When I was little, I vaguely remember hearing references to selling bad children to gypsies. I don't specifically recall my mother ever threatening this, but I am quite positive that she had many moments during my childhood when it may have seemed like a decent option.
I had one of those days yesterday. I should preface this by saying that I love my son more than anything and he is generally a fun and energetic almost-2-year-old. Oh, but yesterday. The Numa is teething (still...I am pretty sure he will be 21 when he gets his final baby tooth) and on Wednesday, well apparently it was just too much for him. Everything made him unhappy. He wanted me to pick him up. So I did. Then he cried because I was holding him and he wanted down. So I put him down. More tears and hugging my legs while whining "up dee" (which means "up please" in Numa speak). Anything I did and anything he did resulted in tears, whining, both or worse. It was a long, long day and I was so glad that he finally settled down long enough to read a couple of books at bedtime.
Today was much better. He is mostly back to his old self and I think that I can see the tooth that was causing all the woe. We had dinner out to celebrate a return to normalcy and are hoping that the worst is over. At least for this week.