It's one of those days. It doesn't help that I was up with a fever-baby in the middle of the night. Or that she's now a fever-baby in the middle of the day. After a day of being fever-baby yesterday. Or that her antibiotics seem to be causing the fever (in my humble opinion) and that her doctor is on vacation and the others know nothing about us/her. And her eye is still red. Although they tell me the meds are working despite her eye still being red. And and and...
And she's constipated. I thought she'd be a poop explosion since she was on the antibiotics, but instead, more constipation. If you ever come to a party at our house (if we ever HAVE A party at our house ever again...and if I had friends here, I WOULD have parties. SO MUCH EASIER than GOING anywhere...so see? All the more reason to become my friend. Parties! At my house!) anyway...if you ever come to a party at our house and sneak a peek in the bathroom medicine cabinet? You'll see it is chock full of glycerin suppositories. I am not ashamed. My poor gal's rump is feeling the pain. I just tried to take her temp in said rump after a particularly painful...I won't go into details..."episode" this morning and she darn near had a conniption fit. The thermometer got up to 101, but she was crying so hard I took it out.
I hope she naps now that she's had some Motrin.
This dude from the HVAC company is supposed to come out to patch three TINY wholes they drilled in the floor in the back of Sir Baby's closet when they were trying to figure out where they could put in some duct work. I am thinking of telling him to just forget it. I really don't want him to wake the baby and the holes are tiny and in the back of the closet. And I can probably just patch them with wood filler myself.
I think taking a nap (Georgia AND I) is more important than worrying about when he's going to show up. People don't give times apparently. They just say "Tuesday afternoon". Well is that civilian or military?
I'm frustrated. And it shows. And I should just shut up. But apparently, 2008 will be the summer in which Tricia just airs all her dirty laundry in terms of the secret basket-case, depressoid, complainer she truly is.