One Day, This Will Be Funny.

Dear Laney,

I've told the story I'm about to share to a few people who have already raised children, which means at one point they were also held hostage by raving toddlers. Since they all laugh hysterically when I tell them about our afternoon at the library earlier this week, I can only assume that one day, with the benefit of space and time and distance, I too will find it funny. Either that, or my friends are evil.

Earlier this week, I took you for an outing to the library. I was wearing Hagen in the baby carrier on my front as you and I went to explore the children's section. Picture a charming small-town library, with scattered parent-and-child combos, all reading almost silently together. Now, cue Laney. You were loud. You wanted to crawl into bookshelves. You wanted to run. At such moments, this image often pops into my mind:

But like an idiot, I didn't push the button.

That's when you decided you wanted to start crawling like a centipede under the reading table where the other, more well-behaved families were sitting. I met you on the other side and said, "Laney, we are NOT going to crawl under the table at the library." You smirked at me, waited for me to turn my head, and made another run for the table. I caught you by the back of your jacket, which is when you started hollering, "LET GO UH ME!!" Welcome to the 4pm show, folks! Don't forget to tip your server.

Once again, I stressed, "Laney, DO NOT crawl under that table." This time, you jerked away from me and dove for the table, so I caught you by the ankle and pulled you out from under the it and hissed, "Laney, if I catch you under this table again, we're going home." Every parent reading this is thinking, "If I had a million dollars, I would bet it Laney went under that table again." And you're right, my friends!

I had no choice but to stick to my word and haul your butt home.

This is when I was faced with a logistical problem: I already had Hagen strapped to my front, so I had to fireman's carry you out of the building. As we were walking to the stairs, you were screaming, "I WANNA DO IT MYSELF!!!" "You want to walk by yourself?" "Yeah." "And you'll walk down these stairs?" "Yeah."

So I set you down on the landing of the main staircase. Mistake #238. Instead of walking like you promised, you threw yourself down on the landing, face-first in a big "X" and wailed. Now, we had a for-real audience, since no one could go up or down the stairs until we resolved our misunderstanding, and several people had gathered to see if I was going to turn this into a teachable moment. What I wanted to do was beat the ever-loving tar out of you, right there in front of that picture window.

With Hagen on my front, I couldn't bend over far enough to get a good grip on you. All I wanted was to snatch you up and be gone, and I couldn't...until you threw an elbow, and I caught it, and hurled you over my shoulder. I scooted past the computer library and the coffee cart, and I'm sure your screams of "I WANNA DO IT MYSELF!!" and "LET ME DOWN!!" are still echoing there, five days later.

As I walked through the parking lot, I was thinking, "Everyone says you'll love your children equally, but there are moments when you have a clear favorite. And this squealing, screaming, kicking, crying young'un on my shoulder is not my current favorite." And then Hagen, on the mend from his stomach bug, puked into my bra.

And we were back to even.

I put you both in your car seats and headed for the interstate, and just as we were merging onto the I-90, you whispered, "Mommy, I sorry I crawl under da table." I turned around in my seat to say, "Thank you, and I'm sorry I was so mad," but you were already asleep.

Love,

Mom