Last night, I picked Baby up from daycare on my way home from work. When we got home, we turned on Dr. Phil and cuddled up on the couch for our End-Of-The-Workday nursing session.
Within minutes, Baby was screaming his little head off. He wiggled and squirmed and howled. Frantic, I searched Baby’s body for any clues of the source of his pain. He screamed louder.
After several minutes of screaming and frantic searching, I realized that Baby was looking at the end table next to the couch. Did he want something from the table? The lamp? The remote control? The phone? Oh, wait…his remote control car that he got from Opa for Christmas. Daddy keeps it on the table so we remember to turn the car off after Baby plays with it so the batteries don’t die prematurely.
I picked up the toy car and the screaming abruptly stopped.
Isn’t ten months old a little young for the tantrums to start?
Forget terrible twos. This is the terrible ten months.