|Don't be fooled-he's hardcore....|
You see, every Sunday for months, sooner or later, one of us have had to do the walk of shame down the church with a squirming, squealing toddler, and on those extra special days, when he's really kicked off, we end up outside the church completely. But, as this hadn't happened for about, oh, 3 or 4 weeks, we'd got ahead of ourselves, and moved from tentatively patting each other on the back, to openly congratulating one another for coming out the other side.
'Woohoo! Well, we stuck at it and now we've turned a corner.' (Said expansively.)
'He didn't break us.'
'You're the best!'
'No, you're the best.'
'No, you are.'
You get the picture. Thus, it was with a certain complacency, and a new, (utterly misplaced), confidence, that we arrived for Mass last week, so when Luke the Terrible rolled in, he caught us completely off guard. Before it even started, he had begun to limber up and none of the usual charms were working (Toast? Check. Dummy? Check. Books? Check. Quiet soft toy? Check). The noise and stress levels climbed steadily, and it all went down hill from there really. Fast forward ten minutes to me, almost in tears outside the church, unable to even LOOK at him I was so cross. A final, last ditch attempt, to sneak quietly in the back, was abandoned when he gave me the proverbial one fingered salute, by going rigid and squealing at the top of his lungs as soon as I opened the door. At that point, I threw in the towel and it was bowed and broken, that I dragged him to the car and drove home. (Leaving everyone else high and dry for a lift but thankfully it was a fine,(if chilly), day for a good stretch of the legs). As for our resident mini terrorist, if I've learned anything, it's never trust a toddler. Yes, he may have won the battle, but I'm playing the long game and some day victory WILL be mine!