“I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.”*

I believe I have officially reached my threshold.

I am tired of carrying the baby around 24/7, and nursing him nearly as much, and he’s a fussy little bugger.

Terzo is firmly in the Terrible Twos and has thrown several tantrums in the past week that left ME sobbing. And he weighs a freaking ton, so I have been left watching, helpless, because I can’t hold the baby and physically deal with picking him up. Which means that I stood on the sidewalk the other day - baby in the front pack, Terzo lying in a puddle on the sidewalk freaking out – and just waited him out. Stubborn little cuss (wonder where he gets it?) kept me there for fifteen minutes.

Seg, too, for that matter – my sweet boy, screaming No! and throwing himself on the floor, or jumping up and down hysterically, over NOTHING. Nothing, I tell you. He’s turned into a total drama queen.

But Primo – Primo takes the cake. Oh my god, he takes the cake with frosting, and buttercream filling, and sprinkles on top.

He’s been faking stomachaches and lying about throwing up every morning for the past week. He lied to come home early from school on Monday. H and I have asked about schoolwork, his teacher, bullying, his friends – anything we can think of, since it is CLEARLY NOT physical – and come up blank every time. I have NO IDEA what is going on but I am moving quickly from sympathy to anger and frustration. I should not have to be threatening, cajoling, and ordering my seven-year-old around every single morning to get him out the door. This morning, when he claimed illness, I told him he could stay home but there would be no TV, computer, games, hockey, or playing outside – if he was home sick, he needed to be in bed, reading or sleeping. Within five minutes, he “felt better” and had his uniform on. I am at my wits’ end.

And while I am kvetching: my laptop battery only lasts for an hour, I have a chapped area on my lip that hurts like hell and looks like a cold sore, I need a haircut and an eyebrow wax, and I am tired.

I have lost a ton of weight but now am terrified that I am going to pack it all back on.

And we are out of orange juice, my desire for which continues unabated.

Oh, and have I mentioned the weather? Cold and clammy and wet and grey. Sorta like my brain.

It may be March on the calendar, but it’s still February in my soul.

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*Calvin & Hobbes