Little monster is a little monster. He’s been fussy and gassy all day and most of yesterday. He was awake for most of the last 5 hours, eating a little at a time and refusing to sleep. Argh. Nap, child. You’re only 3 weeks old. Sleep, it’s one of about three things you can do.
He went all vomit-comet on Thomas yesterday. Seriously. Fountain of gross, all over him, the couch, and even the floor. Damn, child. No better way to discover the stupid way your couch is assembled than to try cleaning baby puke out of every nook and cranny.
I finally got him settled in his swing chair snuggled up in one of Thomas’s flannel shirts and classic rock playing on Pandora.
I should use my freetime to clean or something, but I’m just tired. I love my husband, but I kinda want to hit him in the face with a chair. His freetime is spent playing on his xbox, or his computer, or his phone. Nevermind the pile of clean clothes beside him, or the diapers stacked by his changing pad, or the litterboxes that need to be cleaned. Face. Chair. WWE style.
There goes the kid-siren. Away I go.
Last updated December 24, 2015