Every night at about 11pm Mady goes off to some baby dreamland and doesn't come back until about 9am. Every night. The nights are so predictable, we could set an alarm to start her hungry time, fussy time, and straight to sleep time. But the days, oh the days. On a Monday, she will not nap all day long, eat hardly at all, and scream at random intervals all day. Tuesday comes and there will be no screaming, constant eating, and sleep from noon to 6. Then Wednesday will arrive and will be a mixture of the two, with no rhyme or reason. How is a girl supposed to leave the house this way? How am I ever going to plan to go anywhere? Ever?
When I was pregnant, I used to secretly laugh at the people who told me the baby would run the household. Yeah right, I was a strong, independent female and no one, I mean no one, was going to tell me how to live. Especially not a seven-pound-little-old-man looking bitty baby. Those same people laugh at ME now because I'm always hours late for any appt. looking disheveled and tired, covered in breastmilk and not at all in control. Mady decides everything for me now. I feel like I have reverted back to childhood and Queen Madelynn is my overly-strict mother. She tells me when I can eat, shower, sleep, and pee. She demands that I keep all doors open, like I'm some convict in a cell and she's making sure I don't poop out any razor blades. Her first lesson for me was to learn to do everything one handed. Or no handed.
Dear God, Thank you for giving me two hands, one to do the laundry with, and the other to hold my precious Mady. Thank you for giving me two knees, one to bounce my Mady on, and the other to hold my dinner plate that I will never get to eat from whilst hot again. Thank you for giving me two ears, one to listen to all the crackpot advice from family and strangers alike, and the other to let all that crap drain out of. And most of all thank you for making me child-like again, able to see things all over for the first time with my baby on my hip. Amen.
People say that kids hit a point when they "get easy." I hope that's not part of the crackpot advice. I demand a little order in this life of mine. I'll ask Mady for it when she's in a good mood.
Question of the day: How do you get baby poop out of new beige carpet?