PTS

It's been a week since the broken collarbone and Violet has pretty much moved on. We have transitioned her to just using her ugly black sling, no extra wrap except at night. Of course, she is already back to using her arm, sling be damned. It started at school, when her hand would make its Houdini escape, and now we've just accepted that it must feel better enough to use. Obviously if she was in pain, Violet wouldn't be waving her hands in the air like she just don't care. Right?

Violet has also been a much more pleasant girl this week, so maybe it was the pain that was turning her into a screaming monster. It's funny, I've watched other children have meltdowns or read about my friends' kids who bite and slap their mamas. And I've secretly, silently judged. And then patted myself on the back in satisfaction that I'm obviously a superior parent.

Of course, having dealt with such a child, I now have much more sympathy for those mamas. Because I have tried those shoes on, walked my mile, and it was not pleasant. So forgive me for judging you without fully understanding your unique circumstances. I have a bottle of wine on standby for the next time you experience PTS (post-traumatic tantrum stress). We can drink it together.