In which our Heroine’s Child becomes villainous.
Christmas is such a lovely day filled with gift giving: good family times in the early morn hours, the charming shaking of beautifully wrapped boxes, the frantic tearing of pretty paper, the maniacally giggling children everywhere—and oh yes, the memory of the sweet baby Jesus in his poor manger. The day after (or rather two days after) Christmas is quite a different story.
The raging naked child bouncing against the sides of her crib upstairs is not mine. Nor is it the fault of a young, susceptible mother who was only trying to give her precious little one a nice Christmas. In a somewhat futile attempt to pin the blame on someone or something, I choose the evil, plotting scoundrel of commercialism.
Drat that foe. Many a man or woman has fallen to its sweeping tide of glossy items. I am such a one of those helpless creatures. Perhaps it was too much to grab the bathtub crayons from the side aisle as I walked out of Target that day. How could I know I was laying the foundations of my eventual ruin? The toddler on the front of the package looked so happy in his little bathtub, holding a little ball of a crayon that “fits perfectly in his small palm.” His little belly button just peeked out above the bottom of the package. Yes, I am blaming the carefully driven packaging. Heck, at this point, I’ll even blame the toddler model’s parents who all participated in this dread scheme. All toward my own demise as a mother.
The problem with the after-bath tantrum is that the child is naked, wet, and diaperless. Because of this, I exacerbated the problem by not administering swift tantrum punishment (throwing child in crib and shutting bedroom door until I hear happy sounds eventually emanating). Instead, I made vain attempts to wrestle my child down on the floor with my weakened left arm while making the maverick effort to dress her bum in a clean diaper with my not-quite-dexterous-enough right hand. Her wiggles were not cute. Rather, the wiggles were frighteningly effective. I gave up and put my naked bandit behind the bars of her jail-like crib. Hark! She has just quieted! (Finally). I’m sure Eva is even now shivering in her skivvies, waiting for her beleaguered and commercially sickened mother to make a jail break before she decides to pee her bedding.