Mommy Patience.

When I talked to Joey on my break at work and he told me he was having a bad day with Ethan, I listened patiently, thinking all the while, Poor Ethan. He just needs his mama. He's not feeling good, he just needs the patience of his mama. And then I told Joey that he just wasn't feeling well, and that he needed to be patient with him.

I got home and the house was quiet. I had some time to talk to Joey about my day at work, which went better then I would have ever expected, and then I heard Ethan wail from his bed.

Joey warned me not to go in, but my motherly instincts could not help it.

His head was drenched and so was his pillow. His diaper was saggy and worn looking, like he'd had it on for days. He looked homeless. He was crying.
"Ohhh, come to mama, " I said. "Come see mama."

"No!"
"Oh, you're feeling puny?" I said, soft and sweet as I could.
"No!" He shoved his palms my direction, indicating for me to leave.

I would not give up. I picked him up and and he became a board in my arms.

"NO!"
I took him into the kitchen and he wailed. I couldn't even get the pink syrupy Tylonol down him.
That's when I started to get frustrated.

Three hours later, I'm yelling at him to KNOCK IT OFF at the table when he throws the tantrum of the century because I put his grapes too close to his tomatoes on his dinner plate.

Hard day with Ethan? Please. Seriously, did my parents hate (I say that with all the love I have in me) me too? Was I this much of a pain? So much for my mommy patience.

I put him to bed at a quarter to seven, a good two hours early. Sometimes I don't know what to do now, in times like these. He is wailing.

***LATER***

I took him some milk and he wanted to sing. We sang his favortie song these days, about having love like an ocean, joy like a fountain, and peace like a river. Then he wanted to sing "that hot cross buns song", another lifelong favorite of his. I did the "This little piggy" thing on his toes three times, and said goodnight. He is quiet.