the irony of being a mother.

that i could love this kid so much and still want to strangle him when he is squawking at the top of his lungs the entire time we are trying to enjoy a quiet evening at the olive garden on friday night is beyond me. seriously, both of us were prepared to flog him by the time we left, even though the other two were angelic (a first- believe me), and yet, by the time we get home he's being his cute squashy cuddly self and we can't help but love all over him and devour those delicious cheeks. how is that possible?