Not only have I known consummately patient non-parents, I know excellent tennis players without noticeably asymmetric arms, Hec. I'm not sure your metaphor is sound.

And I also know parents who lack patience to do it well. But, by definition, I guess it's getting done.

I understand people worrying they won't have the patience to parent. Fortunately, Mother Nature has hedged her bets by poisoning us all with hormones to insure some sort of attachment to the little buggers.

Fucking oxytocin.

Fucking oxytocin.

Right? Sara was chattering so nonstop the other day when we were out doing errands, my head literally almost exploded. And then she put her hand in mine and looked up at me and smiled, and poof. Okay, you get to live another few minutes, kiddo.

Bad evening. Grandma and I both got bitten, furniture was thrown, I lost two handsfuls of hair. I put mac's hands in a zip tie because we couldn't control him. Hell.

How am I supposed to work tomorrow? I just want to get in the car and drive until it stops running.

Oh, yeah.

I get:

"Mommomomomomomom!"
"WHAT?"
"I love you! You're the best mommy ever!"
*sigh*

Oh, hell, msbelle. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, msbelle. That's rough.

Bad evening.

Oh, msbelle. I'm so sorry. Blowups are bound to happen with all the change, but that's really rough.

Calm~ma to mac.

My flippant motherhood post seems all sorts of wrong. I'm sorry, msbelle. I hope tomorrow is better for both of you.

Oh god, msbelle.