Nothing was right. The pillow wasn’t straight. The blanket wasn’t up to his shoulder. He didn’t have the correct fluffy. He couldn’t find the water. His mama shined the light in his eyes, while trying to help him locate the water, which hurt his eyes. He didn’t want dada around for no reason at all. His mama didn’t hold his hand or rub his back, even though he never asked her to or said that he’d like it. And he was mostly communicating in grunts and screams, which made him cry when we didn’t understand or respond appropriately.
At those moments, I’m fighting to remain patient. One half of my brain is telling me that he’s just exhausted, and it’s not personal. The other half is telling me that it’s 3:30 in the morning, I’m also exhausted, and he’s not helping us help him. So, you stand there, waiting impatiently for him to give you some indication of what he wants, debating whether to keep standing there or to just leave him to the fates and go to bed at the other end of the house. But I know my wife is also exhausted, and I don’t want to dump the burden of decoding Troy’s grunts onto her.
So, I stand there, running through every possible thing I can think of with the hope that Troy will let me know when I get to the correct thing…while at the same time thinking that he’s just being a giant jerk for putting us through this. He’s getting special treatment. He’s getting our attention. And he still won’t make it any easier on us. My mother-in-law would say that he’s just being a four-year old. But my mother-in-law doesn’t have to stand in a dark room at 3:30 in the morning trying to reason with this four-year old who is intentionally making it difficult. So, to me, he’s just being a jerk.
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