Wit

At my wit’s end. I had no idea what that expression really meant until I had a daughter. It was
just another cliché people used to explain that they were exhausted by a person or situation. But, I think until a person has a nine-month old daughter that shrills incessantly and un-endingly for
three days for no reason what-so-ever you cannot have a true understanding of what it is to reach the furthest end point of your wit. No, this is not the literary use of exaggeration to make a point. Unless she is being held and endlessly walked to and fro she has screamed since Saturday morning only taking breaks for bottles, spoonful’s of mush, short naps that would be preceded and concluded with ear- shattering screaming and – at night. Yesterday, my Mother-In-Law watched the children so Elissa and I could take a nap – bless her soul – and by the time I relieved her two hours later she was like a broken women. Ruthie had beaten her sweet-loving Nana down to an exhausted, mumbling mess that could only be matched by the little girl’s incoherent bleary-eyed parents. Perhaps, this is teething or she is possessed by some sort of screaming demon, but nothing seems to work for long. Even my go-to favorites are short lived. Zerberts on her belly, tickling, rocking back-and-forth, singing anything and everything, crawling after our cat and pulling out her fur – they all get brushed aside like yesterday’s news.

Perhaps I need to up my game, where’s my credit card? Maybe its diamond jewelry and gold she’s after. Anything – I’ll do anything!!!!!