Day 37: Me, a Screamer? Couldn't Be!

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Just look at my sweet, innocent face. I couldn't possibly be the one behind those horrific, earsplitting shrieks. Or could I?

Don't let the cherubic, chubby cheeks and goofy grin fool you; this one's a screamer. And I'm not talking your run of the mill scream, here. Oh, no. This is the kind of scream that could prompt the neighbors to call protective services. 

And what do I do to elicit these bloodcurdling screeches? It's quite simple, really: Anything that doesn't meet his approval, especially if it's not addressed in a timely manner, which of course means immediately. My mild mannered first-born did nothing to prepare me for this. When Baby Jackson needed something, he'd quietly gurgle or squeak to let me know, then kindly let me finish my task. Baby Maxwell is not quite so gentile. In fact, sometimes I don't even get a warning. He just launches straight into the high-pitched "Aaaaaahhhhhhh!" And if I can't get there right away, it's followed by the "Eeeeeeeeeyyyyyyaaaaa!" that I'm pretty sure can only be heard by me and the neighborhood dogs. 

You may have noticed by now that there is no crying involved. No tears, no sad eyes. This kid is just downright pissed that he's not getting what he wants when he wants it, and he's going to let everyone know until I make it right. Right now my mother is reading this thinking, "Yep. That sounds about right." And although she's much too kind to say it, she's also feeling just a teeny bit of satisfaction as I get a taste of my own medicine. Well, Mom, I can officially say it now: You are a saint for surviving me. 

Raising an intense kid isn't going to be a walk in the park. Especially considering that Intense Mommy also likes to have her way. If I'm not careful, Max and I will go through life fighting each other for control at every turn. But if I manage to effectively nurture our relationship, we can reap the benefits of our shared intensity. We'll understand each other on a deeper level than we could without this shared trait. We'll be able to use our similarity to work through our differences. And if I play my cards right, he'll teach me to tame my intensity when appropriate so that I can help him do the same. 

For the present, I'll endure the screeching as I rush to meet his needs and dream of the future implications: A confident, assertive, passionate man who loves as fiercely as he used to shriek.