Seriously, how do people do this? There are approximately one million things that need to get done and I would rather watch "House Bunny" on TBS, with commercials, than clean my bathroom or edit the thousands of photos I haven't been able to post to Shutterfly or clean the toxic litterboxes in the basement (those cats are organizing a strike as I write this). I have fooled myself into believing that a clean house is not priority (as if it were before Baby E made three). But when I sit on the living room rug to feed Eliza (because she no longer approves of her high chair), I can't help but notice all of the dog hair, cat hair, dirt, etc. that has made a permanent home in the worn down fibers of the 10 x 12 rug I was so fond of just 3.5 years ago. I tell myself (I PROMISE myself) that it's time for a new rug. But then the realist inside me says, "really, a new rug? why, so the dogs and cats and baby can shit all over that one too (figuratively, of course)? sure smart girl, spend your money on a new rug. awesome idea!". My inner voice is such a bitch.
So how, may I ask, do I work 40 hours a week, commute 6.5 hours a week, take care of my baby, clean my house, communicate with my husband, finish my thesis (that clock couldn't be ticking any louder), and start exercising to lose the 15 ridiculously stubborn pounds that attached themselves to my thighs during pregnancy and refuse to leave? I'm well aware that every mother in America has asked these same questions and that it works itself out eventually. I just haven't figured it all out yet and I'm a little stressed because Eliza is already 13 months old.
Holy Shit! Eliza is already 13 months old. What? Wasn't I just blogging about how fat and pregnant I was? 13 months old - walking/running - dancing up a storm at the slightest suggestion of a song - drinking out of a sippy cup - and calling every living creature "kee-kee" (which, obviously, is kitty). No clue how 13 months escaped me. Thankfully I take too many photos, because I cannot clearly recall the last 13 minutes let alone 13 months.
That little girl is a doll, and she knows it! Thad and I love her to pieces. All of her grandparents and extended family love her to pieces. The day care teachers love her to pieces. People who have never met her love her to pieces. We are talking spoiled bloody rotten with love. She deserves every last bit of it, for sure. I wish every child knew what it felt like to be Baby E!
Okay, my thoughts are jumbled and "House Bunny" is starting to get good (I just heard the line "eyes are the nipples of the face"). I'm going to finish the beer I started drinking over an hour ago and possibly make a list of tasks that I will surely complete this weekend. In actuality, I will exchange the jeans I'm wearing for some PJ pants...brush my teeth (I can always wash my face tomorrow)...grab the book I've been trying to finish for over a month...and fall fast asleep with said book unopened on the nightstand. Peace out.
(Below is a photo of E. I wish she knew how to use that vacuum cleaner in the background...)