As soon as I wake up, it starts.
The shrieking at me or her sister or the cat or the fucking dust bunnies.
She's going to yell.
After the yelling comes the tears and tantrums.
Again and again and again.
Whatever I ask her to do, she refuses.
And generally stomps her feet while doing so.
Whatever she's given to eat is, 9 times out of 10, refused.
And then thrown on the floor.
She asks for a drink and as I'm getting up to get it, starts screaming because it's not instantaneously in front of her.
She hits me. She hits her little sister. She hits the cat. She hits the fucking dust bunnies.
I find myself clenching my teeth and hissing thru them, at her, quite often.
I also find my shoulders up around my ears.
By the end of the day, I've usually cried, at least once.
By the end of the day, she's cried countless times. And spent quite a bit of time in her room.
Where she screams some more.
And cries a lot.
That Canadian Boy I Married tries to help but he works.
Often into the evening.
It's the nature of his job and there's nothing he, or I, can do about it.
I don't know how much more of this I can take before I completely lose my fucking mind.
I try to talk to friends about it.
The ones with kids get it, but have no advice; most of them are going thru similar things.
The ones without kids laugh at me.
Which makes me want to rip their heads off, boil their skulls and use them for drinking vessels.
You think I'm joking.
Not so much.
This may very well be the death of me.