Seriously? It's like a form of mental torture for me. I'm at breaking point this morning and have already shouted, not because he was doing anything that needed shouting about, but because I'm on my last ragged nerve. At the moment it's constant stream on consciousness. I know it's his age (2.5) and that I'm lucky he's so chatty and happy and that it'll soon change and I'll miss it I fucking won't.
I'm hiding in the kitchen now, but he keeps popping in for for a repetitious chat. I'm gloomy and longing for 7pm already. Drained. Brain fried. Bleak.