Unfortunately, all this television may have stimulated her right out of her nap. Eliza often goes without a nap these days and although she seems fine, I can expect some kind of meltdown in the evening. It might be a three-minute screamfest or ten minutes of piteous crying but I know it's coming. Sometime before dinner, I can expect my daughter and perhaps myself to end up in tears.
Tonight's meltdown was caused by my decision to change an absolute soaked diaper than probably hadn't been changed for more than four hours. She refused to come to me, preferring to play in her kitchen. Often if I give her a few more minutes to play, she's amenable to the diaper change.
I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you, faithful reader, that this wasn't the case tonight. My decision to sweep Eliza away from her happy kitchen elicited deep, belly-baring sobs that echoed through the apartment. She writhed, squirmed and cried with great athleticism as I managed to wriggle the petal of diaper away from her slick butt. I tried to hold her, sing to her, rock her but I seemed to be an utter failure as a source of comfort. Eventually, her languid sobs diminished into regular crying, then gulping gasps until finally she collapsed on the floor in a flurry of sniffles.
Cried out, she let me slide on a new diaper and replace her soiled pants. She wiped the back of her hand under her nose and across her eyes, then looked at me.
In her tiny, adorable, sweet little girl voice, she said very matter-of-factly, "I'm sorry about that."