Since last week, I’ve pretty much been a train wreck.
It’s a vicious cycle… I get agitated and I can’t sleep so I get agitated because I’m not sleeping which hinders my sleeping, thus making me agitated… Friday night to Saturday Morning, I was tossing so much that I kept The New Mrs. awake. And that man pretty much slept through a near-bursting appendix.
Not to mention that we have/had five pretty major projects that are due this week and I’m the lead “make this look professional” person.
So last night, after a particularly abusing day with Constant Comment, I ended up at our friends house where The Group was playing volleyball.
Seeing as I don’t play volleyball (or any sport, really), I ended up how I always do… on Child Care.
I don’t really mind. It gives the kids parents a chance to have conversations that don’t revolve around princesses and I get practice*.
At one point, I’m holding a plug in the 6-week-old’s mouth, crouching with an oversized princess book, having an almost 4-year old sit on one knee and an almost-2-year-old screeching and pointing at a cartoon character [in said book] who had fallen down.
Said 2-year-old also referred to me as “Mommy!”.
After being used a a jungle gym, playing hide-and-go-seek, chasing toddlers around, getting slimy tennis balls thrown at me, making some popcorn on the stove and wearing socks to bed, I am proud to report that I only dreamed of living in the outskirts NYC and having my duplex catch on fire.
(which, for the record, is AWESOME compared to my usual subject matter)
* As I later found out, crying back at a crying baby is not widely acceptable child care protocol.