Is there some rule no one’s bothered to inform me of that says that people will only ring my doorbell when I’m not wearing pants?

Guess who is currently making snow flour angels in the kitchen?  Munchkin made quite a mess today.

I can see most of my kitchen from the chair where I usually sit for Sean to nurse. But one side is hidden from view, and that’s where she was. I thought she was just playing with her letter magnets on the fridge though, since that’s what she usually does when she’s over there.

Nope. She found the flour and managed to get it open. It was probably stupid of me to leave it in a cabinet she can get in to, but she’s never shown any interest in it before.

I didn’t even suspect anything until I noticed the white footprints she was leaving whenever she came into view.

I got out the broom to start cleaning it up, but then I figured my kitchen was already a disaster area and couldn’t get much worse, so I might as well let her have her fun for a bit before I get to work. Thus the current snow angel situation.  Although she actually calls them “snow bears” from seeing cartoon bears making them. Silly girl!

And hey, at least it was the white flour which had been sitting in there for ages and probably would have been thrown out eventually anyway since I never use it.  Now if it had been the organic whole wheat…

Dear Self,

If you take the baby sling out of the diaper bag, PUT IT BACK, you idiot.  Better yet, make another one to keep in the car because I’m sure you will forget again.  Pushing a heavy stroller up a fairly decent sized hill with one hand while using the other to hang on to a toddler who can not be trusted on her own near any sort of road is so not fun.
And you so deserve the backache that carrying a fifteen pound baby around while wading in a fountain for an hour has given you.  But he didn’t deserve to be overtired because he didn’t have his comfy sling to nap in and napping in the arms of someone chasing a little girl around is just too hard.  Poor kid.

Oh and remember to pack the healthy snacks next time too instead of just getting them ready and leaving them on the counter.  Overpriced ice cream from the stand may make the little girl happy, but overall you lose so many good parenting points for it.

But despite all that, it was a good day.  And now there is yummy sundried tomato and herb bread from the farmer’s market to enjoy.

Signed,

Your tired and sore self.

Canada day was two days ago.  We stayed home and did practically nothing.  Being sick really sucks.

We did stay up to watch fireworks though.  For a while I thought it wasn’t worth it - mostly during the fatigue induced temper tantrums at 9:30, 9:45, 10:00, 10:05, pretty much continuously between 10:15 and 10:40 - especially as I remembered last year when she got scared and demanded to be taken back inside just as soon as they started.  But I’d promised her fireworks, and so we stayed up, and at 11:00 we headed out into the backyard.  It was worth it; she absolutely LOVED them.

At first I was worried we wouldn’t be able to see any of them though as we could hear them but they were all aimed away from us.  We live very close to one of the major displays in the city, but we can only see a fraction of the fireworks from our yard - those that are aimed into the right part of the sky and are high enough to be seen above the trees.  Then they did start putting them in the right place for us, and it was quite a good show.  I wish I’d thought to take the camera out, though perhaps the pictures wouldn’t have come out anyway.

It was also a special day for us.  I didn’t write about it then, but last year we came home from the festivities and I had a sort of exhaustion that felt all too familiar and made me a bit suspicious.  So even though I didn’t think the date was quite advanced enough for it, I dug out a pregnancy test (the second from the two-pack I’d bought when I first thought I might be pregnant with Munchkin back in 2003) and even though it had expired a month before, I took it, and that was when we found out that our little Baby Bear was on the way.  Though he was planned, he was actually a bit of a surprise.  We’d just started trying, and I was expecting it to take months, and having it happen right away was a bit of a shock.

And now here he is in all his adorableness; sitting on my lap as I type and chewing on his own hand.

Him: You have a huge bruise on your arm. What happened?

Me: No clue. Hadn’t even noticed it.

Him: You were in a bar fight, wern’t you.

Me: Oh, that’s right. I snuck out in the middle of the night. Explains why I feel so hung over now.

Him: Worse, it was during the day, and you got in a bar fight with an old toothless chick over the last Labat Blue (did I spell that correctly?).

Me: At least I kicked her ass.

Now what shall I do with the fifteen seconds or so I saved by typing “did I spell that correctly?” instead of googling the proper spelling?

I think we might have some sort of three-day-weekend curse here. We can’t ever seem to have a good one. M. took a day off in June since there’s no proper three-day-weekend that month, but he ended up spending the whole weekend in bed because he was sick. The three-day-weekend before that we were all pretty much under the weather and didn’t do anything fun. I can’t remember when the three day weekend before that was or what happened, but I’m sure it was horrible. Now this time it’s my turn to be sick and miserable with some sort of stomach bug.

Oh well.  At least getting sick over the holiday means that M is home today to help with the kids so I don’t have to deal with them by myself while feeling this terrible.

I was having “this can’t be my last baby” moments every now and then for a while. But I think last night succeeded in reminding me why I’ve sworn I’ll never be pregnant again. To think I felt that bad most of the time for a good eight months or so out of the nine.