Yesterday was a rough day. Oliver woke up whining and crying, and he went to bed whining and crying. It was one of those days when I wonder why I think it is fun to be a mom and when I am really glad I am not a single parent. It was one of those days when I had a slightly modified version of a Shel Silverstein poem from Where the Sidewalk Ends stuck in my head:
For Sale
One [toddler] for sale!
One [toddler] for sale!
One crying and [whining] young [toddler] for sale!
I’m really not kidding,
So who’ll start the bidding?
Do I hear the dollar?
A nickel?
A penny?
Oh, isn’t there, isn’t there, isn’t there any
One [person] that will buy this old [toddler] for sale,
This crying and [whining] young [toddler] for sale?
Oh, and in case you are wondering, he was looking for his happies with "Oyama." That's his imaginary friend. But more on that another day.
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