In background, you should know my husband was just back from a 4 day/3 night trip, so I wasn't my best going in to what has just been a really bad day.

At one thirty am, I gave up on setting down the baby.

At five forty-five am, I finally successfully set down the baby.

At seven forty- five am, my husband woke me to say he needed to go to work soon.

At eight am, I was weeping in the kitchen.

At eight thirty, I'd had a cup of coffee and it gave me back my big girl pants. Except not literally.

At nine, there was poop. It required me to take that outside right now in the rain and a robe.

At ten, I set down the napping baby and started dozing.

At ten fifteen, there was a knock on the door and attendant dog freak out baby wake up. Find a robe, etc. it was the landlord's pest guy who doesn't actually need anything from me.

At eleven, I gave up on salvaging the nap.

At eleven thirty, I managed to be grateful for no one coming to my house while I was pumping breastmilk to put in the baby's lunch. While having a second cup of coffee, an egg white, and a cookie for adult lunch.

At twelve thirty, I got dressed.

At twelve forty, there was a thunderstorm and the dog and baby reacted poorly.

At one ten, I set down a sleeping baby.

At one fifteen, the dog walker woke said baby. I am aware that complaining about the dog walker makes me seem blind to my privilege. Hush. I had a bad day.

At two fifteen, I readied the house for the return of the wet dog. While the baby cried as setting her down turned out not to be her jam. (Being accosted in my bed by a wet dog is probably less popular than she realizes.)

At three, the nap ended without my ever having successfully set down the baby.

At four, I answered a lot of my own questions when I spotted a second tooth.

At five fifty, we loaded up the car and fetched my husband from transit. Mostly for selfish reasons involving my exhaustion and a desire for potato pizza fresh from the oven.

He has a stomach bug.

At five past six, I went in and got the take out. For possibly eight whole minutes, I sat by myself in a restaurant. It was really nice.

At six thirty, I fetched him a bucket.

At seven forty-five, I successfully set down the sleeping baby.

At eight thirty, the bucket got used. And then he asked me to empty the bucket for him and was mean and kind of loud when I hesitated.

At eight thirty-five, there was sympathy puking, and I didn't ask anyone else to clean that up.

At eight forty, the baby woke up.

Which brings us current. It's really been a doozy of a Monday.

Yesterday, I bought chicken livers for the baby. One dollar and fifty cents' worth. Today I boiled, pureed, portioned and froze them. The dog thought this was fantastic.

At least it's a pretty day. I was able to open the whole house so hopefully it won't smell like cooking meat in here forever.

Note: I am a vegetarian. My baby doesn't have to be though. So. Tiny little portions of liver, at the pediatrician's recommendation. Also, we have a very open plan home, so the food smells thing is an issue, just generally.

I'm reminded of the time I was telling my husband about the few meats we ate at home growing up (broiled pork chops, stir fried skirt steak and chicken, sausage...). My mom was no cook. He posited that perhaps this had something to do with both my sister and I turning vegetarian in our teen years.

I promise that's not why I'm feeding the baby liver in a few days. I went with peas as the new food for the next few days, because they're St Patrick's Day appropriate. On the first go, they're a hit. Liver will be the next food. Probably.

I also made rice for adults for the week.

Guess which idiot touched a magazine in a pediatrician's waiting room?

It mothering magazine, I think from 2008. I was showing the baby all the pictures of babies while we waited for our appointment, because the toy I brought was not capturing her attention as much as I wanted.

I have a cold. I'm pretty sure the baby also has the same cold. And I learned a valuable lesson that I probably should have already known.

I'm pushing fluids and running the humidifier and really babying the baby. My husband even left for work more than an hour later than usual this morning to increase my rest time.

My four month old child's hair is down to her eyebrows. It's very unfortunate that she has a mother who is unlikely to stick a bow on her head. She's got enough hair that I can use one of the smaller rubber bands I have for myself to hold it back in a whale spout. Just as well since I recently cut my hair a bit too short to use them myself (unless I wanted a whale spout on the top of my head too, which I do not.)

I think if my mother could see her granddaughter's hair most days, she would say "people will think you don't have a mother who loves you."


Nothing very exciting happened today. It actually bothers me a lot less than I thought it would how I am busy every minute and accomplish so very little.

I mean, it's taken some real getting used to the part where I have to, like, actually get ready to leave the house. Beyond brushing my teeth and putting on shoes. Remembering the diaper bag and putting pants on the baby and grabbing some conveyance so I won't have to keep her in my arms the whole time we're gone... that part has required adjusting.

Otherwise, we're really just having fun all the time. And when we're not, that usually ends in a nap (making sleep happen is the hardest part of the job right now), so I'm bound to get some sort of introvert-approved downtime pretty soon. And by then I'll think I've earned it.

There are probably people who find all of these topics gross. I'm sorry in advance if I creep you out.

Last night, shortly before one in the morning, the baby woke up. It turned out the cat was snuggling by her side. I am guessing that's what woke her, anyway. I evicted him and made a mental note to remember to shut the mosquito net every single time.

Not that we believe the never-documented rumors of dangerous cats. But it is the only fur-free place in the house. Getting pet hair off the poor baby's eyeballs is no one's favorite. I'm sure having hair on your eye is worse.

Speaking of, on Tuesday I went and got the traditional had-a-baby haircut. A bob. Above the chin, below the ears. I'm unconvinced that it's not going to look even less kempt than the long hair did once it's entirely under my neglectful styling.

But! It cut off a lot, maybe most, of the blonde. By the way, can anyone tell me why my hair changed colors all the sudden? After a decade of lightening, it is bright/dark again. With, like, a solid line of demarcation. The stylist said he hadn't seen that before.

And soon, we will be rid of all the long hairs I was leaving everywhere, including wrapped around my baby's fingers. I mean, they were adding real structure to the dust bunnies, but still. Plus, now the baby can't reach my hair to rip it out!

In other, similar, news, on Saturday I got contacts. Again, foiling a grabby baby. And decreasing the frequency through which I'm looking at the world through a handprint.

Basically, at this moment, I look like 400% more presentable than I typically did before I had a baby. You know, back when I went to an office every day.

At one o'clock this morning, after I shoo'ed the cat and got the baby back to sleep, I was looking out the bathroom window. We have a lovely view of Orion, and a million years ago, the summer camp where I worked "bought a star" near Orion. And as I had been told to do on at least fifty Friday nights, I thought of it when I looked out the window.

And then I realized I hadn't done that before because I shouldn't be able to see that far. I fell asleep in my contacts. It only took five nights. I did take them out at that point.

That was not where I thought I was going when I started, but I suppose it's all on a theme. I'm working from a small plot of time so you get what you get, and that's that.