At about 10:15 this morning I realized I was a living stereotype. I had sweet potatoes on my shorts (from dinner last night, no less) and oatmeal in my hair. Breakfast dishes were still on the table. Tabby's high chair and tray were coated in a nice even layer of oatmeal. There was a half folded load of laundry in the living room. The kid had refused to take a morning nap. Instead she was in her bedroom, systematically pulling all of the toys and books she could reach off of her shelf and flinging them around the room. And I wasn't stopping her, because at least she was quiet.
Things did eventually get cleaned up, including me (luckily Robyn came for her weekly visit today and distracted the babe for awhile.) Tabby continued to fight naps like a champ the rest of the day. She finally passed out from sheer exhaustion just after 5, then woke up crabbier than ever 40 minutes later. She's been having tummy issues and a fever for the past few days, so on top of not sleeping she's been cranky and clingy. She's also been extra wired, which may be a side effect from her antibiotic. Awesome! She fought bedtime valiantly, but I have emerged as the victor. I need a drink. Or some ice cream.
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