The tantrum I created

Yesterday we went for an evening pic-nic by the lake. L. loves the lake after the holidays ("mare, mare" = "sea, sea") and watching the sunset from the lake side is a lovely way to take advantage of these last summer days.

When it was already past his dinner time Luigi went to get take-out pizzas.
L. was busy - chasing swans, running through swarms of mosquitoes, meeting strangers, falling down steps. And fishing rocks out of the water and throwing them back in, his favourite.

I knew it was getting colder and he was wet, but resisted the urge to change him into a dry diaper immediately and I limited my self to warn him that I would to do it before pizzas arrived.
I waited.

Until Luigi came back with the pizzas.
I told him, I change your diaper while the pizza gets colder. First the diaper, then the pizza.
He threw a huge tantrum, kicking and screaming and crying. I stopped, validated his feeling, waited a bit. Eventually, I tried to offer him a small bite while I was changing him. But he didn't accept it. The kicking screaming went on until Luigi helped me putting the diaper on in a way that was all but respectful.

When we were done and we gave him his pizza, he calmed down immediately. We ate together and he chatted away while the light and the lake turned from orange to blue.

But I kept thinking - why did I change his diaper? He was obviously tired and hungry, not able to cooperate.
I try. To acknowledge, to wait. But also to be firm during transition, to follow through.
These last two are much harder for me, so much that sometimes I am much more firm than what is needed. I was blinded by my idea of having to have him dry before dinner.

I just had to wait.
Wait. The magical word. Step back a little, a little more.