I love my son beyond words. He is the sweetest, cutest, funniest little guy out there. I live for his hugs and snuggles, and his curiosity and excitement for life is contagious. He also annoys the ever living sh*t out of me.

Four-year-olds have a special way of testing our patience, pushing our buttons, and bringing us to the edge. It doesn’t have to be an outrageous demand or an unfathomable reaction that brings me to this point. More often than not, it’s simply an untimely comment or the constant requests that NEVER stop that wriggle their way right under my skin. I may respond calmly — most of the time — but deep down inside this is what I’m really thinking:

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I’m hungry. Again? Seriously? I knew I’d have to feed you, but this is getting out of control. Oh, and maybe if you ingested something other than carbs you’d feel full for longer than six minutes.

I’m thirsty. I distinctly remember my mother telling me to swallow my own spit on a road trip to Canada once. I get it now.

Can I watch a show? Yes, for the love of God, you can watch a show. But only if it means you will be quiet for 10 minutes. If it means you want to scroll through Netflix saying, “No, not that one” over and over, then NO!

Mom, look at me! I am looking. Could you maybe do something different from the last nine times you asked me to look at you?

I’m not tired. Oh, you’re not? You had me fooled by the epic tantrum you just threw over the two drops of water you spilled on your shirt.

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Is it morning time? I guess technically 2:30 a.m. is considered morning, but it will be many hours until you are allowed to get up, so GO BACK TO SLEEP!

I can’t do it. Yes, you can. I’ve seen you do it a million times. You just wanted to wait to ask for help until I am cooking dinner, your sisters are crying, your grandparents are trying to FaceTime me, and someone just rang the doorbell.

I can do it on my own. I know you can, but I don’t have time for this. Just let me put your shoes on and zipper your coat so we can get out the door sometime in the next 45 minutes.

I don’t have to go to the bathroom. You don’t? Oh, crossing your legs and walking like a penguin must be a new dance move.

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Can you wipe me? No, I can’t wipe you, and I can’t change any more of your sisters’ diapers. I am sick of all this sh*t — literally.

Will you play with me? Ummmm… OK, but only until I think you are distracted enough that I can walk away.

Uh oh. I’m not sure if you spilled milk or set fire to the kitchen, but I’m going to pretend I have to go to the bathroom so I don’t have to deal with this. Why don’t you go tell Daddy.

Do you feel my pain? Tell BMB what gets under your skin — and what you’re really thinking! #truthfultuesdays