Right now I am avoiding loading my dishwasher. Dishes, cups, and silverware litter the small counterspace between range and sink and are begging for a good scrub. But, if I load it, I will have to run it. And if I run it, then it will be waiting for me to unload it bright and early in the morning.
So, I'll procrastinate loading it by convincing myself that I can stuff Baby B's breakfast dishes somewhere in there and then run it. There are so many other chores that need to be completed tomorrow morning, namely laundry, so I don't need to add another one to the list. That's just too much pressure for 7am. The laundry is daunting enough. (I think laundry is mentioned in about 84% of my posts. Recurring theme, no?)
After all that prep for our VFH (very first houseguests for those of you living under a rock), I am so sick of cleaning and prettying that I pretty much gave up the entire past week. There was, at some point yesterday, seven diapers laying in various spots throughout the house because I was silently protesting replacing the bag in the kitchen garbage can. Since we spent most of the day out of the house (yardsales!!!zoo!!!Redwings!!!), I really wasn't that concerned about it. I should have saved that little gem of info for Not Me Monday, but I'm throwing it out there tonight, admitting the squalor as pathetic and disgusting as it may sound.
There has been so much going on the past two weeks that Baby B's schedule is completely off. His nap schedule has been thrown off countless times, and we're both adjusting to me being home. It took him almost an hour to fall asleep tonight. He usually has no trouble putting himself to sleep (we're self-soother advocates - it's what has worked best for us) which usually means that he babbles to himself for 5-10 minutes and then sleeps from 7:30pm-7:00am. Last night he was up twice before I brought him to bed with us at 4am, and then was up for good by 6am. He spent most of the time between 4am and 6am repositioning himself between me and B (read: sticking his feet in my face), examining my nostrils, pulling my hair, and trying to put Stinky G's tail in my mouth. Not a whole lot of sleeping going on.
Nevertheless, he had a rotten day, which involved lots of fussing and clinging and whining and crying. And then I vowed to never let him miss a nap again because I felt like fussing and whining and crying when it was 8pm and he wasn't showing signs of relenting. Rocking and singing weren't even an effective solution. Finally, I took a magazine and a Diet Coke and sat on the front porch, opting for the cry it out solution. Him, not me, of course. Fifteen minutes later, both of us had soothed ourselves - though only mine required the consumption of carbonated caffeine. I hope that all will be back to normal tomorrow, and I do fault myself for this little blip in babydom...
Thanks for listening, BFFs, I needed that.