walked a mile in her shoes, instead of disdainfully judging her, and her child, I should pray for her sanity and work on my speed!