Bathroom meltdown horror.
James was refusing food again and could not sit still. Was acting up. So I had him use the bathroom. He knew if he could not produce on his own, he'd be getting an assist from the enema kit.
So he locked the door.
And got panicky and angry. Very vocally. And would not unlock the door.
I could tell his anxiety was on an uptrend and would not be stopping soon. And I was tired.
So I got out the screwdriver and took apart the door knob, because he refused to open the door.
Frenzied screams of anguish and terror happened for about 10 minutes. It felt like forever. He held his part of the door knob in his hand and waved it about furiously. He bellowed very teeneagerish things at me, punctuated with "I HATE you!" and "Sorry, sorry, sorry I yelled, Mother." There was rageful crying. And no poop.
He was trying to make it happen. It hurt *me* to see how much he was trying. All I could do was keep calm. I am going to try and forget all the specifics. In the end, he made 3 mighty efforts and produced a fine specimen.
We both hugged and almost cried with relief it was over, no lie. This time. For now.
The next day he was back to playing and eating. I went to work. I feel like having a little Foggy Morning Breakdown, but it aint' going to happen anytime soon. Onward.
P.S.: Steve: You're a genius. Arrow through the head sounds about right just now.
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