Time is on My Side
I don't know where the last week went. I planned on blogging last week-a full week ago. And, nada. Last Thursday was representative of the week.
4:00 a.m.: Millie is awake. Poking her fingers in my eyes, up my nose, in my ears. Pulling my husband's armpit hair. Screaming to hear her own voice. In our bed, because I was too lazy to sit up and nurse her at midnight when she woke up. My fault.
5:30 a.m.: Millie is still awake and now she's pissed because she's been awake and in bed without entertainment (besides the entrances to my body cavities) for an hour and a half. I get up and shower.
6:30 a.m.: My husband leaves me with the jumping baby.
7:30 a.m.: The crazy sets in.
8:30 a.m.: She's tired, tired, tired and refuses to go down.
9:30 a.m.: I decide to run some errands in the hopes she'll fall asleep in the car for a few minutes. We go to Staples and she's moderately well behaved.
9:50 a.m.: She's asleep, mercifully, in the car. Figuring she'll only sleep for 20 minutes or so, I opt to drive around and be disgusted with the development in the area of snooty shops pandering to people with money and absolutely no originality. Tear down a tobacco barn and build a Pottery Barn. That's fantastic.
11:00 a.m.: She's still asleep and I am still driving.
11:30 a.m.: I am lost in Ellington somewhere. She's waking up and now she's hungry and pissed.
12:00 p.m.: I find my way home, walk through the downstairs apartment door and think, "My Lord, what is that stench?" The stench is a giant BJ's size bottle of Lysol cleaner has taken a suicide leap off the shelf and split open all over the kitchen floor. On the plus side, I have a really, really clean spot on my not-so-clean kitchen floor. On the downside, it has eaten away the glue under the tiles and now they are peeling and curling up.
12:05 p.m.: I attempt to clean some of it up without asphyxiating the two of us. She's still hungry.
12:10 p.m.: I opt to open all the windows and doors and feed her. She then watches me clean it up while throwing random Tupperware containers at me from her booster seat that is perched in the corner of the kitchen.
1:00 p.m.: The panic starts to set in that I have an interview for the job I really really really need the next day and I am not prepared. I try on my outfit while my daughter looks at me judgmentally, noting that it isn't dressy enough for an interview. Okay, that was me projecting, but she would have been right. I scoff at the fact that my shoes don't match.
2:00 p.m.: I decide that at least my shoes can be polished, so I pack her into the car and go to the shoe store for some polish. I make the rookie decision to look at shoes that I can't afford rather than going straight for the polish. I linger too long, being the shoe whore that I am, drooling over fun shoes I'd buy if I wasn't poor. She starts to fuss. Loudly. Thankfully, the music is so loud that her screeching hopefully isn't registering with anyone but me. I grab what I thought was shoe polish and head out. Of course, it isn't shoe polish.
2:30 p.m.: I wrestle with Millie to get her into the carseat. Her new trick is thrusting herself down to the bottom of the carseat and going stiff as a board while I'm trying to strap her in. Usually while screaming. Her screaming, not me (not usually). I look up to find one of my school acquaintances in the next car over, looking at me like I've lost my mind. She'd be right.
3:00 p.m.: I attempt to entice Millie into playing with her stuff on her bedroom floor while I go through my answers to the hokey possible interview questions. She finds it much more amusing to climb on my lap and rip my papers in half.
4:00 p.m.: After abandoning my hope of preparing, I make dinner with her in the exersaucer and not happy about it at all. So, I amuse her by practicing my interview answers on her. Which turns out to not be so amusing to a 6 month old at all.
And the day continued from there. I finally had some prep time thanks to my husband. I went to the interview and it went moderately okay. I don't think I got it, but time will tell. At least my shoes were shiny. That's one of the pluses to being married to a veteran. He shines a mean shoe.
So, that typifies my days over the last week. Sorry I have been such a stranger. Happy Easter, Passover, or Thursday. Whichever you celebrate.
4:00 a.m.: Millie is awake. Poking her fingers in my eyes, up my nose, in my ears. Pulling my husband's armpit hair. Screaming to hear her own voice. In our bed, because I was too lazy to sit up and nurse her at midnight when she woke up. My fault.
5:30 a.m.: Millie is still awake and now she's pissed because she's been awake and in bed without entertainment (besides the entrances to my body cavities) for an hour and a half. I get up and shower.
6:30 a.m.: My husband leaves me with the jumping baby.
7:30 a.m.: The crazy sets in.
8:30 a.m.: She's tired, tired, tired and refuses to go down.
9:30 a.m.: I decide to run some errands in the hopes she'll fall asleep in the car for a few minutes. We go to Staples and she's moderately well behaved.
9:50 a.m.: She's asleep, mercifully, in the car. Figuring she'll only sleep for 20 minutes or so, I opt to drive around and be disgusted with the development in the area of snooty shops pandering to people with money and absolutely no originality. Tear down a tobacco barn and build a Pottery Barn. That's fantastic.
11:00 a.m.: She's still asleep and I am still driving.
11:30 a.m.: I am lost in Ellington somewhere. She's waking up and now she's hungry and pissed.
12:00 p.m.: I find my way home, walk through the downstairs apartment door and think, "My Lord, what is that stench?" The stench is a giant BJ's size bottle of Lysol cleaner has taken a suicide leap off the shelf and split open all over the kitchen floor. On the plus side, I have a really, really clean spot on my not-so-clean kitchen floor. On the downside, it has eaten away the glue under the tiles and now they are peeling and curling up.
12:05 p.m.: I attempt to clean some of it up without asphyxiating the two of us. She's still hungry.
12:10 p.m.: I opt to open all the windows and doors and feed her. She then watches me clean it up while throwing random Tupperware containers at me from her booster seat that is perched in the corner of the kitchen.
1:00 p.m.: The panic starts to set in that I have an interview for the job I really really really need the next day and I am not prepared. I try on my outfit while my daughter looks at me judgmentally, noting that it isn't dressy enough for an interview. Okay, that was me projecting, but she would have been right. I scoff at the fact that my shoes don't match.
2:00 p.m.: I decide that at least my shoes can be polished, so I pack her into the car and go to the shoe store for some polish. I make the rookie decision to look at shoes that I can't afford rather than going straight for the polish. I linger too long, being the shoe whore that I am, drooling over fun shoes I'd buy if I wasn't poor. She starts to fuss. Loudly. Thankfully, the music is so loud that her screeching hopefully isn't registering with anyone but me. I grab what I thought was shoe polish and head out. Of course, it isn't shoe polish.
2:30 p.m.: I wrestle with Millie to get her into the carseat. Her new trick is thrusting herself down to the bottom of the carseat and going stiff as a board while I'm trying to strap her in. Usually while screaming. Her screaming, not me (not usually). I look up to find one of my school acquaintances in the next car over, looking at me like I've lost my mind. She'd be right.
3:00 p.m.: I attempt to entice Millie into playing with her stuff on her bedroom floor while I go through my answers to the hokey possible interview questions. She finds it much more amusing to climb on my lap and rip my papers in half.
4:00 p.m.: After abandoning my hope of preparing, I make dinner with her in the exersaucer and not happy about it at all. So, I amuse her by practicing my interview answers on her. Which turns out to not be so amusing to a 6 month old at all.
And the day continued from there. I finally had some prep time thanks to my husband. I went to the interview and it went moderately okay. I don't think I got it, but time will tell. At least my shoes were shiny. That's one of the pluses to being married to a veteran. He shines a mean shoe.
So, that typifies my days over the last week. Sorry I have been such a stranger. Happy Easter, Passover, or Thursday. Whichever you celebrate.
posted by Kris at 7:15 AM
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