Chris called me "grumpy" this morning. I guess the fatigue and irritability of getting up twice a night to feed Avery is overtaking with my usual sunshine smile. That feeding her, cleaning up her frequent rocket poops, entertaining her, reading to her, bouncing endlessly on a yoga ball to get her to nap, trying to cook dinner while jiggling her in a sling, is catching up with me, along with the chronic pain that I'm getting from holding her all day--she's getting to be a little heifer.
I've been completely enjoying being with her these past almost 3 months, and realize it's a huge luxury to stay home. But there's also the gratification and appreciation that comes from going to work--talking to rational adults who will not burst into tears and screaming (usually) and the tangible reward of a paycheck.
Then again...everytime I think of leaving her at daycare or with a nanny, I almost have an anxiety attack. I am seriously thinking of emigrating to Canada so I can have their 11 months of paid maternity leave. Isn't the US crazy not to have that?
Plus, I am trying to plan his 40th birthday party for this weekend, and obtain the appropriate gifts necessary for a very picky man of his elder statesmanship, who (key item) doesn't think he's picky. I had to bite my tongue last night when he said, specifically, "You know me, I'm not picky."
I literally bit my tongue. Maybe that was gift enough from ol' Grumpy, here. Grumpy needs the gift of a nap and a deep tissue massage. Ooh, and also I think my monthly "friend" is back. That's the LAST thing I need. LAST.