I've been in a pitched battle to regain my ground with work. I don't know why I care, actually. I'm making my life harder. I could easily float here for ages and not have to do much more work. I ought to focus on the little squee-box downstairs and care less about my work situation.
So last night, I likened my attitude toward work as a spoiled child. I want very much to quit playing basketball because the other kids aren't treating me nice. Take my ball and go home, so to speak. Which plays out because if I did leave, they would really be stuck without a key ingredient to keep playing. That they don't realize this is my biggest beef. I do need the money right now. I can't afford to quit. I want to quit. I fantasize about quitting, in fact.
Arrggh, back to thinking about something else.
E. Have I not said enough on her lately? She has just discovered that she can roll to her belly from back. I didn't think much on how late she is to doing this. I have tried to keep away from ticking off developmental milestones. But, I was getting a wee bit worried. She only does this in the crib. At night. Which is like bullet number 6 on SIDS risk...the whole babies who normally sleep on their back start sleeping on their belly and die. It's been a terrible week of first flipping her back and enduring howls as she wakes up and then eventually rolls back onto belly. We've just adjusted the snu.za to allow her to roll over at night and endure the sleepless worry.
Three days in, she seems to have gotten the hang of this belly sleeping thing, and seems to prefer it. She's yammering up a storm, growling like Tom Waits and generally still not interested in crawling. She's easy to laugh and loves super active play. My heart simply melts every time the Mr. takes a galloping run with her across the house to hear her squeals of laughter. It's a shiny beam of sunlight that I am more than fortunate to have.
But, honestly, lack of sleep and onset of winter depression have taken a toll. Depression came crashing down after I realized that my 40th birthday trip to So Cal was going to be hijacked by my mother-in-law. I can still work up a tear or three feeling sorry for myself. The Mr. got to go to Fiji, and I'm thinking that I will be super fortunate to make it to Florida at this point. Indulging in the pity party and trying to be frugal, has me in that "forget it" phase. E is beyond a gift at this point. Even a weekend with loads of fun would be amazing compared to an expensive jaunt to enjoy azure seas mixed with the tears of 3 years of TTC.
Clearly I can care less about hygiene or fashion these days. When you say to your daughter "Is that you, stinky?" and realize that no, it's mama stinky, and realize that you had a shower two days ago, well, one needs to make a plan for daily showers again. Fashion-wise, a big,
blue fuzzy zippered robe has somehow appeared permanently in my lingerie
coupled with fuzzy slippers. I call myself "super gro.ver" when I wear
it. It's not unlike the muppet outfit after all. Somehow "sexy" doesn't
equal "warm" in a drafty house.
I need a robe that is a sweat.shirt. Why does this not exist? At
least one that doesn't make me look like an escaped resident from a
nursing home. Zippers? Snaps? Please, anything except a belted wrap
robe. Give a girl with boobs a break. These never stay closed. Unless I
am missing something. Maybe I am doing it all wrong. Until then, I am
like Superman without the x-ray vision and ability to fly, my superpower
is to transition into an invisible sexless character when the sun goes
down. My poor, poor husband.
I am tempted to be-snap a regular robe at this point. It can't be this hard, can it?