Boy, is your face red...

Dear Nicky,

This afternoon, after your midday meal, you took a nap on my stomach while I lay in bed, reading a paperback book. You're a wonderfully heavy little guy and you slept soundly for an hour. Then you woke and seemed to want to get off, so I put you on the bed for a minute so I could stand up and take you away, maybe to your Gymini or something. That's when you had your meltdown. Mom and I can't understand why you sometimes wake up from a nap during the day and start crying. Mom seems to thing you wake without fully wanting to, and that makes you angry. We don't know. But anyway, you woke up again and started to cry. I tried to comfort you with rubbing, hugging, soothing, kissing, but you had none of it. Then you had a full meltdown, where your face turns blood-red, your faces contorts into a mask of fury and madness, you go stiff as a board while your mouth screams soundlessly. You do not breathe the slightest bit, then you inhale a giant lungful and let loose with a heaven-shaking roar of (we don't know what) rage? pain? terror? Whatever it is, we dread it, that's for sure. Today's meltdown was so intense you must've broken some tiny blood vessels in your forehead because afterward you were dotted all over with them. It was of such concern that Mom called the doctor's office, who told us it was probably nothing to worry about. In the future, Nick, just take it easy, okay?

Love,
Dad