Frumpy and fearless!

All I can say is that its a good dag on thing that no one looks at me anymore! I am so frumpy and terrible looking that I should placed in a cedar closet for the rest of the season. I am still carrying around baby weight-on top of the weight I was carrying when I got pregnant- and I am still wearing maternity clothes. Lets just say that my grooming experiences are way less than exemplary and include and are usually limited to, combing my hair, brushing my teeth, plucking my eye brows. Thats about it.

I can't do it. I just can't do it. I can't be like that woman on the Nutrisystem commercial who had a baby, and went from a size 10 to a size 4 again, can bring home the bacon, and cook it, and take care of the baby and give her man a good lovin'. I can't do it. But I will tell you what I can do: I can keep my son alive, fed, clean and for the most part entertained, as well as go to work and try to keep the house clean. But thats it! I can not do one more single thing. The house has reached such epic messy proportions that I feel like I will never win this rat race. If you come to my house and see dog hair on the couch, and the end table is not dusted, well, I am sorry. I just cant get anything done. Lucas is a precious, darling, sweet baby....but the little hellion only sleeps for like a half an hour. And usually, the second I set him down in bassinet, he'll wake up. Or I'll just be filling the sink up with water to wash dishes and he'll let out the first wail. I wait. He lets out another wail. I get to him and realize he has spit out his pacifier. I give back, and rub his head until he falls back asleep. I go back to the sink and turn off the water thats about to overflow. He wails again. I go back. He pulled the pacifier out. (you would think since hes smart enough to yank it out he could put it back in, but no!) I give him the pacifier back. He spits it out. I put it back. He spits it out. Now, hes laughing. This is a fun game. And I am seriously lecturing him. Then, I realize this is just another lesson in futility and I pick him up and we start over. I doubt I will ever see the bottom of the sink some days.

But, despite my craziness, I always manage to have Lucas looking wonderful: hes clean, and in a cute outfit. However, I look like death half defrosted from the deep depth of hell, with spit up on my shirt and nasty feeling teeth because in the hustle I forgot to brush them. I have also discovered that waking him up in the morning when I am ready to nurse him instead of waking him up before I am completely ready to walk out of the door is much easier. It keeps me from having my if-he-cries-for-one-more-second-I-am-jumping-out-the-window freak outs. But when I take him out, I never realized there were so many baby blanket patrols out there. And they will not rest until every bit of soft skin is covered. Hes a hot and sweaty baby, people! Leave me alone! Its summertime! Can he stay uncovered already? I never knew there was a worldwide conspiracy of concerned citizens against blanketless babies. Usually, by the time I get where I am going, hes cooing and watching everything going on around him that I forget all about them. I just promise myself that when I am older, I wont be that way. Yeah, right!