Ms. Morissette, I've got your irony right here

Last night Hayden slept 5 hours straight. Her lack of sleeping - consecutively- any amount of time whatsoever is a whole other story entirely that I will share with you one day soon, but if you've been wondering who that twitching, mumbling, scratching-at-sores-that-aren't-there woman is huddled in the corner, that's me. I have recently fallen completely off the edge of the crazy abyss from lack of sleep.

Anyway, back to last night. She slept. FIVE. WHOLE. HOURS. Without waking up, screaming, crying, throwing binkys and teddies from her crib. The child sawed some serious zzzz's. Me, I should have woken up refreshed and slightly befuddled to be getting my first wake up call at 3am. I should have danced to her room to sweep her chubby little body from her crib and smother her with kisses for the blessing of FIVE. WHOLE. HOURS. of sleep.

Instead, enter irony with a capital I. Her daddy had to go fetch her, because me? I had just begun to doze off. I, brainiac that I am, let my prescription run out yesterday, and since you know I was already at the imaginary-sore-scratching stage, there was no sleep for me. None. I woke up more last night with her sleeping than I have the entire last weekend of her waking every hour. I was up every ten minutes, and my mind was teasing me. Letting me think I was dropping...off...into...blissfu... WAKE UP!!! WAKE UP!!! YOU HAVE TO CHECK THE LOCKS! DID YOU GET HAYDEN'S TEDDY AWAY FROM HER FACE? MAYBE SHE'S NOT ASLEEP, MAYBE SHE'S SMOTHERED BY THE DAMN BEAR THE BOOK (OH GOD, the BOOK!) SAID YOU SHOULD USE TO SETTLE HER TO SLEEP INSTEAD OF YOU. ARE ALL THE LIGHTS OFF? ARE YOU SURE YOU SHUT THE REFRIGERATOR DOOR? YES, I KNOW THERE'S AN ALARM THAT WILL SOUND IF YOU DIDN'T, BUT WHAT IF THE ALARM IS BROKEN AND IT DOESN'T GO OFF AND YOU LEFT THE DOOR OPEN AND EVERYTHING ROTS??? WHAT THEN, HUH? EVERYTHING WILL ROT. NOTHING WILL BE GOOD AGAIN. EVER.

This is the point in time I start cursing myself for forgetting to get my prescription refilled. What prescription, you ask? The one that shuts her up. No, not Hayden "her". The one doing all the yelling in my head, "her". The one that decides 11:53 pm is a good time to ask me HEY, DID YOU REMEMBER TO TELL LAUREN THE COLOR OF THE SALES CABINET FOR THE NACS SHOW? DID YOU REMEMBER TO ORDER THE SALES CABINET AT ALL? WHAT ABOUT PEG HOOKS? YOU HAVEN'T EVEN MENTIONED PEG HOOKS TO HER. ARE YOU USING THE OLD KIND OR NEW KIND? WHAT LENGTH? HOW MANY? OH! AND WHAT ABOUT...

Seriously. If anyone knows a different way to shut her up, be my guest. These days, thanks to all the wonky hormones and the amazing experience of becoming a mom (honestly, I mean that. It's freaking amazing and totally worth the side of crazy that I did not order), the only way I can tackle her chatty ass to the ground and duct tape her gigantic mouth shut so I can just go to sleep already, for goodness' sake!! is to use my new little pills that knock her unconscious for a few hours, which coincidentally let's me sleep too. Or work, or function like a normal human being. Cuts down on the sore-scratching a bit, anyway, although I swear I'm taking that back up if Hayden doesn't go off her sleep-strike soon.

Sick Day

Baby girl has her first case of strep. At least that explains the last few feverish nights, which didn't have me overly worried until we hit 103.8. That was a new record for her, and not in a good way. After a marathon day of a doctor's office visit, a hospital visit for a 'precautionary' (is that a word?) chest x-ray, trips to the pharmacy to fill and refill prescriptions, and home to care for a very clingy sick babe, I'm pooped. Literally, in fact.

Today I have been peed on, pooped on, snot on, slobbered on, smeared with soggy cheerios, and covered with pureed apples and cherries as well as dribbled with amoxacillin. Hayden's clothes have had similar treatment, and between the two of us, we're quite a colorful mess.

I have spent the last 6 hours trying to balance my baby on one hip and my laptop on the opposite knee. Hayden's been amused with any and all kitchen utensils that I didn't think could cut her, or that she could swallow or otherwise injure herself with. My kitchen, which is supposed to be the setting of a wedding cake creation this week, looks like a very small but virulent bomb hit it. There are dirty dishes scattered across the counters, pots, pans, plastic bowls and all manner of spoons and spatulas trailed across the floors and cheerios in various stages of digestion in every nook and cranny. I've worked all evening, and barely managed to catch up on email and get one video edited and posted. I have no idea how stay at home moms accomplish anything other than surviving the day.

On a happy note or two, Hayden figured out how to hold her sippy cup on her own today, and also how to override the 'spill-proofness' (again, not sure that's a real word) of the device and bang it hard enough (upside down, of course) to shower everything in a 3 foot radius with grape juice. Serves me right for serving her grape juice, I'm sure, which probably ranks right up there with crack on the 'list of things never to give your child, lest they become addicts'. Yes, I gave the kid juice. It was a bribe to get her to not wail her little lungs out at the doctor's office today, since she's finally figured out that those people are going to torture her and begins her anxious wailing the moment she sets eyes on them.

Seriously, though, if you read this and have an issue with juice, you probably should pick another blog. I'm a pro-whatever-the-living-hell-works mom, which means there's not much I won't do or try to soothe my kid when she's having a meltdown, or to get her to sleep, or to make it through a public event with as little negative attention as possible. Not that I think anyone that reads this blog has an issue with juice. Mostly because I'm pretty sure there are like 3 of you out there, and I know better. Just pre-empting the hate mail strikes when I become rich and famous. That sound you hear? Me. Laughing my head off at the mere possibility.

I need to run. My second-string QB needs a pit stop (yes, I mixed the metaphor. Your point?), which means I need to get back to my balancing act. Have a lovely evening.

Mmmmm....what's that I smell?

I'm preparing for a wedding cake I'm doing next weekend. The bride, a dear friend and Hayden's namesake, has chosen some lovely fruity flavors to accent her fall wedding theme. The groom's cake is a decadent german chocolate confection, and her cakes are going to be lemon, peach and mango.

For some reason though, I can't shake the sensation that the mango puree I've made smells and looks suspiciously like the contents of some of Hayden's recent diapers. I think I know which flavor I won't be eating next weekend. eeew. Sorry, Haydne W.... I'm sure it will be delish! Probably just more so for someone without a 9 month old!