Baby G was delightful while we were on vacation – as long as we were out Doing Things. Swimming? Awesome. Walking all over town in 30-degree heat? No problem. Camping in a howling downpour? BRING IT MOTHER, I LIKE THE RAIN.
Staying home, lazing around the house and romping in the playroom unimpeded by the Toddler Brigade and their raging group case of “Do Not Touch Me / All The Things Are Mine?” Oh, hell no.
The week of vacation, Baby G discovered his voice. Not his crying voice, which we are all well-acquainted with. Not his babbling voice, which is adorable and delightful. No, he decided that we were boo-ring and that the best way to fix that would be to yell at us for five days straight.
YELLING. Straight-up wordless toneless yelling at top volume. Nothing stopped it. Nothing in the house, anyway. Take him out somewhere? Charming. Laughing. Smiling. Make him, god forbid, be home? He would crank up the volume and yell and yell and YELL SOME MORE unrelentingly until all you could do was either yell back or give up and take him somewhere.
Monday was the last day of vacation. It was rainy, and very hot. Just miserable conditions. I had a headache and was also Filled With Ennui about starting work again in 24 hours. And I’d promised myself I would buy Harry’s school supplies before vacation ended. And Baby G had been yelling since he woke up at the ungodly hour of 5AM. Knowing full well that leaving him behind would be a really bad idea, I bundled his chubby arse into the car and went.
At the Staples, crowded with other parents also trying to get the jump on things by shopping on the holiday Monday, that little jeezer was an absolute joy. He smiled. He giggled. He waved his limbs at people and kicked his fat feet and was an all-around sweet little guy that brought a Ray of Sunshine ™ into everyone’s day.
Then we came back home. Where he yelled all goddamn day until he finally collapsed, yelling, just after dinner.
Yesterday the Toddler Brigade returned. So there’s been romping and screaming and tickling and sing-alongs and as type this, the whole works of them are playing “music” at top volume. And Baby G hasn’t yelled – except at dinner – in two days.
Houston, I think we have another extrovert.