Whining

When Meg was a few months old and would cry and cry and cry in the middle of the night and all I wanted to do was go to sleep, I remained perfectly calm. I may have despaired, felt like I’d never sleep again, that I’d die of exhaustion. But I didn’t get angry. And I never yelled at her.

But whining kills me. I have no patience – I start yelling almost immediately. I scream “JUST STOP WHINING,” as if that will actually make a one-year-old stop whining. Of course, it makes her whine more, because mommy yelled at her. Which then makes me more insane. I feel like my head is going to explode. Luckily, someone already explained this far better than I can:

Her Bad Mother says:

I don’t have a temper. I’m as mild-mannered as they come. There are kittens who get angrier than I do. There are kittens on Xanax that get angrier than I do. But five minutes of my four year old whining about unwarm toast and missing socks and I’m pressing my fingernails into the beds of my palms and sucking in my cheeks and willing myself to just not yell oh god don’t be the mom who yells DO NOT YELL DO NOT YELL –

EMILIA ELIZABETH ANN YOU WILL EAT YOUR TOAST YOU WILL SIT THERE WHILE YOU EAT IT I WILL GET YOUR SOCKS AFTER BREAKFAST STOP ASKING FOR YOUR FATHER *NOW*.

She said it all. That explains me perfectly. And I’m very happy to know I’m not the only one.