Some Days Are Like That...Even in Australia

One of my favorite children's books is called "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" by Judith Viorst. Alexander gets up one morning, and from the moment his feet hit the floor, he's having a bad day. No, not just a bad day, a Bad Day. No, not just a Bad Day, a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. His brothers get great toys in their breakfast cereal, but all Alexander gets is breakfast cereal. His brothers get cool new sneakers, but the only sneakers in Alexander's size are ugly. He gets gum in his hair and drops the sleeve of his sweater in the sink with the water running and his mother forgets to put dessert in his lunch box and his best friend tells him that he's now only his third best friend. It's such a bad day that he decides to move to Australia. But in the end, his mother reassures him that a bad day isn't the end of the world, because tomorrow is always a fresh new start. Besides, some days are like that, even in Australia.

Well, some days are like that, even when you have a perfect baby. Yesterday was one of those days when I was ready to consider moving to Australia. Periodically out of the blue, Ryan would just start screaming and wailing for no particular reason. I thought his teeth might still be bothering him, so I went to give him some Tylenol, but we were out. So I took him to the pharmacy, but they were also out, except for the kind for older kids that comes with a little cup instead of a dropper. Not real useful with a protesting 7-month-old. But I didn't have time to ask if there was any more out back, because I could tell that Ryan was on the verge of a complete meltdown. We made it out of the store but I drove all the way home with a screaming baby in the back of the car.

By the time we got home, the temperature on the porch was reading 118 degrees. (No, I am not exaggerating for literary effect. It really was 118 degrees on my porch. Yes, Fahrenheit.) And since it's only May and most people haven't got their air conditioners installed yet, the entire neighborhood had their windows open and got to listen to Ryan screaming for 45 minutes while I tried to get him to go down for his much-needed nap. (Much-needed for BOTH our sakes.)

He finally fell asleep in my arms, but every time I started to move, he would stir and whine a little bit, so I ended up lying on the couch for an hour with a 30-pound hot water bottle on my chest. (Did I mention that it was 118 degrees on the porch?) It was indeed a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

And when Ryan woke up, he didn't want to eat his dinner, and he didn't want to play with his toys, and he didn't want to sit in his exersaucer or his bouncy chair. He didn't know what he wanted, but whatever I was offering, that wasn't it. He was just having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

But fortunately, even though it may not seem that way, every day ends after 24 hours, even the most terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. So finally when Daddy gave him his bath and tucked him into bed, our terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day was over.

And I didn't even have to move to Australia.