Whoever said it would "get easier" back at work was lying, big time. If anything every day is just a little bit worse because every day she gets a little more fun, a little more grown up. Every morning when I look at her I swear that she has changed. It was almost easier when she didn't recognize me at all -- and I worry that being gone all day means that she won't recognize me again.
Work is unbelievably stressful, and then I come home and need to be "on" still to hold her and play with her and talk to her. By the time she goes to bed I'm stupidly exhausted, and then I'm up again at 5 to go running. I wish that I could run in the evening instead, but after being away from her for the entire day it seems shameful to take any additional time at night. Depending what time I get home, I have 3-4 hours, max. And lately at least half, if not 3/4 of that time she spends sleeping, before she wakes up and takes a bath and goes to bed.
She's been trying REEEEALLLLY hard to grab at things. She has got the opened hand thing down, and then sort of swings her arms out, but she can't quite put it all together. Then I get an email today with this:
AAAHHH! SHE PICKED UP HER DUCK! I was told that it might have been 3% accidental, and that she didn't really know what to do with it once she had it, but all I have to say is that she better take her first steps on a weekend.
We went to Eden Prairie Center on Sunday so I could go to Archiver's and spend more money on supplies that may or may not ever become a photo album. As we're pushing her around I think that I smelly poopy.
"Do you think she has a poop?" I ask.
"I don't know," Matt says.
"Well smell down there! I think I smell poop."
"Yeah, well, she probably has a poop. She hasn't pooped yet today and it's already 11:30."
"Well maybe we should just leave her."
"Why?"
"Because she doesn't seem upset about it. She's OK. Let's just leave her." Sometimes it's best to let sleeping dogs lie, and dirty diapers alone if no one's upset.
We take five steps.
"Oh, God, seriously, we have to change her," I decide.
We debate on where to go to the bathroom. We look for signs for the mall bathroom, but they seem to involve an escalator with no elevator in sight. J.C. Penney's is behind us.
"Do you think J.C. Penney's has a bathroom?" I think the last time I was in one was when I bought my mom her hair straightener, which would have been last fall.
"I'm sure they do," Matt says.
I walk into the store and look for the elevators while Matt runs back to Pearle Vision to rescue the sunglasses I left on the table (brilliant, right?). I circle the second floor twice before finally figuring out where the bathroom arrow is pointing. Matt has rejoined me at this point. I unbuckle Miss Giggles and quickly realize that she has pooped completely out of her diaper into the carseat and all over the back of her clothes. I swear to God there are dry diapers that make her more mad than this does.
I carry her at arm's length into the bathroom.
Dear J.C. Penney's bathroom at Eden Prairie Center,
Thank you for placing a trash can immediately next to the changing table. This is a brilliant idea. When my child has a blowout and is completely covered in poo the last thing I want to do is leave a pile of poo-covered wipes dangerously close to her feet, which I am already trying to keep away from the poo on her butt. Wipe, toss. Wipe, toss. BRILLIANT. Nordstrom's could take a tip from you on trashcan placement.
Love,
Emily
Eighty-seven wipes, a clean onesie and two plastic bags later, we emerge from the bathroom. Matt has the insert from the carseat between his two fingers. Even before the poo it was getting pretty gross, but apparently not as gross as the actual car seat underneath the insert. We had no choice but to just put her back in. (Note: The directions say to use the insert until Baby is 11 pounds. Bug FINALLY broke 11 pounds last week (24.5 inches long, natch) but all that weight is clearly in her height and not girth. She looked ridiculous in the car seat.) Matt went and got a shopping bag from customer service for the insert. We wrap her up, and for some reason I consciously decide not to buckle her up, even though she is currently awake. How many times do you have to cut off your fingers before you stop playing with knives?
We continue on to Archiver's. Matt lasts five minutes before he "wants to go get coffee." When we walk out later I ask him why he went all the way to Barnes and Noble on the other side of the mall when there was a Caribou ten steps away, and he says it was because he "wanted to use his gift card." This is man-speak for "that store was unbelievably boring and even though I loved suggesting stickers with stained-glass crosses and glittery words such as 'babylicious' to make you mad I think I would rather go to the dentist than stand in here for five more seconds."
She was sound asleep when he got back. We went to Target, then left. Of course as we're walking to the car and she's out cold I remember that she is unbuckled. Dammit! When will I learn. Of course she wakes up as I buckle her back in, but luckily the car ride puts her out again.
Speaking of putting her out, I keep getting tsk-tsked from my boss (her second is 7 weeks older than Bug) for not having Bug on any sort of nap schedule. I tell her she falls asleep whenever she wants (case in point: the kid has been sleeping since 7PM and it's now 9:30), especially when we're out and about or in the car. "Oh, I avoid the car," she says. "I want her sleeping for an hour and a half. So unless I'm going to be driving around for an hour and a half, I will drop everything and put her down."
Maybe on my second child I will enforce a schedule. I'm just kind of "meh" about it right now. I will probably be writing in a month or so how stupid this was, but so be it.
Naps? Who needs naps?!
P.S. Mommy promises that she is wearing clothes in this picture.
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