snapping, here

Andy is pushing every button he possibly can right now. It was like the third birthday arrived and the next day he was evil. Well, more evil than age 2, I mean. He was evil before. He's evil-er now. In fact, he's on the couch right next to me whining his way through the leftovers of his most recent tantrum.

He asked for a Capri Sun and I got him one. Of course I took the damn little straw and punctured both sides of the drink. So I had to regroup and do it again. I gave it to him and he chugged for a while in silence.

Whenever he's done with something, out of habit he hands it to me and expects me to put it away for him on the shelf or the counter or the end table or wherever. But he's 3 now, and I'm sick of it. He has legs and arms and all the appendages that the rest of us possess, if we haven't lost them in some sort of toddler-flogging accident or something, of course.

So I told him to put his own drink on the table. And of course the response was the ever-predictable "No!" Followed by whining..."Mommy, I can't. You put it down."

I'm at the end of my rope today and of late in general. So I said firmly, "Andy, do it yourself. I'm not doing it for you. You can put your own drink down." (And I bit my tongue hard before any obscenities flew out.)

And he came back with, "No Mommy, I'm too sick to put it down. I can't even burp!"

******
Updated to add: Then he said, "I don't say excuse me when I burp. I just burp."