I'm beginning to wonder if my kid has been switched out.
You know, the old "changeling" theory (no, not the movie). I mean the "you-go-to-bed-one-night-after-tucking-in-your-sweet-little-baby-and-sometime-during-the-night-the-dark-sidhe-come-steal-your-baby-and-leave-a-cranky-crazy-little-doppelganger-in-their-place.
Yesterday, I began to wonder.
Scott had to stay late at work (again) so I went to pick her up solo (again). I walked in Maria's back yard and within 1 minute, Brynn morphed from a happy-go-lucky toddler to an air raid siren. A siren that wailed while I grabbed her stuff; talked to Maria about how Brynn's day was, walked to the car; strapped her in; drove her home; lugged her, her lunch bag, my work bag, and her diaper bag from the car, through the car park, into the elevator, through the courtyard, and up the stairs into our place. She aaaaaoooooogaaaa'd as I took off her coat. She caterwauled as I took off her shoes. She bellowed as I put away her stuff. She roared until I sat down on the floor in the kitchen, completely at a loss.
She walked up to me, still shrieking...put her hands out to cup my face...and stopped!
I got a kiss and she sat on my lap to cuddle right there on the kitchen floor for the next 20 minutes as though absolutely nothing had just happened.
Yup. We're chock full'o'crazy.