Last night, Clio had what I think can only be described as a Night Tantrum. I don't think it was a night terror, because she seemed to be quite awake. She was doing all the things she normally does when she has a tantrum -- screaming and crying, flailing, making numerous, contradictory demands. (Mommy read a book! No mommy talking, just Clio!) The only difference was that it was ten o'clock at night, and she was horizontal for most of it. Was it brought on by a nightmare? A really intense case of insomnia? Or maybe it was a night terror, and she wasn't actually fully awake?
For the past couple of days, neither of the girls has been feeling terribly well -- they're congested, and both have conjunctivitis. (Ha ha -- made your eyes start itching.) Clio was running a fever last night, so I gave her some Ibuprofen before bed. She was exhausted, and went right to sleep. But a couple of hours later, we heard her crying. Alastair went upstairs to check on her -- I figured he'd be back down in about a minute's time after finding her pacifier for her or rubbing her back or whatever it was she needed. But minutes passed, and he didn't return, and then Clio started screaming even louder -- the kind of scream that yanked right on my heartstrings and practically dragged me up the stairs. I took her from Alastair and rocked her and shushed her like she was a newborn, but it didn't do a thing.
It's the worst feeling not to be able to comfort your children when they are in obvious distress. Clio kept crying, "I want to go night night! I want to go night night!" but refused to lie still. We tried everything. Rubbing her back. Giving her milk. Giving her all the toys in her crib that she screamed for (Curious George monkey! Curious George monkey!) and then removing them immediately thereafter when suddenly she realized that they were, in fact, the bane of her existence and cause of her suffering (No Curious George monkey! No Curious George monkey!) She only wanted daddy, then she only wanted mommy. We brought her downstairs to see if a change of scene might help her calm down, and she wanted to go back upstairs to her crib. We put her back in her crib and she wanted to go downstairs.
I worried at times that she was in pain, or that something was seriously wrong. What if she had a urinary tract infection? A migraine headache? Appendicitis? It's not like she'd be able to tell us where it hurt, or describe her pain on a scale of 1 to 10. I guess if she had just kept on screaming, we would have called the doctor. But she didn't. After thirty minutes or so, she finally calmed down and went back to sleep. (Miraculously, Elsa didn't wake up the whole time.)
And boy, did those girls ever sleep. In fact, they didn't wake up until 10:00 a.m. Yes, ten as in an hour before eleven. As in, a reasonable hour to wake up if you've been out dancing or to a late movie the night before. (Which, of course, we hadn't.) It crossed my mind that maybe I should go in and check on them -- had they been kidnapped? Were they comatose? -- but it seemed like a crime to risk waking them up. And given the intensity of the fit Clio had had, it didn't seem entirely impossible that she was just tuckered out. As for Elsa -- well, I suspect she'd sleep until nine or ten every morning if she didn't share a bedroom with Clio.
Has anyone else out there had this happen -- the random, nocturnal meltdown? God, I wish I could know what was going on inside that sweet little head of Clio's when she's inconsolable like that. She seems so angry, and I feel so awful for not being able to give her what she needs. Here's hoping there isn't a repeat performance tonight.