the voices in my head

I don't know if it's because she's about to turn three or because she just woke up one morning three weeks ago and decided to potty train herself or because she's just Marie, but it seems like the only voice she has is whining. Whining at me. All day long. Just now she walked into the kitchen and asked for a piece of bread and butter. Except she didn't ask. She whined, "Mamaaaaaaaaaaah, breaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!" as if I was draining the life force out of her as she said the words. If she had asked for bread and I had denied her, I could sort of understand her repeating the request in a whining tone. I mean, it would still drive me nuts, but I could begin to understand. But Marie shows up whining. That's how she enters the world these days. She wakes up whining. Comes home whining. Asks for things whining. Refuses things whining. And while she whines about 50% of the time with her father, it feels like she whines 100% of the time with me. Okay, maybe 99%.

She has now perfected the pitch of the whines to such an extent that I no longer roll my eyes or sigh or take a deep breath when she lets one rip. I cringe. I get twitchy. And I yell. Far more than is called for. Because three-year-olds whine, right? I mean, this is what the parenting books say. What other parents say. What grandparents and daycare providers and teachers say. It is the way of the world. This is what I signed up for. But in the battle of Not Letting Things Get to Me, I have lost, and so I yell. Marie's voice is whining and mine is yelling.

We need to get some new voices up in here.