My little man is rounding out the end of his *gulp* 3rd year. And he is going out swinging. He was a good baby and a sweet, obedient toddler, but the child has 'come into his own', as they say. Garrett has not only been testing to see where our limits lie, but then spitting in our face as he barrels through those limits. Usually these "spells", as I like to call them, come and go just about the time I'm losing my patience.

But, this time was different....the disobedience was deliberate and mean-spirited and the child could not be cajoled into any sorts of fun. He was in a bad mood. A really bad mood for over a week. He didn't want to leave the house and was prone to cataclysmic meltdowns over the tiniest of matters. He was screaming at the top of his lungs for no apparent reason. This was not my child. I was really starting to worry.

So I called our beloved pediatrician to make a sick visit and begged for him to get Garrett in earlier in the day because I can't live with this child one more minute he must have a terrible ear infection or something worse. On the way there I was almost worried to take him, afraid he'd have some sort of terrible fit in the lobby or in front of all this office staff that are practically family.

The nurse takes us back, asks my history and I give her a more detailed version of this: he is not himself. never seen him like this. crying/screaming hysterically for no reason. She says "I'll get the Dr". At this point I look down at my paper and it says this:

and I think...whoa. maybe, I've over-stated my case. maybe I've let my emotions get to me. because, surely we are not dealing with episodic mood disorder here, right? I minored in psychology, so I know this is a catch-all code, but it sounds worse when you see it next to your child's baby face. DON'T TAKE MY BABY OFF IN A STRAIGHT JACKET!!

Anyway, the doctor came in and the conversation when something like this:

Dr: how are you Garrett?

G: I'm doing great. Daddy took me to the firestation. Wanna see my hat?

Dr. are you feeling ok?

G: yeah, i'm doing really good

Dr; are you sad about anything?

G: no, but i'm really happy my daddy took me to the firestation. oh, and my granna is here.

he looked like this

At which point they told me they thought he was just fine, but we could have blood work drawn if I was still worried.:)

And then, I'm sure they laughed all through lunch about me and all the other lunatic mothers.