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Jesus, The Whining

It is never ending.

I am no longer surprised by the most ridiculous, perfectly normal, non-irritating things that can elicit a whine. The other day, there was ten minutes of whining because I accidentally put his underwear in the laundry basket when he wanted to do it himself. That example right there goes to show you that this is the most bullshitty behaviour ever. “I wanted to do my own dirty laundry“. Seriously like. Said nobody ever.

Soothe me, oh wise ones. Tell me this stage does not last very long. How long does it last exactly? It is a stage though, right? Tell me it’s not going to stay like this forever and I’m not raising a whiner, that they all do it. Because he mightn’t make it!

I am not covering myself in parenting glory these days. I wholeheartedly admit that I find this VERY TRYING indeed. There is just no reason to it. None.

All my counting to ten and mindfulness exercises go out the feckin window and get replaced with a raving, ranting crazy person. Fuck you, mindfulness, fuck you.

I’m talking about my small child, by the way. Not my husband. Just in case that wasn’t clear.

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