Give me strength. I repeat. Give me strength.

Dear Lord, give me strength to repeat myself the six million more times it will apparently take to get my child to learn these lessons I am trying to teach her... 'cause I gotta say, the first eight million times haven't worked so well.

• No, I cannot pick you up; my hands are full.
• Please, use your fork, not your hands.
• I can't understand you; please take your hand out of your mouth when you're talking.
• Tell mommy before you have to pee, not after.
• It's time for bed, now close your eyes and go to sleep.
• No honey, you can't sleep in the big bed with mommy and daddy.
• You don't have to like it, you just need to try it.
• Hold my hand, we're in a busy parking lot.
• Please don't grab things off the counter.
• Honey, sometimes when people are in the bathroom, they want a little privacy.
• The tag goes in the back, not the front.
• Try again honey, your arm goes through the arm hole, not the neck hole.

Sigh.