Oh boy, today was tough. Mini Minx deployed her new weapon: sound vibration torture. Holy crappola, my nerves are in shattery pieces.
Mini Minx was woken earlier than usual from her princess slumbers (she’s the only one who doesn’t snore like a hog. I frequently prod her through the night to make sure she’s still alive). So her ‘routine’ went to hell so I could get the other 2 to nursery on time – shocker, for once we got there just 2 minutes late! Well, as much as she has a routine, I’m very
lax lazy chilled out about that. Anyway, Mini Minx coped with all the flexibility-being-the-key-to-parenting nonsense for quite a while, but I guess I pushed it too far with deciding to walk 15 mins to the post office and back instead of taking the car. Just because I’m happy to skip breakfast so long as I’ve had coffee, it slipped my stupid mind that a 10 month old baby might get pretty pissed-off if you try to do the same thing to her.
So, the brisk walk was lovely, both the exercise and gazing into my baby’s beautiful face and cooing ‘Ba!’ or ‘Ma!’ back at her happy smile. Then she started sighing, “Mum! Mum!” When they got a bit more insistent, the penny dropped and I realised I was 15 mins drive from ‘Yum-yums’, ie breakfast. Doh! She has apparently inherited my grumpiness – the angry cries that were unleashed during the drive back weren’t sated with breakfast. Or an extra Guilt Breast-feed. Or playing, or slinging, or rocking, or story-reading. She absolutely would not lie down to go to sleep.
The angry growls and roars turned into a butter-piercing shriek around 1130hrs. By 1230hrs I turned to Calprofen. By 1530hrs I’d added some Calpol, lunch (furiously thrown at the wall 6 times), beakers of water (ditto) and 2 rusks (grudgingly accepted, then smeared over her high chair with her feet), tried a bath (she was enraged, and hopped down the bath on her bum to punctuate the screams). She perked up at being reunited with her chief partners in crime for about 45 minutes, then started the screaming again. By 1700hrs I’d ruined dinner and gone upstairs to slam some doors unnecessarily. By 1800hrs I turned to drink (remembered after half a glass of wine I was supposed to be finishing painting Mini’s bedroom). By 2000hrs The Boss was roused from his Friday sofa slump and dispatched to the bedroom to “Paint. Just paint! That wall. I don’t care. Argh, my ears, will she never stop?!” By 2130hrs my trusty Moby sling was wet with sweat (mine) and I’d resorted to a baby massage, followed by another bath (she peed on me. She really was very pissed-off). By 2230hrs she’d had yet another hour-long feed and was gearing up for another screamathon. Between 2236 and 2238hrs she let out the longest, loudest fart in the history of mankind, sighed happily, and fell into a pouting sleep. I handed her over to The Boss and made good my escape. To here. Shhhh! Don’t tell on me!