ARGH!

I am at my wit's end.  I've been doing so well lately.  I've been patient.  I've been empathetic.  I've tried to let the consequences do the teaching.  It has been working.  Until tonight.

Anybody want a slightly-used, quite cute but rather whiny and oft sassy four-year-old?

Actually, anybody want a tired, slightly tubby, impatient, overwhelmed at times thirty-year-old?

I blew a fuse at Sofia.  Her very best friends in the world are visiting (hi jay and ella!) and naturally, all the contents of her room is residing on the floor.  Getting close to bedtime, I advise Sofia that if she wants her friends to sleep on the floor with her, there needs to be space for them, so they should pick up the toys.  Now, I know it can be overwhelming to pick up a crazy-mess of toys.  (apparently, it isn't so overwhelming to put them there in the first place)  Fine.  I know it is easier with a grown-up helping direct traffic.  But Amalia needed nursing, and I expected her to at least try.  No.  She ran around screeching.  She played piano.  She had a tea party.  She didn't put one thing away.  Not one thing.  I came in the room, set Amalia on the bed, and tried to help direct her.  Nothing.  No response.  She cuddled Amalia on the bed instead.  I said, that's fine.  I'll pick them up.  But when Mama picks them up she takes them away.  I started to pick them up, putting them in the laundry room.  Still nothing.  Not picking up.  And not only not picking up, pointedly smothering her sister, to where I now have to remove the baby.  Am livid.  I ask her, one more time, to help pick up.  "No, I'm not going to."

AHHHHHHHHHRHGGHGHAGGHHH!!!

Mr. Young informs me that she does, indeed, possess the skills to pick up her toys.  She does it every day without complaint at school.  Not only did I yell, quite loudly and definitely out of control (which I hate doing), I now have a laundry room full of toys.  I can't quite make myself donate the toys to GoodWill.  They are expensive, dammit!  I need to do laundry tomorrow.  Now what?
I'm still so pissed. Breathe.
I wish I hadn't yelled at her.  That isn't productive and overshadows her own behavior.  The real answer is to actually get rid of the toys.  I can't, though.  It's too harsh.  Gah.

Seriously, Mr. Hyde?  I want Dr. Jekyll back.

Gaining weeks

Well, our wee chickadee has been very busy!  After the last ultrasound, I expected it to measure just past 8 weeks.  Well, the tech surprised us, measuring it at 9.  Then, I got a call from the doctor, saying it actually measured 9 weeks 5 days, moving our due date up to August 19!  That was a week and a half ago, so we are now 11 weeks along, and looking forward to an actual OB visit!  I have an intake appointment on Tuesday, and will beg for a quick doppler listen.  Hearing that amazing flutter will help me immensely.

Along with my elation, I am terrified.  We willingly are creating another human being?  To be responsible for?  What were we thinking?  It's hard to imagine how Chickadee will affect our family dynamic, how Sofia will react, if I'll be able to find the time to give them both the attention they deserve.  I know people do it every day, but that doesn't make me any less nervous.  As a second child myself, I really want to make sure that this little one gets the same love and devotion Sofia did (and does).  I want to make sure to take just as many pictures, write down just as many details, remember just as many dates, actually fill out a second baby book.  I'm so excited for our family, but so anxious at the same time.