Watching the news. I literally can’t even because the news is way too full of anxiety-producing material. I’m a professional at conjuring up the most terrifying situations in my mind, I don’t need anyone else’s help thankyouverymuch.
You being late. I literally can’t even. I just can’t.
The doorbell. I literally can’t even because it sends Penny into a fit, therefore it sends Jack into a fit, therefore therefore it’s a major meltdown in my house. If you ring the door bell just to alert me that you left a package on my doorstep and you WALK AWAY, I will hunt you down.
Parenting brags on Facebook. Sally slept through the night? John poo-pooed in the potty? You pumped 10 ounces in one sitting? Your husband gets 6 weeks of paternity leave? I literally can’t even.
Packing away Jack’s clothes. I literally can’t even because he’s still a baby – how does he not fit into half his wardrobe anymore?!? I can’t. I literally can’t even.
The fact that Jack will be SIX MONTHS OLD this month. That’s half a year. I literally.can’t.even.
Mommy wars. I literally can’t even because COME ON, isn’t every woman just doing the absolute best that she can?
Golf. I literally can’t even because why does it take one thousand hours to play a round of golf?