I love my girls. Really, I do. But between Chloe’s screeching sound effects that prevent us from hearing ourselves think, and Sophie’s blood-curdling screams every time Chloe does something to offend her, I am going to quickly become a major contributor to Tylenol’s bottom line.
Unless the cacophony continues unabated, in which case I may need to graduate to prescription painkillers. Or replace my two girls with a few more dwarf hamsters – who although incapable of giving hugs and kisses, are QUIET all of the time and a lot cheaper to raise.
As I write this, my husband is upstairs with the girls attempting to get them ready for bed. But the girls are very good at ignoring us (not something I’m proud to admit, I might add). As Sophie gets older, the bedtime routine gets more complicated. And Chloe is incapable of doing what we ask her to do the first time around. It takes at least several requests before she makes a move to comply, and when she does finally act, she channels snails.
Is there a union for parents? I’d like to go on strike and demand improved working conditions.