I don't have anything interesting to say, too bad for you. It was a long day at work, woe-is-me, about 4 hours longer than I had initially hoped for, but shit happens, right? Pete's trying to get The Boy to go to sleep, and it's not going so well. It's quiet, no crying or screaming from either Pete or Baby, but they just walked through the room on the way back the bedroom, and one of them was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and it wasn't daddywhumpus.
Finn had a good day with his grammasue, from the sound of it. I did not manage to get over to The Bunker once today, nor did I eat or take a break, so I don't have anything for him tomorrow. I hope I have a couple of spares in the chest freezer, because I sure as hell ain't gonna get four ounces outta these puppies at six o'clock tomorrow morning.
On the way to work this morning, Pete got all misty about how fast Finn's baby time is flying by, and I kinda wanted to punch him. He's right about it going really fast, and we are going to miss this baby when he's a toddler, and especially when he's a teenager, but in the midst of this fugue of tired, I don't have time for emotional husbands. I can't feel like I am the one who has to hold it together because as evidenced by my little breakdown of July 5th at 10:34 p.m. (scrawled notes as yet un-transcribed), sometimes, I can't. Mostly, it all comes out in snarky comments or exasperated eye-rolling directed at Pete, but that night, it came out in tears.
It's been awhile. I guess I had it coming.
I'm mortal after all.
Though I think that my response to queries that start with "how...?" will be answered with "I am made of magic."
"How did you get that crib moved?"
"I am made of magic."
Really, I am made of perserverence, stubbornness, and, in that case, geometry.