I knew it would happen eventually. The construction is complete and the back hoes and cranes have gone home to their Snort families. Needless to say, Eli is heartbroken and confused. A short time ago he fell hard for each and every piece of equipment and then this. No note, no nothing. The perils of young love. Gone are our morning walks where we greet each vehicle with adoring hellos. Gone are the endless sonnets to his BAaahK-HOez. Gone are their stolen minutes under the bleachers when I turn my back to scoop up Maltsby's poop. Just gone.
To be fair, things had been progressing so the break-up has been all the more difficult to take. Last week, one of the construction workers invited Eli into his vehicle. Eli was all business and lust while I took photos of them enjoying what were some of their last minutes together.
Then last night before dinner we set out to meet up with the Snorts only to find that there were none. I averted the tantrum and the crushed heart with a promise to walk on the sea wall. I do not promise this ever as it makes me shatter in puddles of nervousness to watch him run haphazardly on a wall above the sea. You understand but this was a hard day for my boy. And, wow, he took it well. Good times abound-ed. After an amount of time that should have tired him out properly, I put him back in the stroller. He threw himself headlong over his tray and swung back and forth, like the trunk of an elephant, wailing. Snot and tears pouring forth. He did not stop. Passersby nodded with understanding or concern. I just plugged along with a smile of sorts. At one point, I even stopped to take a picture. My parents have a picture of me pitching a fit under a stool. Just then I understood what a great photo opportunity that was. Twenty minutes later of solid crying and howling over the ledge of his stroller, we arrived home.
This is the part where you grab the phone and dial child protective services on my ass.
Speaking of asses, someone had a fire in his pants. Poor Eli had made a mess sometime early in our outing to see the Snorts. I did not notice. He did not either perhaps. He certainly didn't tell me. He ran about in the sweltering evening heat in a sweltering cloth diaper with just the right fleece to rub flanks of skin raw. So he wasn't so much throwing a tantrum in the stroller as he was avoiding the pain in his ass. And there I was snapping pictures of an endless tantrum.
I'm a jerk.
At least the Snorts have been forgotten for now.