I was going to write out the saga of my broken furnace tonight, but then I read this gut-wrenching blog post and not I am crying some really ugly hot tears and I feel like someone ripped my heart out of my chest and crushed it in their fist.
God, I love my baby girl.
We had a really bad night tonight. I got home from work late in a pissed off mood, and she unfortunately incurred my wrath. It was already late, a half hour past her bedtime. I could have just had her go to bed right after we got home but I wanted to wind down after work and let her hang out. She was being so sweet and cuddly for a while there.
Honestly, I just wanted to relax for a minute before going through the bedtime routine.
I made a grave mistake.
A half hour later I was fighting tooth and nail to get her to calm down, LISTEN, and do the things she needed to do before bed. Go to the bathroom one last time. Brush your teeth. Arrange your zoo full of stuffed animals just so on your bed for five minutes like you do every night while I roll my eyes and wonder why I forgot, again, to remind you to do this ages ago.
But nope. She just didn’t want to listen. And then she started yelling at me. Screaming at me, like she’s the one in charge here.
And that is just not acceptable.
So after a stern talking to and privileges lost, Elise went to bed crying, and me? Well, I went out of the room crying, too. Except she doesn’t know about that. Because I just feel like you can’t let your kids know when they break you, am I right? That’s not a good thing.
Sometimes I think to myself “I can’t take this ridiculous behavior shit anymore, I just want her to grow up!”
And then, KABLAM!!!
She’s growing, she grows, and she’s gone.
One day I’m going to put her down and never pick her back up again?
I can’t even handle it.