Spawn #1 has gotten into the habit of waking up mid-whinge. He says “no” to literally everything. Most of the time he is lovely. Today he is the definition of an awful three-year-old and this morning he made me cry.
There’s only so much whinging you can take at 7:10 on a casual Tuesday morning when the only utterances from Spawn #1’s mouth all morning – all week – have been whinge-related. Like seriously, just go to the bleeding toilet. Put your bloody clothes on. Eat your frigging breakfast. It’s not that hard.
I could put my teary reaction down to the fact that I’m 36.5 weeks pregnant and that my hips are so sore they might be broken and that I’m so sleep-deprived that I’m not sure how I’m going to function when Spawn #2 arrives. Maybe it’s because I’m also currently homeless because we’re renovating and this was exceptional timing. Maybe it’s because I’m over being a solo parent and fulltime housewife while Husband spends his evenings and weekends DIYing at the house, and just writing that down makes me feel bad because he’s exhausted too.
But in reality, none of these reasons are valid. I cried this morning because Spawn #1 is an awful three-year-old. When I pick him up from daycare this afternoon he will be lovely and come running over to me yelling “MUMMEEEEEEEE” and I will love him again but right now, if whinging is good enough for him then it’s good enough for me.