Tonight must rank as one of the worst nights I have had since I became a mother.

The little man has the sniffles and slept poorly last night, waking up every hour or so to ask to nurse. By 530am, I was up and not able to fall back asleep again.

Then, A was whiny and fussy and difficult at dinnertime. He demanded to stir his food, insisted on feeding himself and the food landed everywhere but in his mouth. Even my legs were not spared. Then he poured out the milk from his cup, threw the chopsticks across the dining table and dumped half his yogurt onto his teeshirt.

Even putting him to bed took longer than expected just now.

It took everything within me to not scream at him, or cry, or do both. I was just tired. But then, I remembered that it’s not his fault. He’s sleepy from two shorter-than-usual naps. And it must be tough being a toddler who understands everything the big people say, but whom nobody understands.

So yeah. I think I am heading to bed. Like now.

Tomorrow is a better day.

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