I am basically up to my neck in stuff I should be doing. If I were anywhere near as productive as I need to be in order to pull off my whole life right now, I'd be busy something like 2434332432342 hours a day. As that amount of hours does not exist and even if it did, I'd probably still play video games for at least 3345432 of those hours... well.
The house is a mess. I need to sweep and pick up and there are so. many. magazines. on the coffee table.
At least Audra's room is clean. I spent a few breathless minutes running around getting it picked up while she had her last bottle of the night with Jason.
Jason and I are... not people for whom housecleaning and organization comes naturally, or at all. Jason's a pretty neat guy, don't get me wrong - in both senses of the word. But we're kind of distracted. When we're home, we're primarily invested in keeping Audra alive and ourselves alive, in that order.
Our days go like this: Wake up, make breakfast, Audra wakes up halfway through eating breakfast, inhale what's left of breakfast, go change/feed/talk to/love Audra, get her ready for daycare, get ourselves ready for work, run out the door. Daycare dropoff, then work day. I get out earlier than Jason, so I come home and grab Audra from daycare, feed the animals, start on dinner. Get dinner ready. Eat dinner with Jason literally right after he comes in the door. Immediately after dinner, Audra gets her bath, her bottle, and goes to bed. With what time we have left, we carve out an hour or so to interact with each other as adults and not parents - sitting on the couch watching The Layover together or playing video games or reading or making tea or just talking.
Then we go to bed, because if we stayed up long enough to actually accomplish anything we'd be sacrificing what little serious sleep we get at this point.
Audra is basically sleeping through the night, but "sleeping through the night" at this point means she sleeps from roughly 8 pm until 2 am. This actually counts, according to official guidelines, because official guidelines know we will take any lifejacket they throw us, but also likes that lifejacket to hit us in the head first. Then she wakes up, drinks a few ounces, and goes back to sleep. Usually she wakes up around 6:15 to 6:30 for her morning wakeup, but sometimes it's 5:30, or 5, or 4 am, and we want to have maximized our sleep potential on those days.
Unfortunately, she seems to have decided her afternoon nap is for sissies because this whole week she's gone down perfectly like normal while she and I have our afternoon couch-cuddle. Then I lay her down (she does not even twitch or remotely wake up) and I go start working on dinner. And exactly thirty or forty minutes later she bursts awake like she's been shot out of a cannon and she must take some kind of shriek-based revenge. Yesterday I ended up badly burning some food I was cooking and damn near set a fire in the kitchen because I was trying to take care of her and kinda sorta forgot how high I'd set the heat on the frying chicken.
Text to Jason "Well, the good news is I didn't burn the house down. The bad news is I almost burned the house down."
Basically, what this means at this point is that the last half of making dinner inevitably consists of me carrying her around or putting her in her high chair, where she yells her fool head off unless I'm looking at her and interacting with her because she is just so tired but refusing to sleep (and no, just leaving her in her nursery doesn't work, for those who are about to suggest it because obviously I couldn't possibly have tried that brand new piece of information already. I ain't new to the Cry It Out game, folks, it just. doesn't. work. for us. because somebody's baby is very stubborn just like somebody's daddy is, not to mention her mommy and wow this parenthesis has gone on forever).
I found one solution was to strap her into her high chair and give her some of her puffs or yogurt melts, neither of which she eats during these times but will happily smash into tiny damp piles of what kind of looks like the worst version of Play-Doh. It buys ten minutes.
Or... it did, until she figured out that instead of having to smash these things, she could just drop them over the side for the dog to eat.
Which... hey, at least she's entertained and quiet while I'm cooking?
Mother of the Year, that's me.
We run and run and run and run and basically life is a series of emptied diaper genies, mugs of coffee, finding baby toys in new and unusual places, and an 8-month old who exists entirely on my left hip as far as I can tell.
I live for Saturdays, where at least we're all together and can go out for breakfast or lunch or something and just be a family, no pressure, no rush, no schedule.
I had leisure time, once.
I remember leisure time.
Now I have this.
And 'this' is way better!
I just wish 'this' would stay a-freakin'-sleep for thirty more freakin' minutes.