I’ve been under a buttload of stress right now. Buttload is quantifiable. Really.
With that stress I have been absolutely wretched to be around. More wretched than normal, in fact. What it took for me to realize that was when I laughed out of sheer happiness while playing with my son.
His adjustment to his new sister has manifested itself in frank statements like, “We don’t get to spend time together,” and “Everything around here is stupid now!” He has the same kind of verbal diarrhea I have except he has the luxury of only being six. I have no such excuse.
It happened the other night when he threw a hissy fit about taking a bath. I was in the bathroom with him and quickly losing my patience when he refused to get undressed. I would tell him to get ready and he would grunt and sneer at me. When he kept doing it, I was able to reach past my frustration and see the humor (“humour” for those of you keeping score) and replied that he sounded like a caveman. No. More like Frankenstein! And I lifted my arms horizontally and started to stiff-leggedly stalk him around the bathroom. Soon he was giggling and butt-naked and hiding behind me as I paced the floor, grunting and growling.
It takes a moment of sheer enjoyment to realize how miserable I’ve been. I’ve missed his infectious laugh and I realized I don’t get to spend as much time as I would like with him, either.