Sweet suffering mother of fuck. I'm going to swear a lot in this post. You have been warned.
Boo was THAT kid today. You know the one. In Target, with her mother, screaming blue fucking murder because her mother had the audacity to put her in a shopping carriage. Crying with huge, wracking sobs and fat, dripping tears because her mother dared to stop the carriage and peruse the greeting cards. Shrieking because her mother hauled her little butt out of the shopping carriage and marched her back to the car.
And now, that kid is in her room, screaming. Again. She has thrown all of her binkies out of her crib. I can't find them and I won't look for them. The last time she threw it, she was told if she did it again, she'd do without. Same thing for the cup of water.
I swear to god, I am this close to losing it. For the last two days, she's been nothing but defiant. She doesn't talk any more, she screams. If I don't LEAP up to do whatever it is she wants done, she has a fucking meltdown of epic proportions. She's driving. me. infuckingsane.
And The Bug isn't sleeping. Still. I bought some herbal crap that's supposed to help babies stay asleep. Yeah, that was ten fucking dollars down the drain. She was up at 11 p.m., 2 a.m., 3:30 a.m., 5 a.m. and 6:30 a.m., when I gave up and got up for the day. It's making me miserable and cranky and the demon-spawn of a two year-old isn't helping one fucking iota.
Tomorrow I get to take the whole fucking circus to my father's, where childproofing isn't necessary and the slightest dust mote is met with cries of horror. Fanfuckingtastic.
I need a fucking drink.