This morning I got up super early (like ungodly early, 3:30am early) to bring my sister to the airport. She was here for nearly a month, and was insanely helpful. We couldn’t have timed her visit better, she arrived two days before the baby was born, so I had 2 adult helpers my first week as a mother of three (Nate took a week off), and then she was my 1 adult helper the next two weeks.
But now she’s gone and passed her nursing boards and is off to Texas to work in a birth center and I’ve been given a swift kick back to my reality.
Hint: In reality the kitchen doesn’t miraculously clean itself after you’ve gone to bed, and that load of laundry you forgot about doesn’t switch itself, it just sits there in the washer and gets smelly. PBS kids has resumed its place as the only way I’m able to get a shower, and since when has this baby wanted to be held so much?
But we soldier on. I’m so grateful to Colleen that she basically gave up her entire post-graduation summer to come and live my boring life. Next time we’ll do something fun, Coll! Promise!
New and noteworthy- Violet continues on her potty-training journey. At first she was just occasionally interested in the potty. That was fine by me. Then one day about a week ago she just decided she was done with diapers. Like, throwing a fit if you even suggested she put one on for naptime. Problem is, she isn’t quite done with peeing in her pants.
And so, we go through like 16 pairs of panties a day. Also, the carpets and couch are getting steam cleaned pretty much every other day. What wouldn’t I give for hardwood floors and those plastic-covered grandma couches right now. Today she got pee on her blankie and I had to throw it in the laundry- she screamed for a solid 35 minutes after I took it away. I should probably get like 3 more of that blanket. (ps,. Donna do you happen to have any extra of that fabric you used to make it?) I frickin’ hate potty training.
My poor adorable newborn is a crusty, cradle cap and acne-ridden goblin these days. I’m really hoping it clears up faster than Fiona’s did when she was a wee one. Because it just looks miserable.
Fiona is… Well, she’s Fiona. Half the time she is the most endearing little sweetheart you’ve ever met and you could just eat her up she’s so cute. And the other half- well. She is three. So the other half you could just fry her up she’s so bad. Luckily she’s adept at weighing that balance just enough to the cute side to ensure her continued survival. Those big grins go a long way.