It was only a matter of time before The Meltdown happened.
The meltdown of colossal proportions, the absolutely Epic Meltdown In Public.
Whoever coined the phrase “The Terrible Twos” was completely wrong. Two-year-olds have nothing on our daughter. In fact, I would take a room full of 2-year-olds as opposed to trying (my best) to handle the meltdown our child just unleashed.
Like I said, it was coming. I knew it was (eventually) coming the minute the Princess realized the Binky Fairy had indeed, taken her beloved pacifiers (all of them).
The Princess celebrated her fourth birthday in August. We had allowed her to have a pacifier for far too long. Guilty? Yes, I am, but whith three children a mom has to make compromises when peace and quiet are on the line.
She was able to use her binky only at bedtime; it seemed reasonable. All summer we have been gearing her up for the arrival of the Binky Fairy when she turned four. She packed up her binkies and put them in the mailbox with a note requesting the Binky Fairy give her pacifiers to a baby who needed them (years ago, our son requested his binkies to be given to the Easter Bunny).
In return, the Binky Fairy would leave her a Big-Girl gift (make-up and nail polish).
Other than some trouble falling asleep, she has adapted fairly well to life as a Big Girl. Add a new pre-school and riding the bus into the mix and she has done remarkably well. But, I still knew with all of these changes, The Meltdown would come. And today, it did; in a parking lot full of shoppers, of course.
Our daughter patiently ran errands with me all morning and was so excited to finally stop at the bank because she would get a sucker.
When we arrived at the store, she hopped out of the car and dropped her sucker onto the dirty ground.
She stared in horror at her filthy sucker laying on the ground, glanced and me and made a dive for it. I snatched it from her, “I’m sorry, sweetie! You can’t eat this now. It’s all dirty.”
And three, two, one: “AAAAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
She screamed like a thousand bumblebees were stinging her at once.
The screaming continued. I could feel the stares; hear the whispers as I stood there in shock watching The Meltdown unfold.
I wrestled her into the car (no chance we were going in the store now) and — with the binkies gone — actually considered giving her the disgusting sucker back.
My inner germ-phobic mom, though, got the better of me. Instead, I drove home with her screaming and thrashing like a banshee in the car for the entire ride. Then she sat in the garage screaming some more and in the house, still screaming.
I mustered all of the patience and strength I could, refusing to give her a new sucker until she calmed down.
By the end of The Meltdown, my nerves were shot; my daughter settled on a new sucker, but a pacifier really wasn’t sounding too bad … for myself.