The patience pie
This year I resolved to be kind to Bun Bun, a resolution that I failed at a mere five minutes after she woke up on New Year’s Day. It seems that I am incapable of getting through a day of caring for my toddler without losing my temper. It’s particularly sad when I do the math, because the portion of my life when I have to hold it together is actually quite small. Let’s take a look.
It’s ONE DAY A WEEK, people, nine hours. Pretty striking, right? A tiny little bit of pie? And then there’s this.
And “other” is pretty much entirely me reading books with her. Not the most inflammatory of activities, right? (Though it can be aggravating when she insists on going backwards just when I’m getting really wrapped up in the plot. It’s like, if we could just fucking get to the part where the spider catches the fly, I’d be happy to go back to the sheep, but the narrative tension is a killer.) So I’ve been feeling like a mean, mean failure.
But hey, the victory is in the trying, right? Perhaps this is what I should be focusing on: