More challenges lay ahead for us. The Preschooler's tantrums grow slightly worse this week, with the addition of her first anxiety attack- at least, that's what it seemed like to me. If she could use more of her words I'd know more, but the fact that she could use any words in the middle of it tells me that she's making progress.

The fact remains clear though that as she gets older it becomes more and more obvious to others that she's not quite in sync with the rest of us. She's in her own space most of the time. Still doesn't like to make eye contact- but when she does she's all there and her smile lights her face and my heart. The tantrums are starting to get more age appropriate and although I know they could be so much worse it doesn't always help. Mothers don't like to see their kids tantrum. All the knowledge in the world about how best to handle it and how little it'll matter in ten years time does not help when it's your baby crying at your feet and throwing herself on the ground. It does not help when they thrash around so violently you're afraid they'll hurt themselves, and the only thing you can think of to help is to throw your own body between them and the walls. Please note: this does not happen often. Maybe once in a blue moon. Only twice since the start of this year, and rarely before that, and it does seem that she's outgrown that level of tantrum. However. The memory tends to linger in my mind because she's my baby. The two and a half pound infant that I nursed from NICU to Preschool, who I sat up with night after night and through reflux, colic, and sensory overstimulation. She's a big girl now, and I'm still the same on the outside but forever changed indefinably by the experience.

I think that last sentence pretty much sums up everything I needed to say today. Let's leave it at that.