Ugh

I've come to learn over the past 2.5 years that this parenting thing is not always fun and is not always rewarding. Mala is extremely hard headed these days, which I've been told by mom that it's payback. This weekend in particular it seems every little detail of our lives has been a battle...taking a bath, brushing hair, brushing teeth, wearing sunscreen, getting in the car seat, getting out of the car seat. I'm not trying to battle, I'm just trying to get through the day. I'm constantly giving choices, constantly having to think of two choices that are suitable and will move us on to the next step of the day. It seems the harder I try some days the more difficult she becomes. At daycare she is an angel, a dream, "we never have any problems from Miss Mala" they tell me.
If she is not impressed with our plans lately she will cry, stomp, and not budge until I pick her up to relocate her and then she flails and kicks. Today she sat in her room and cried because she did not want to get out of the tub. There was no yelling, no scolding involved. I simply got her out of the tub, lotioned her up, dressed her and told her that if she was going to cry she needed to stay in her room and that she could come out of her room when she was done crying. That little pistol cried for 25 minutes! Just sat in her room crying because of something so silly like having to get out of the tub. So as the title of my post says, ugh.
The first line from the new Martina McBride song makes me laugh and sums up how I'm feeling,
"I ain't complaining,
but I'm tired so I'm just saying what I think
And if we're being honest,
then honestly I think I need a drink"

This song is not about having a two year old, but about teenage daughters. Oh dear, what am I in for? That was a rhetorical question and I am not mentally prepared for the answer so please do not offer any information.
Like Martina says, I'm not complaining, I'm just saying what I think.
I'm just documenting this little girl's life and if I'm going to document it I better not sugarcoat it so that I can remember her childhood correctly. One day I'll look back on this and smile to myself, probably laugh thinking about my little monkey, crossing her little chubby arms, letting out big fake sounding wails over the most trivial things. One day, not today, but one day.