Dear Love Bug,
Not too long ago, Timehop served up a photo from last year’s Chincoteague beach week and there was a caption that said something about what a terror you’d been that day. “Good thing he’s a year older and he’s outgrown that,” I thought at the time.
And then today happened and (as usual) I realized how naive I am. Kind of like that time I wrote IN THIS VERY BLOG that I was certain Three could be no worse than Two.
We had a lovely morning at the beach, albeit a bit nippy in the pretty intense breeze coming off the water. The waves were much rougher today than they were Sunday, too. In any case, you happily did your thing for a couple of hours: digging; running; climbing up a fairly significant wall of sand left behind from the recent storms, I’m guessing; flying kites (which you did all by yourself! *high five*); building an awesome sand kingdom with Daddy and me. I asked you a few times if you wanted to stop for a minute and have a snack, but each time you refused. “I’m just digging,” you’d say. Or “I’m busy building stuff.”
At about 12:15, we told you it was time to start packing up to head home, and you turned into an absolute deranged lunatic. You kept running away from us, cackling maniacally, until we physically picked you up and carried you toward the parking lot. At which point you flailed about and writhed and swung at us until a few of your punches landed.
I kept asking you to calm down, to take breaths, to use your words, but you just got yourself more and more worked up. And what was scarier than anything else was your goofy grin and crazy laughter through the entire unpleasant experience. Daddy and I have never spanked you. Ever. Today we had no tools left in our arsenal, and you got one from each of us. You howled and cried until we threatened to leave you at the beach, locked in a changing room. And finally, finally you calmed down enough for me to shower you with Nonna’s help, dry you off, and get you changed.
I told you there’d be no lunch. You’d be going straight to your room for a nap when we got home. “But I’m hungry!” you wailed. Nonna offered you a snack in the car, and you absolutely inhaled a full pack of peanut butter crackers and a small bag of popcorn.
And then it clicked. I’m starting to wonder if your terrible, unmanageable behavior, when it happens, is a result of hunger. But not just hunger–could it possibly be hypoglycemia? Hear me out. I’ve read accounts from moms with diabetic toddlers, and they talk about how they battle absolutely erratic, nearly unresponsive children when they have blood-sugar crashes. And I do truly wonder if we’re dealing with something biological here and not purely behavioral. Your Beebee has diagnosed hypoglycemia and your Granddad has diabetes. Maybe you’re dealing with something related to blood sugar, too?
When we get home, I’m going to make an appointment to have you tested, just to make sure we know what the situation is. And then we’ll be better armed to manage it.
We put you to bed when we got home from the beach, and you’re STILL sleeping. It’s going on 4 hours. And I wonder if pure exhaustion might also be a symptom of something more systemic than simply running your heart out on the beach.
In the hope that there’s another parent out there who might have experience with this, can anyone share some advice?
Love you like crazy, kiddo,