Babies are like the mafia...just when you think you're out of some awful, mind-jarring stage of development they SUCK YOU BACK IN.
The Fusser has been happily amenable to reason the last few weeks.
He'll cry, but stops when you pick him up, or change his diaper, or feed him, or satisfy the opaque desire he is so inelegantly expressing.
Then last night, apropos of nothing, mayhem.
The living room turned expressionistically lurid, a suitably Wagnerian backdrop for the aria of destruction pouring from the scarlet cave of his throat.
We tried this, we tried that, expecting nothing, killing time in the trench waiting for the bombardment to end.
It's the only aspect of childrearing I can't take, that sort of hopelessly inconsolable shrieking. One more thing for the 'back in therapy' laundry list....
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