Two Year Olds and Mercy

She wouldn't come out of the shower.  My granddaughter is only 22 months and already she was throwing a temper tantrum.  I take her swimming once a week in a YMCA pool.  She loves it.  She loves to shower, also.

The problem was that she was tired.  Swimming wipes her out.  I told her it was time to go home--to see--Mommy and Daddy.  But she was screaming so loud she couldn't hear a word I said.  I shut the water off.  She screamed louder.  I tried to pull her out but she was slippery wet and backed away from me.  I offered her food and she took it and threw it at me.  I offered her a toy.  That was thrown at me, too.

She was uncontrollable.

I didn't know what to do.  She had to come out.  I wrapped her in a towel and took her out screaming, crying, kicking, slapping and also slippery wet.  I had a hard time drying her, never mind her resisting and hampering every article of clothing I put on her.

Everyone in the locker room looked at us disapprovingly.  Not one look of sympathy!  Not one offer of help.  In fact, the locker room emptied of people.

I got her dressed, socks nor shoes because she wasn't walking; she had to be carried out.  She still screamed bloody murder.  Her hair was a mess.  There was no way I could dry it, let alone comb it.  Forget barrettes!

She's about 30 pounds.  That's 30 pounds of resistance.  Besides kicking, punching, slapping, she was now biting.  Did I mention that I was carrying a backpack of wet towels and bathing suits?
I also had the diaper bag.  In addition, my pocketbook was a heavy burden.

I carried all.  But with her squirming and pushing, I had to keep stopping and adjusting my hold on her, so I wouldn't drop her.  It seemed an inordinate amount of time to traverse my way out of the locker room, down the corridor, through the foyer, out to the parking lot.  Meanwhile, trying to sheepishly smile away the hostile glares.  I was not a monster.  She was!

She kept it up as we painstakingly staggered to the car.  Damn!  Why did I park in the last row?

Finally, the car door was opened.  I resisted the urge to throw her in her car seat, and firmly placed her in a secure position.

Do you believe the volume of her screams never lessened?

I backed out of the parking space.  I put the car in gear and proceeded out of the parking lot.

All of a sudden, it was quiet.  I looked in the rear view mirror.  Could she be asleep, already?  I stopped the car and looked at her.

She was sound asleep.

No she didn't look like an angel.  Her expression showed that she was asleep under protest.

So be it.  And she stayed asleep, as her mother carried her to her crib.  She napped for three hours.

I was upset and angry.  I thought of God's providence.  Hmpf.   Then I thought of Father Lataste's message of love and mercy.  Hmpf.

Yes, she's my granddaughter and I do love her.  I'm upset but not angry.  She's not even two, so who can I be angry at.  God?  Well, who else?

So OK, there's nobody to be angry at.  I have to forgive her because she's only a baby and doesn't understand.  She can't articulate her feelings any other way.

Do you think God feels the same way about us?  We sin because were human.  We upset Him but He has to forgive us because we don't know any better.  Is this what Father Lataste was trying to tell the women in Cadillac?

God is all merciful, full of love.

Hmpf.  But I'm not divine.

I will never take her into a shower, again.  Never.  From now on, we come out of the pool, and walk by the showers, and go to the dressing rooms.  No more showers.  Never.  At least until she out of the terrible two's.

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