Parenting rarely brings me to tears, but really I had had enough:
Harry: why are you crying mummy ali?
Me: because you've been unkind to me all day, hitting me all the time.
Harry: I need a poo.
I was so strung out I didn't even laugh.
Anyway, thankfully we are expecting our first dinner guests since Thomas was born. I'm in charge of pudding. And drinking too much wine. I think everything is going to be A-OK.
(That's butter and chocolate ready for the microwave. Making chocolate mousse cake. There are also 8 eggs involved.)
2 comments:
This blog makes me remember some of the fraught times I had when the upper three were around Harry's age. It can be so tough but, come on, "I need a poo" is priceless.
Oh, boy, yes. I'm so sorry.
There is a half moon shaped dent in my coffee table from me slamming down my jar of juice hard in absolute futility / anger / sadness. They can push you further than is imaginable with horrifying ease.
Huzzah for chocolate and wine. (I'm not sure what I will do now that I'm officially counting calories. Food and liquor were my rewards for keeping the kids alive. I'll have to find another outlet.)
XOXO
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