I think we just weathered our first Honest-to-God temper tantrum.

It started as we were leaving playgroup. Sam, normally slightly wigged by group activities, decided that he was having too good a time to leave; he tried grabbing the toys and hanging on for dear life. We managed to make it to the car, but he began crying as we pulled out into traffic and headed for the grocery store. He continued crying, on and off, as we went inside. "Sam," I told him, "we're only going to be here for a few minutes. We just need two things, and then we'll go home."

He wasn't convinced. First he wanted to ride in the cart, but then he screamed to get out. He was content for a bit to ride in the sling, but with one hand clinging to the cart's handle. After a few minutes, though, he began to scream. Boy, do I mean scream!

I left the cart for a minute, pacing up and down, rocking him in my arms and trying to calm him; he was having none of it. I tried letting him hold the cart again, but he slapped at it and yelled. I sprinted to the register and paid, where he finally began to chill a fraction under the kind gaze of the cashier. Once in the parking lot and getting into the car, though, all hell broke loose once more. I gave up trying to strap him into his seat; I attempted to cuddle him in my lap and sing to him as we sat in the lot. He cried and cried, throwing any offered toys and pushing at my chest.

Finally, he consented to nurse. His tear-filled eyes began to drift closed, and his little nose dripped on my breast as he shuddered and sighed. When he seemed deeply asleep, I tried to transfer him into his seat. Can you guess what his reaction was? So we nursed in the carseat for a bit longer. Every time I tried to pull away, the tears began once more.

And then, like a light switch being flipped, his eyes popped open, his mouth relaxed, and he stared around the car with curiosity. I handed him a toy phone - and he smiled. He let me climb into the front seat, and then he cooed and sang the whole way home in blissful cheer.

I feel shell-shocked. He's asleep upstairs now, and I'm still recovering.

Actually, I probably wasn't in the best frame of mind to deal with that much emotion this morning. I'm pretty tired, both physically and emotionally. Sam's been running me ragged; Eric's been helpful, but demanding in his own way. I haven't had a whole lot of downtime since getting back from the holidays, and I mentioned before that this vacation wasn't nearly as relaxing as prior ones. I'd love a few hours of relaxation, but it's just not in the cards at the moment. Maybe this weekend I can convince Sam to accept Daddy's attention for long enough that I can take a walk or something.

I can understand why I'm feeling tired. What I don't get is why I'm feeling so numb. Maybe that's not the right word; I can't quite put my finger on it. Boredom? Perhaps. I feel restless and insulated, as if sensations aren't quite penetrating all the way through my shell. I need a really good laugh, or a really good cry, or maybe to break something and scream for a few minutes. Something cathartic, you know? Except I'm not entirely sure what's creating the need for catharsis.

Maybe I need some physical exercise. It's far too cold to go for a bike ride. I have a gym membership that I'm not using, due to Sam's currently rigid insistence on my attention. I wonder if Eric would be open to the idea of going with me to the gym, but staying on Sam duty while I exercised? We tried the "pass the baby back and forth" plan once while we both used the gym, but Sam got fed up after about twenty minutes or so. I ended up leaving early while Eric finished his workout. Hey, he owes me a workout!

I just went upstairs to check on Sam. He's flipped himself around perpendicularly (is that a real word?) in the bed and is now, for the first time in his life, sleeping on his stomach. It makes me a little nervous; I know rationally that he's well out of the danger zone for SIDS, but it still looks a little unnatural to see him lying still on his belly. I wonder why he didn't call out when he found himself that way? He must have been truly exhausted.

I don't want to wake him. I think I'll just check in every few minutes until he either wakes up or rolls onto his back once more.

Paranoid? Me? Nah...