Remember how the other day turned out to not be One of Those Days? Well, it must have been foreshadowing; today is One of Those Days. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of her crib. My goodness, how can something so tiny be so horrible?
Don't worry, I still love her. But I wouldn't mind if she slept for the next three days.
Too Much Information ahead, all ye men and women who don't want to know these things:
I think all bra manufacturers should be taken out and shot.
I was a *funky size before having Grace. Now I'm a freakishly funky size. I went to Motherhood Maternity the other day hoping they'd have nursing bras in sizes that actually accommodate the boob explosion (hah! I kept writing "sexplosion" by accident) most women undergo after they have their babies. HAH! I am so naive. Their sizes are EXACTLY THE SAME as what's carried in stores for non-nursing mothers. I was a 32E pre-Grace. I'm a 34F/G now. They have 34D and 36E.
I know you can order bras online, but I won't shell out $30 for something I've never tried on, especially if that something is a bra. Why? Well, I finally found a size that sort of-ish fit. Kinda. Tried it on in a different style (same brand!), and ended up looking like I had four boobs.
I'd like to round up all the CEOs of all the bra manufacturers and retailers in the world and force them to wear XXXS jock straps for the rest of their lives.
*I actually don't think I'm all that weird a size. Most people I know who've gotten fitted by someone other than a Victoria's Secret lady have sizes that fall outside the "normal" range.
Oh my gosh that child is so TIRED and SAD and GRRRR but she WON'T SLEEP WHY WON'T YOU SLEEP, MY CHAMPION SLEEPER, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Poor thing. I'm irritated with her, but I do know that it's not her fault. It's not like she's old enough to purposely stage a rebellion. She's miserable, and that's all she knows.
I blame it on her vaccines yesterday. Which makes no sense because she was the picture of sunshine then. Maybe it's a delayed effect. I don't know. But I've given her Tylenol until it started coming out her ears, and I'm afraid to give her any more because I'm not too keen on my kid having liver failure, no matter how many last nerves of mine she is on.
Maybe we'll go for a walk. Even though it's five degrees outside (I HATE YOU WISCONSIN AND HOPE A METEOR FALLS ON YOU AND YOU BECOME JUST A GIANT, SMOKING PIT NEXT TO THE GREAT LAKES).
The Child is sitting up now. Kind of. Well, she CAN sit up, but when she does it looks like she's been drinking. And NOW she's cool with Tummy Time. Now that I've stopped stressing about it (thanks, Kemma). Now that it's almost a moot point. Sure, it'll help with crawling, but I would be happy if she didn't learn to move around for another year, so I'm a little irritated by that. It's pretty hilarious to watch her flail around on the floor when she gets all excited over a toy and then OOPS! she rolls over and looks at me with surprise and anger, as if I had anything to do with it. Thankfully, though, I can stop worrying about her rolling onto her stomach in the night and not being able to roll back over.
We got cable. Soaps and infomercials and obnoxious kids' programming is pretty much all we get during the day. That's probably just as well, or I'd be spending all day every day gaping at the TV while The Child played with plastic bags and razor blades.
I watched Lost and was all whoah!, but I'm not going to write about it now. The Child needs love.