I can’t remember when it started… Maybe last week? It began with a whimper, and has become a full-scale nuclear meltdown. Separation anxiety. What. The. Fuck? My sweet, even-tempered little boy has started channeling Harvey Dent in the last couple of days. Most of the time, he’s fine. We hang out, he laughs, we do stuff, all is right in the world. But then, I take a step out of the room. I go to the bathroom. I LEAVE THE HOUSE. And he’s no longer cutie-patootie Aaron Eckhart being all mild-mannered and trying to woo Maggie Gyllenhaal. He’s that weird half-skull Terminator baby that’s going into business with the Joker. The REVENGE business.
If I try to take a shower, he’s there, screaming and pounding on the door for the entire time. If I go out of the room to collect the laundry, he freaks out. I left the house on Sunday to wander around the mall with a friend and my husband called to report that he spent an hour and a half crying at the front door. I know that this is normal, but I have no idea how to handle it. The Internet, while full of interesting things, is at odds with itself when it comes to dealing with this. Say good-bye! Don’t say good-bye! Narrate exactly what you will be doing so that your toddler is comfortable! Ignore it and let them figure it out! My head hurts, from the screaming and the brainstorming on how to come out of this without permanently scarring my kid.
I can’t imagine how hard this is for my husband. Baby O no longer wants to be around him. He screams if he is left in his care. It can’t feel good to know that nothing you do is going to soothe your child. I realize it’s not realistic to say, “Ok, I’m just not going to leave the house by myself until we’re out of this phase.” For my sanity’s sake, that’s ridiculous, and I doubt that it’s going to help him adjust any quicker. I don’t want him to end up being one of those kids that doesn’t leave my basement until he’s 39, just because I couldn’t bring myself to detach.
I’m going crazy here. Advice, anyone?