I feel like I have a newborn again.
Tori woke me up for the first time at 4 a.m. Screaming. Why? I don’t know. Despite the fact that she’s fully verbal, she really couldn’t give me a good answer. Or an answer at all, as a matter of fact.
We eventually went back to sleep, her hands pulling the hair on both sides of my face, her nose dripping snot on to my forehead. And then? And the damn sun decided it was morning. And so did my Sunshine.
So I dragged my ass downstairs and it’s been one screaming fit after the next. All. Day. Long.
I’ve lost count of how many time outs we’ve had. I’m pretty sure I have bruises on my arms from where she repeatedly pinched me.
My house is destroyed. My patience is shot. You know it’s bad when you find yourself borderline yelling, “just tell me what you WANT!!!!!!!!” while pulling your own hair.
And then, of course, taking a deep breath and feeling like the worst mom in the world.
And in the middle of it all? We decided to start cleaning out the garage for a potential garage sale next weekend. You’d think, after a day like this, it would be easy to just toss all that baby stuff – the toys, the bouncy seats, the cute little outfits, the smiling zebra on the swing – all of it – into a giant pile labelled FREE.
But it wasn’t. I couldn’t do it.
Because, what if? 36 isn’t that old. I still have one ovary left. I could still do it. If I wanted to.
But right now, she’s screaming again. And throwing things. This time in the bathtub. Because I
ordered asked my husband very nicely to wash her hair. And I think why? Why would I want two of those?
And that, my friends, is why certain animals eat their young.
Those cute little babies (because babies are all cute, no matter what the species), they get to a certain age. An age when they no longer have the helplessness of babyhood to blame for their actions, and are not yet old enough to send to their rooms.
So they eat them and start over. Hoping that the next time they’ll have better luck.
But, since we’re more evolved than that (sigh), I’ll have to rely on my wine glass to make me forget. Or at least knock me out for a few hours so I have the energy to do it all again tomorrow.