Almost two weeks post-vacation, Anders is still sleep deprived. It could not have been worse timing that the weekend after our trip happened to be Daylight Saving Time, which is hell on Earth for every parent, and the combination of the two has turned him into this ball of hysterical, somnolent rage.
When he’s not exacting his fury on the household at large, he’s weepy and whiny and needy. It’s like living with a teenager except I’m still in control of his bathing habits and at the end of his tantrum I can’t punish him by forcing him to wash the dishes and make me a sandwich.
Despite the fact that he’s so exhausted (he’s practically stumbling around the house grunting “Brains!”), he has been refusing naps at daycare and delaying bedtime hours after we’ve turned out the lights. This leaves me dragging him out of the bed in the morning, already late because he’s not the only one having a rough go from the loss of an hour, followed by copious amounts of nagging to keep him focused on the task of dressing.
Now, if there is one thing Anders has very little tolerance for, it is being rushed, particularly when he is putting on clothing. He is painfully slow at this. He has to adjust the elastic of his underwear just so and position himself in a way that enables him to pull his pants on both legs at the same time. An eternity later, when he finally gets them on, he first examines and then carefully aligns the buttons before snapping and zipping. Putting on a shirt is a whole world of trouble and if I forget to turn a sleeve right-side-out before giving it to him I might as well call in sick to work because it will take a full business day for him to correct it before donning it.
I once had to take a leave of absence after handing him a pair of pants and a T-shirt from the dryer that were both turned inside out.
Maybe this has dissolved into a touch of hyperbole, but the combination of tantrums fueled by fatigue and Anders’ meticulous morning routine (don’t you even get me started on breakfast! My kid can take 90 minutes to eat one yogurt cup) has left me rushing into the office well past 9:30 every morning this week, a fact not lost on my boss.
Curse you, Daylight Saving Time!