By 10am this morning I had been yelled at by Milo and hit with a plastic saw. After much negotiation (my part) and sobbing (his part) I managed to finally clean his poopy diaper.
There were tears about what to wear, what show to watch, what time to leave the house and no matter what I did I was unable to make him feel better.
Frustrating indeed.
And coming off a night that held the longest stretch of sleep at 4 hours I find that my capacity to deal with tantrums and different opinions is at a minimum.
Why can't he just do what I want all of the time?
It'd be so much easier if I'd given birth to a robot.
Well, maybe not the birth, but you know what I mean.
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