Waking hours

Some days, not today, but some days I wake up thinking, "No thanks, not today."

I wish I didn't have to immediately shift into parenting gear. I think about the hours ahead spent telling a tiny person, "No" repeatedly. Answering endless, repetetive requests. Trying my best to supress the natual response of "Stop fucking asking me for things." And instead calmly telling her for the forty seventh time why she can't have another vitamin today. Without fail she responds, "More vittie, please?" I've taken to ignoring such questions after the third request. But the sheer amount of asking wears very, very thin.

It starts the moment you get her from her crib, where she has spent the entire night dreaming up requests; her early waking hours are spent formulating those requests into coherent questions. When I finally enter her room they fall out of her mouth in a steady, hurried stream.
Where daddy, warm milk, watch tv, watch winnie pooh, please.
Biddie, watch tv, vittie, warm milk, peanut toast butter, please.
Upstairs, jump trampoline, yogurt, go, watch winnie pooh, please.

And so our day begins.