I find it difficult when you break my sleep, every night, and have done so for the last three years, to function in a calm and, well, functioning manner each morning.
I find it even more difficult to determine what it is, exactly, you want when you scream at me “Nilk, want nilk” and flap your arms, but reject every possible receptacle I place said milk into. Including the kitchen sink.
I find this mode of communication difficult to understand, the words you use – or don’t – difficult to interpret. Mostly, I have no idea what the fuck you actually want.
I find it difficult to summon up even the smallest shred of empathy, when you wander off, screaming louder, eyes closed, and walk into to the door frame / stairs / bed.
I find it difficult to read to you, when you scream at me and push me away, despite the fact you demanded I lie there next to you and “read dat book!”
I find it extremely difficult to comfort you with a cuddle when you push and hit.
I find it difficult to “help Thomas” (of the tank engine variety) “up the hill” when it appears he is stuck because he has my left nipple mashed