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I’m sitting on my kitchen floor, trying not to cry. How can there be dishes in the sink when I washed them all this morning? I ran a teabag through the dishwasher. Wonder if everything will taste like hot rooibos tea now.
I’m feeding Libbie half a hamburger bun and trying not to think about how it probably has high fructose corn syrup in it because at least she has stopped crying for five minutes. For the past two hours she’s only ceased her fit when food is finding its way to her mouth.
She’s getting crumbs on my just-mopped floor. I’m running out of bread. I’m running out of patience. I’m wondering why, if that corn syrup stuff is so bad, our pediatrican told us to give her Karo syrup for constipation? Should I know better than a pediatrician? Everything’s a jumble. Everything’s a paradox.