“I wanna wear two trousers to sleep.” My son whined again, tears shinning in his stubborn eyes.

“No, honey. You already wore too much, you are sweating now, and you can’t put one more trousers. ” I signed, trying to reason with him. But you can’t reason with a two-year-old sick child, especially a sick child who having a hard time of adjusting----adjusting to the life of kindergarten, to the fact that his dearest grandma has moved out, and to living with another grandma and grandpa who basically are still strangers. So many changes have happened within such a short time, even an adult would feel it difficult to adapt. How could we expect a two-year-and-a half to understand and accept? Therefore, recently he has developed a comic determination to have everything just the way he wants.  What he should wear, what he likes to eat, where the things should be placed, and other small things that have to be just right to satisfy him. He would fuss indefinitely unless circumstances are righted. As if in this way, he could put some stability into his life.

“I wanna wear two trousers to sleep.” He began to stomp, showing no signs of giving in.

“Do you like to hear a story? Once upon a time…” I tried to ignore him.

“I wanna wear two trousers to sleep.” He must be a parrot now who knows only one phrase.

I smothered a curse, fighting terribly the urge to scream in frustration.

Where is my sweet little boy? I miss him very much.

“I wanna…” he started again, but was interrupted by a fit of hacking cough, his little face convulsed in red with both cough and fury.

“Shush…” I picked him up, rocking him back and forth to soothe him as much as I could.

He must lost several pounds in the last month. I felt a genuine stab pain, a killing sense of failure and frustration---the deep-bone knowledge that I have failed to care well for my son.

I thought I was prepared to care for him without help, but somehow I didn’t realize that the work would be practically nonstop and so much difficult. When he isn’t needing to be fed or bathed, I have been dashing about to satisfy his keep-popping-up whims. Catering-to his wants without actually spoil him, helping him through this difficult time demands most of my time at home, and besides that I still need to catch every chance I could get to keep up with all the other chores. I am so tired that every step was like slogging through water.

Exhaustion must have been written all over my face. I heard a lot my co-workers said: “Have a rough day, haven't you?”

My work didn’t spare me either. Because of system upgrade, no matter how I hurried, I seemed to be a step behind; even routine tasks developed aggravating complications.

I am in desperate need for a break.