Tired and wild

The boy was tired. That explains it all. He should have been napping and instead I dragged him off to Jo Jingles and expected him to wait for his sleep. That's why he decided to repeatedly go and rattle the door handle even though I asked him not to in case someone opened the door into him. That's why he ran around at full speed and fell flat on his face. That's why he was the one child peering under the table cloth for goodies, such as the balloon intended for a birthday girl, and reaching on top of the table for anything he could get hold of. The one child doing his own thing instead of joining in, although he often does anyway.

That's why I picked him up to try to calm him down and have a little chat with him, particularly about the door. And that's why he was shaking his head about in a crazy fashion. And that's why he headbutted me in the nose. Really hard. Ouch.

My self critic briefly kicked in, telling me that other people might be disapproving of the fact that my child was running around like a loon while all the others were sitting still and listening and joining in. Maybe I should have been attempting to deal with this delinquent behaviour. Maybe I shouldn't be allowed to go to toddler groups where my child can be a bad influence on other little people. Maybe I've created this monstrous child by failing to be authoritarian enough.

But I say briefly because this, of course, is nonsense. He just needed a sleep, having been up early and also having had less sleep than usual at daddy's over the weekend due to the excitement of those grandparents returning from a long trip away. And the critic was purely internal. And the boy is charming and adorable even when he is ignoring my every word.

Cafes and toddlers

You're in a cafe at a garden centre. Your two-year-old has some fruit (his favourite kind of snack) and some toys. You have a cup of tea and a piece of walnut cake despite the fact you're meant to be on a diet, but your period just started and you're knackered because the child woke in the night and fidgeted for a couple of hours. Anyway, back to the point. The toddler keeps going to the slighly ajar door into the outdoor bit, squeezing through whilst giving you the cheeky, 'I know you don't want me to do this' look and running off.

Do you:
a) decide your child is too difficult/spirited to take to cafes and avoid them.
b) keep dragging him back, tell him he's a naughty boy and withhold something he likes to teach him a lesson.
c) follow him out of the door and run around after him making sure he's not in any danger or about to break anything, while your tea goes cold.
d) find some ingenious alternative solution that allows you to drink a hot cup of tea and allows the child to be his energetic and inquisitive self.

If anyone knows what (d) entails, please let me know because I'm leaning mostly towards (c) with occasional exasperated outbursts that, while not quite reaching the level of (b), are not the approach I want to take.

Turbo pottering

I put little man in a creche for the first time today, at the leisure centre so I could go for a swim. Now my knee hurts and I've decided exercise is bad for the health. The little guy was unfazed by being left with strangers for three-quarters of an hour; when I returned he was engrossed in some crayoning. The creche staff weren't actually all complete strangers to me. The first person I met on walking through the door was a woman who was my best friend for a while during primary school. This is what happens when you live in one place for the first eighteen years of your life and then return after fourteen years or so away.

There was still plenty of opportunity for little man to demonstrate his dislike of playing with other children when we went to the park. It was lovely and sunny and the park was busy. And he starting crying every time another child went near him on the little climbing frame-bridges-steering wheels-steps-slides thing. He gets very proprietorial of those steering wheels. So we went off to look at the ducks on the pond instead and he managed to cadge a piece of bread off a kind passerby to feed to the varied waterfowl, which included some swans that looked like they wanted to snatch the bread straight out of his little fist.

After visiting the chooks and feeding them the lettuce and cabbage I didn't get round to eating from my veg box, little man insisted on carrying one of the two eggs we collected back to the car himself. I had to keep reminding him to concentrate on carrying it gently and not stopping to point at aeroplanes or starting to run to see the tractor mowing the playing fields. It made it home in one piece. Now if only he actually liked eggs in other guises than eggy bread...

Next up was a stroll into town to buy a bunch of daffodils for my front window. It's part of my campaign to make the area seem friendlier. So many people have blinds or curtains that are permanently closed. Well, I don't care who sees what I own. It's just stuff and I don't have that much of it anyway. But on the way, just after little man had decided he'd walked far enough and it was time for a ride in the Yamo, we were approached by two smart, besuited young men on bicycles, who asked me, in American accents, whether I had time to talk to them about the family. I should have referred them to the STBE husband since I'm not the one who gave up on my family.

Back at home, after the compulsory stop-off at our local playground where little man usually has the steering wheel to himself, it was time to do some painting so mummy can turn the daubings into something artistic looking for grandad's 65th birthday card. Unfortunately, our major mess making was disturbed by grandad himself who came to measure up for a gate to go at the top of the steps in the back yard. The ones little man decided it would be a good idea to try to drive his little car down the other day.

Such a busy day! I haven't described every incident of whinging, whining and tantruming, of which there are a lot from a little guy who still doesn't talk much. I now feel very much like a glass of wine, even though I had planned on abstaining until grandad's party tomorrow and all I have in the house is a couple of those miniature bottles, which I buy for cooking with.

Child development assessment

Little man was two yesterday. This probably means he's due a development check, although I haven't been allocated a health visitor since moving house. Anyway, here's my assessment of his abilities:

• He is able to focus and concentrate on a task (he sometimes refuses to listen to me because he's busy).
• He is highly inquisitive and likes to explore (he will try to go through any door to see what's on the other side, he will press any button or switch he can reach and can climb pretty much any structure).
• He can follow simple instructions and understands what is being said to him - when he feels like listening (he carries my pyjamas back to the bedroom in the morning while I shower; he will always hear the word 'chocolate' no matter how busy he is).
• He likes to test the stability of built structures (he knocks down more towers than he builds, but is quite capable of stacking cheese cubes).
• He has a wide vocabulary (if you count animal noises, signing, pointing, whinging, crying, pulling on mummy's hand...)
• He eats a wide variety of foods (he likes olives).
• He shows a high degree of independence and self-determination (he rarely joins in with activities at play groups and woe betide anyone who tries to stop him doing what he wants).
• He has advanced physical abilities (he can run away from mummy very fast).
• He creates imaginative play scenarios (he gives teddies cups of tea and likes to play tents under mummy's duvet).

Questions to which I may not wish to know the answer

Why are there onion slices and carrot sticks coming out of the legs of your dungarees?
What have you just put in your mouth?
How many pieces of cheese can one small boy stack into a tower before it falls off the edge of the table?
Why do my car windows freeze on the inside?
Just how many blackberries have you just eaten on top of salmon, noodles, yoghurt, blueberries, oatcakes and cheese?
Why do you keep putting that tiny stone in the front door lock so mummy has to fish it out with her car key?
How many times are you going to try to press the switches on the electrical sockets before you listen to me asking you not to?
What are you saying to that squirrel?
Is there a poo in your nappy?
Are you ready for your bath now?
Why didn't I check the gauge before I started knitting little man's boy doll and discover that it's ending up a little wide?
How many calories are there in a heaped teaspoon of Nutella?

Bob the Builder gets let off

I found the key to managing toddler mischief: television. Little man specifically requested it this afternoon via some pointing and mumbling. I thought, well ok, half an hour isn't going to do any harm. He sat on the settee completely still and silent for about an hour and a half. I kept thinking, I'll just wash up then I can put the telly off and we'll look at some books... I'll just get the dinner on then I can put the telly off and we'll make some music (read noise).... I'll just get this load of washing in then I can put the telly off and we'll draw a picture... I'll just sort out this last box then I can put the telly off and we'll build a tower....

So there we have it, I have the solution. Will I be doing it again? Of course not. Sure, it made little man easy to manage for a short while, but at what cost? He turned into a passive, listless, blankly staring little thing. So I'll carry on involving him in all my everyday tasks, however much harder that makes them. And finding other ways for me to cope with the toddler energy. After all, it's me that needs to cope, it's not little man who has any problem with it.

Where does Bob the Builder come into this? I sat down with little man while the risotto and the sticky chicken drumsticks were cooking and watched this one programme with him. Bob and his team constructed a cruck-frame timber and straw-bale cottage that was a cartoon replica of Ben Law's Woodland House, as featured on Grand Designs a few years ago. Now that kind of telly I'd like him to see more of: then he can be inspired to become a woodsman and build me one!

In other news: It's not the entire country that is blanketed in snow. We had about eight flakes this afternoon. Now it's raining.

Run away!

In ye olden days, my son might have been called naughty. Or at least mischievous. I think his behaviour is perfectly natural toddler behaviour. However, this doesn't make it easy to live with, especially when I'm feeling a bit frazzled myself and somewhat lacking in patience.

If there's a switch or dial within reach he wants to press it or twiddle it. If we're in a busy place, perhaps involving traffic, and I need him to stay close he will try to run away. If I ask him to stop bashing his little car into something (radiators, my legs, chairs, tables etc) he only does it harder. If he isn't strapped into his highchair he tries to climb out, posing a danger to his own head should he fall. All my baubles are now on the top half of the tree because he was pulling them apart. If we're at some kind of play group and there's an open door, he will run out of it. Getting him dressed involves me chasing him around with each garment until I can pin him down for ten seconds. When I'm trying to lace his shoes, he starts kicking his feet around and squirming away. Should I, heaven forbid, attempt to do some mundane chore that involves waiting in a queue or at a desk... he will of course run away repeatedly and will not tolerate staying strapped in a pushchair. Despite all this running away, if I want him to walk a short way with me he very quickly grabs hold of my legs and tries to climb up them until I pick him up.

And because I have been so busy and stressed I am dealing with all this as and when it happens in a less than ideal way instead of anticipating it and having some idea of how to handle all that toddler energy and emotion. And a raised voice simply makes him go into a frantic mode in which he tries harder to do whatever I don't want him to do more quickly before I can stop him.

So all in all my conclusion is this: I need a holiday. I'm thinking two or three nights (which I can fit around work) in a quiet cottage by the sea. Somewhere properly dark at night. Only problem is whether it's fair on the little fella to drag him off somewhere else before he realises that where we are now is home.

Have I mentioned that he was awake at four this morning and fidgeting for a good hour or so...? That as he goes about his toddler business he has taken to chanting 'mummy, mummy, mummy...', which sounds cute but (whisper it) gets a bit wearing after a while, that he cried inconsolably when we went for a play in the forest this morning and for a good half hour in the car on the way back for some reason that I certainly couldn't work out, that he is currently obsessed with cats (miaow), that he now has all teeth but the big molars, that he has been frustratingly on the verge of being able to talk to me for some time now but seems a bit stuck on the frustrated whinging stage. That he thinks my little statue of Buddha doing baduanjin is the troubliphone.

Yet another sleep post

The boy has stopped sleeping through. Since we went on holiday at the end of September I can count the number of times he has stayed in his own bed all night on one hand. When he's with me anyway, because daddy keeps telling me he sleeps fine when he's there. So perhaps that discounts the usual culprits, although he is teething (constantly) and he does have a very snotty nose (constantly).

Being the sensitive soul (read: cries lots) that he is, it's probably something to do with moving house and mummy being stressed. And due to crazy vendor it's going to be at least another three weeks before that can start to change. So I'm just about ready to join little man in a tantrum. Latest ones have been about: mummy refusing to get out from under the duvet to draw in the condensation on the window at 6.30am, mummy offering him an oatcake instead of a breadstick, mummy trying to write this instead of watching him put Postman Pat in his van. And take him out again. And put him in again....

Anyway, it's not all doom and gloom: it was highly amusing when my Bravissimo catalogue arrived and little man pressed the belly buttons of all the models, saying 'beep beep'.

Our holiday: the overview

Our holiday at a massive farmhouse near Kirkcudbright, Dumfries and Galloway. In brief: beaches, woods, farms, tractors, diggers, nee-nor nee-nor or nor-nee nor-nee depending on which little one you listened to, sun, rain, gales, sand in everything, tea and cake, wine, Aga cooking, knitting, crafty places, castles, boats, whinging, scuffles over toys, scuffles over mummies, falling out of bed for the first time and very broken nights every single night due to the imminent arrival of canines.

More to come when I have caught up on some sleep...

Packing

I packed little man's suitcase for a week away this morning. He unpacked it because he wanted to put monkey and Timmy the Tiger (small but fierce) in the suitcase. I piled up my clothes on my bed, ready to pack; little man distributed them around the room. I tried to pack some food; little man demanded the raisins and breadsticks ('tick, tick'). I tried to get him to doze off in front of the TV - well it's only once in a while! He was almost there then he sprang up again. We had to go out in the car to get him to sleep. While he was parked on the drive I got some packing done. After he woke up, I got him out of the car and gave him a cuddle. He fell asleep snuggled up on me for another three quarters of an hour. A very cosy reminder of when he was tiny, but it didn't help to Get Things Done.

After lunch I threw him out the back door to play with the chickens (who are all looking in a very sorry state due to moulting). Well, actually I just put his shoes on and opened the door, knowing he would immediately go outside. I got some more packing done.

Then the cavalry arrived. Grandma and grandad, all ready to take little man for a walk to the shop so I could empty all the junk out of my car, get a large pan of bolognese sauce on the go and engage brain to think of all the things I would need to take for a week in a cottage in south-west Scotland.

I try to include little man in the things that have to be done in what constitutes everyday life for us. And I understand that this means things will get done more slowly and not always at the time I planned to do them. But sometimes it's nice to have someone else to play with him when there are things that really have to be done on a certain day.

Little man's status updates

Little man:

• had a strop because his fake eggs kept falling out of their fake box as he slammed his fake shopping trollery around.
• had a strop because mummy wouldn't let him drop a fake egg in a real cup of milk.
• had a dance.
• ran away at the first sight of trousers, as usual.
• tried to stamp on all the piles of cornflakes as mummy swept them up.
• flirted his way to extra biscuits at Tiny Talk. Again.
• is pleased that mummy bought a melon at the supermarket but wanted to eat it right there and then.
• appeared in the garden with a large handful of oatcakes apparently intent on feeding them to the chickens.
• fed the chickens a spare courgette.
• said 'no' quite clearly for the first time ever when mummy suggested he might like to finish his oatcake instead of demanding breadsticks.
• said 'stick', meaning breadstick.
• stirred a pot of four-day old tea.
• emptied all the dirty clothes out of the washing basket so he could climb into it instead.
• ate the end piece of the garlic clove mummy was chopping.
• grated some Parmesan.
• didn't notice when mummy skipped several pages of his bedtime books. Cackle.

It's a boy!

Well, actually at first it's really just a baby. Not much difference apart from the tendency for boys to wee in your face as soon as you remove their nappy. STBE husband and I had thought of him as a her. Only because all family and friends who have had babies in the past few years have had girls. We decided to find out the sex at the anomaly scan and were a bit stunned to be told it was a boy. Not disappointed. Just surprised.

He is now developing behaviours that could be described as 'boyish': an inability to pass a stick without picking it up and whacking something with it, a need to be physically on the move, a love of splashing in puddles. Then again, he loves a big hug, cuddles his fluffy toys, enjoys looking at books and gives kisses out freely. He's both adventurous and affectionate, boisterous and cuddly.

But I am starting to ponder how you go about bringing up a boy so he can carry on being all of those things. Not the type of teenage lad you see walking down the street at school hometime who oozes surliness and aggression. How do you bring up a boy to be a decent sort of person? One who can be strong and confident, but caring and thoughtful too. How do you steer a boy through childhood so he doesn't become one of the mini thugs... but also so he doesn't get picked on by them?

Artless child

It is little man's daddy's birthday on Wednesday. I have been trying to get little man to do some artwork to make into a card. With little success.

This is the result from the finger paints, and only after I dragged his hand around to make the prints. I tried chalk, but he decided to walk off into the garden with it. I tried crayons but he tried to eat them and showed much more interest in taking them out of the box then putting them back in the box. He's really not yet into art. He doesn't like to sit still for that long and I don't think it has occurred to him that he can create an image of something familiar on paper.

I think I'll have another try before bathtime with the paints when the mess will be easy to clean up. He is now trying to bash the keyboard. It's a shame I can't make an artwork out of his bashing, although I have just discovered babysmash thanks to FLP. Lets little one bang on the keyboard without breaking the computer.

Sir Whingealot saddles up

Clippety clop, clippety clop, neigh, snap.

Little man has taken a distinct interest in horses today, although we haven't seen any real ones. He was galloping the plastic ones on the 'farm' at play group, then the wooden one that's part of a jigsaw at home. We sang horsey, horsey a couple of times and he recognises my sign for horse but I don't think many 18-month-olds could actually do the sign themselves. I'll have to remember to tell grandma and grandad to take him to the cafe at the horsey shop where he can sit on a life-size model one.

Crocodiles have also featured, with little man getting really into the snap, snapping with his arms. Apparently, the kitchen tongs are also a crocodile. And if there were really crocodiles in the stream he would have been all gobbled up because he fell in the water with a splash about two dozen times.

Unfortunately, we have also had major whinging today too. To the extent that I gave him a dose of paracetamol without really knowing why. Just that he wouldn't entertain the idea of having lunch, cried his eyes out instead and just wanted to sit on my knee for a cuddle whilst sobbing. Maybe he's got my cold, maybe it's teeth, maybe attempting to learn to talk is frying his brain. Whatever it is it didn't bother him in the slightest while we were at play group or when I took him out to the park and shop this afternoon. Just when we were at home, just the two of us. Isn't that always the way?

No, stop it, don't do that

A selection of my requests of little man today:

'Leave the berries for the birds.'
'Stay on the pavement.'
'Hold mummy's hand while we're near the road.'
'Sit down please.'
'Let mummy help.'
'Be gentle.'
'Leave that alone please.'
'Put the box back in the cupboard please.'
'Put the clothes back in the drawer please.'
'Will you have an oatcake instead?'

As opposed to: 'no, no, no, don't, don't, don't, stop it, be careful, get off, not for you, not a toy'.

I don't think the brain really likes negatives. It's like the old 'don't think of a blue giraffe' thing. You immediately think of a blue giraffe. But it's sometimes hard to think of a way to say something in a positive manner without it sounding contrived. And if he's about to do something dangerous of course I yell stop in a tone of voice that will hopefully get his attention. And hopefully because he doesn't hear it all the time it might have some effect. And yes I do usually end up putting the cereal box back in the cupboard and the clothes back in the drawer myself. And the best solution to little man trying to eat the berries on the holly bush next to a log he likes sitting on was for grandad to dig up the holly bush and take it to auntie and uncle's garden.

Beebabeebabeebabeeba

'Say bee ba Ben.'
'Beebabeebabeebabeeba.'
'Bee ba Ben.'
'Beebabeebabeebabeeba.'
'Look, there's a cow.'
'Mooooo.'

'Can you bring parrot to mummy?'
(Brings parrot to mummy.)
'Put the mug back in the cupboard please.'
(Puts the mug back in the cupboard.)
'Would you like cornflakes or hoops?'
(Points to hoops.)
'Kiss for mummy?'
(Looms at mummy's face with slobbery mouth.)

'Muummmee, muuummmmee, maaameee.'
'Yes Ben?'
'Muummmee, muuummmy, maaameee.'
'Yes Ben?'

One day he's going to start talking. And when that happens I don't think he's going to stop.

It's (drumroll)... Sir Whingealot

Sir Whingealot Farty-Pants has been busy. Here are his status updates for the day.
Sir W F-P:

• discovered that his teeth are sharp enough to bite through the packaging of the Tesco cheese with the picture of the cow on it. Moooo.
• bit mummy's finger too for good measure but she was poking it in his mouth looking for new teeth.
• helped mummy grate the carrots and tasted the raw onion for her.
• did some weeding.
• patted a frog.
• gave mummy a pretty shell still containing a semi-dessicated snail.
• let the chickens out.
• made the dining room look like a beach by bringing several plastic cups full of sand inside.
• dragged a chair right across the kitchen to get to the Cornflakes on the worktop.
• found some breadsticks he had hidden inside his jigsaw tin.
• smeared yoghurt in his hair.
• decided he liked raw beansprouts but not stir-fried ones.
• showed off his potty to the people who came to view the house by carrying it to the bathroom and sitting on it fully clothed.
• slipped in quite a comical fashion in his own wee after bathtime.
• got very annoyed at the magnetic cars when he tried to get the wrong ends to connect.
• hid several handfulls of Cornflakes inside the ornamental chick watering can on the kitchen windowledge. Ha ha, mummy will never find those!

Time for a cuppa

Have I mentioned that my boy is somewhat spirited? Hmm, think I might have once or twice. I shy away from terms such as high-need but at the moment it's me who has a high need to sit down and have five minutes' peace every now and again. He is high-energy, highly determined, high-accident rate, high-climbing, high on the joys of being alive. In old-fashioned terms he is a difficult child. Mischievous. Naughty even. But they are not hugely helpful descriptions or labels to give a small boy who just wants to explore the world and run around and climb everything in sight.

At the same time I am getting fed up of juggling earning a living, organising baby sitting, keeping the house in a saleable condition, hosting viewings, trying to arrange a mortgage when I don't have a job, thinking of what to have for tea every day, feeding the chickens, coming to terms with being single after fourteen years in a relationship, and possibly at some point having just a little bit of time to do something nice, like go for a walk or put my feet up with a book. So occasionally my patience wears a little thin. Just a little.

This morning we went to the GP so I could get a new prescription for anti-depressants. While we were waiting little man repeatedly ran out of the door and down the driveway towards the main road, meaning I had to go with him. I'm talking at least thirty times. Still, he learnt the baby sign for 'stop'. In the GP's room he tried to empty out all the tubs of sample pots, he climbed on a chair then fell off (good job my GP is a sensible sort of woman who didn't see that as a problem), grabbed at all the pens and pencils on her desk and generally made a nuisance of himself. In the pharmacy afterwards he at least settled down to demolish the display of lollipops on a low shelf.

He had a short nap on the way home (note to self: take the trouble to use the Storch as the sleep hood in the Yamo is pretty useless), and is now trying to pull the hot oven door open, get into the drawer with the matches in, smear banana over himself, climb on the dining table, wear a sieve as a hat, grate his fingers and brush up with a broom that is twice as tall as he is.

I've now opened the back door and little man is outside pulling away the piece of Perspex that keeps the chickens in their run and out of the rest of the garden.

Time for a cuppa.

So busy

Still to do: mortgage, mushrooms, campsite. Cottage booked (in Dumfries and Galloway, from Sep 26 for a week if anyone's interested...)

Sir Whingealot's to-do list:

• Make sure I wake up and start crying before 7am. Check.
• Decide to like dry muesli and scatter it around grandma and grandad's living room. Check.
• Drive my tractor without any trousers on. Check.
• Count frogs. Check.
• Scoop soil. Check.
• Get very upset when my small friend from http://allgrownup06.blogspot.com/ shows an interest in toys that are his but that I am playing with. Check.
• Develop obsession with allgrownup's cat-shaped doormat. Check.
• Eat chalk. Check.
• Come up with a new game that involves climbing the steps of the Little Tikes slide then holding my arms out until mummy lifts me off and cuddles me. Check.
• Grab bottle of wine off shelf in Somerfield while mummy is perusing the Italian whites with me in a hastily grabbed ring sling. Check.
• Help mummy make risotto by eating lots of raw diced onion. Check.
• Decide to feed euphorbia to chickens, despite the fact that mummy keeps telling me it will irritate my skin if I keep picking it. What is she on about now? Check.
• Eat the last few ripe blackcurrants straight off the bushes. Check.
• Eat large quantities of risotto, surprising mummy, then fromage frais, then melon, then raid cornflake box, then drink lots of milk at bedtime. Check.
• Examine toes in bath. Check.
• Flake out at bedtime exhausted from such a busy day in which I have achieved exactly what I wanted to. Check.

Pancakes

Got home from Wigan to find a for-sale sign outside my house, even though the HIP isn't done yet and I haven't okayed any sale blurb yet. About an hour later estate agent is on phone saying there's a woman from Newton-le-Willows sitting outside and could she have a look round. Er... I would have liked time to tidy up!? And she made it sound like Newton-le-Willows is a very long way away. Anyway, I guess it's good to clock up the first viewing even if I did have to hastily remove my Mooncup from the bathroom windowledge. The chickens are proving to be a talking point.

I made pancakes for tea with a choice of two savoury fillings: spinach in a cheese sauce, or bacon, mushroom and tomato. It wasn't difficult but involved a lot of utensils and pans and juggling a lot of ingredients and timings. But I thought it would be fun. I thought little man would like to watch. No, he liked to grab any utensil within reach - bearing in mind that he's standing between my main work surface and the sink where all the dirty things are being chucked - then drop them out of the open window. No amount of asking him to stop made any difference. So i had to decide whether to a) move all my stuff to another, more cluttered work surface or b) shut the window despite it suddenly being warm and sunny. a) was no good because the boy was only stood there to keep him amused and if I moved elsewhere he would just start getting up to more mischief elsewhere. So I shut the window. Then I got him to come outside with me while I picked up all the stuff he had dropped and I made out that he was helping to bring it all back in. Like, who am I kidding?

Oh, and he didn't eat any of the pancakes. Not one tiny mouthful.

That was just one episode in a continuous cycle of toddler mischief today. I seem to end most days feeling completely frazzled at the moment. And then I feel guilty that we haven't had some kind of fairytale wonderful day in which I haven't occasionally snapped at him. To top it off he seems to be teething again and is waking up at random times of the night.