Last night Peter had an hour-long, ear-splitting tantrum that ended when he went to bed. I proudly kept my cool.
When another one began tonight, I broke every rule. I yelled. I cried. I showed him that he had gotten to me. And before he could get out of control (I was already out of control myself), I gave in to my terrorist's demands. It was like a scene from Supernanny.
In fifteen months of tantrums, until tonight, never once had I caved. It's a parenting sin I place somewhere between giving your toddler beer and letting him operate heavy machinery.
Feeling like a failure? Yeah. Wondering how I'm ever going to raise this child to be a loving and productive citizen? Yeah.
But I'll tell you one thing: if Supernanny walked into my house, I'd come at her with sperm and a turkey baster as see how she does after two years with a child of her own.