Motherhood has been getting the best of me recently.
My daughter, who I thought was potty trained, has been wetting her bed at night. Last night was the 4th night in a week and at 4:30 am, with my alarm scheduled to go off at 5:20, I was less then pleased. Then she started singing. A rather loud and off key rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star". When my husband's alarm went off at 5, I gave up and went for a run.
There's been a lot of giving up.
Yesterday she declared she was hungry then couldn't decide what she wanted. Then she didn't want cold yogurt which, of course, makes perfect sense because she's only been eating cold yogurt EVERYDAY SINCE SHE WAS 7 MONTHS OLD! Then she decided she wanted PB&J but only if I made it. Daddy wasn't allowed to do it. My kind husband took one look at me and decided I probably shouldn't be anywhere near a knife, butter or otherwise, and made the sandwich. He left it in the kitchen and I delivered it. After that she was all smiles, butterflies, and unicorns. By then my nerves were shot and I needed a nap. and chocolate. lots of chocolate.
I think I need to stop praying for patience because God is definitely using E to test my resolve. I'm not sure that's theologically sound but I'm living on the edge here, people, and it's not the edge of glory like Lady GaGa is always going on about.