I Need a Drink.

Today was just the worst day. Absolutely the worst.

You know what they say about preacher's kids? Well, today Eva tried her hardest to make it true about librarian's kids, and though the sting is a little less eight hours later, I'm still embarrassed.

We went back to story time at our local library this morning, where the librarian is just the nicest person ever and where I've had more adult conversation this week and last than anywhere else thus far (barring one trip to Cartwheels & Coffee). Eva was squirrelly there last week, but I blamed it on the fact that there were volunteens reading the books, and some of their choices were a little long. Today, she took squirrelly to a whole new level, and actualy here I'm just going to kick the small woodland creature metaphor to the curb because what she was qualified as COMPLETELY MONSTROUS.

Every single challenging behavior I ever coped with over the years of presenting my own story times came back to haunt me today, because today I was the parent and today it was MY CHILD who was running around the room, ripping display books off the table, refusing to sit, talking over the book, standing right in front of the book so the other kids couldn't see the pictures, and screaming and writhing every time I coralled her.

It was seriously the single worst display of behavior I've ever witnessed in Eva, ever. It shocked me, and I was almost comically unable to deal with it, simply because I've never experienced it before and was thinking each time it ebbed that it was on its way out. IT HAD TO BE. It wasn't, though, making me look like the worst mother ever, especially since we left the room twice and came back in only for her behavior to escalate each time after a few minutes of quiet.

The librarian was completely professional about it-- sweet, even, for which I'm so grateful-- and there was a bit of respite at the end, when she brought out the large blocks and balls, which Eva adores. She played for a few minutes, and I chatted with a couple of other neighborhood mothers in that broken, sporadic way one can while trying to make sure one's offspring isn't about to either face-plant or clock another kid in the head. Still, I was so mortified over her behavior that I was distracted, convinced that the other moms couldn't wait to escape the demon child and her sweaty, apologetic accomplice.

We made our escape and went up to the desk to check out our books, at which point Eva decided to go completely for broke and get absolutely hysterical, screaming and crying at the top of her lungs while I tried to wrestle her off my head, grab the books out of the bag, find my library card, and claim the board book we'd returned that was actually our own personal copy. The clerk at the desk kept trying to appease her by handing her books after he checked them out, which Eva would chuck as hard as she could on the floor. Meaning I (and the people in line behind me) had to both duck the projectiles and retrieve them each time.

I got us out of there, buckled her in to the seat, cranked up the A/C to max, and cried.

What am I going to do with her? I really thought we were over the worst of the adjustment issues, but now the thought of ever crossing the library threshold again gives me hives, because I know what the staff was saying about us when we left BECAUSE I'VE BEEN ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DESK. At best, it was something about Eva's "spirited attitude," and at worst, they were giving us some sort of sarcastic nickname and passing on tales of her hysterics (and my inability to cope with them) at every shift change. It'll be especially intriguing gossip because the children's librarian knows I'm in the racket. She asked me about myself last time we were in, and I fessed up to holding a union card.

I'm going to go pour myself the largest glass of wine I can, and then I'm going to drink it, refill it, and drink another one. Or drown myself in it.

Ugh.