Friday, July 22, 2011

Mama Bean wonders why she keeps going to bed so late

I didn't sleep last night. I went to bed with six hours of available sleep. Well, you know what happens as soon as you've put a number on it; your brain dutifully keeps you awake doing the math to count down the minutes you've already lost trying to fall asleep instead of actually sleeping so that you can do some more math and find out it's fewer minutes of sleep than the last time you tried to do the math but is it the right math because you're just so darned tired but yes that was the right math oh wait it's a new time, now I have five hours of available sleep.

Who thought it was smart to set her own clinic hours at 8 am on Fridays? I mean, isn't the perk of being your own boss that you set hours you can like live with? So I chose this 8 am crap? Weird.

Although last night was blessedly cool (less than 20 degrees) it was hot in my house, which made my baby wake up, which made me wake up (but not my husband, who's sung that song before?) but in a perfect world of temperature controlled living space (What's that? You say I live in such a thing?) she technically went more than six hours without eating. So, y'know, six hours of available sleep. But I didn't sleep last night.

Work took a long time.

What is it about being a 13 year old girl that makes it impossible to talk coherently with adults? I remember 13, I remember I was chatty and loud and tactless at the best of times, with my peers, but I was positively mute in the face of most strange adults. Why do the parents of 13 year old girls think this is a good age to start sending them into my treatment rooms solo? I mean, ok, confidence building exercise, maybe, but no one is winning in this situation. It's just awkward and... awkward. You know, when I was in Chiropractic college, I was worried I wouldn't be able to handle the babies and the toddlers. But I'm good with the wee ones. It's the long and gangly ones I have trouble with...

I got home in time for nap time, but I didn't nap. That was dumb.

We went and picked strawberries. I don't know why we can't figure it out that strawberry season is July. The fields were practically stripped bare, and the berries we got are small. They're perfect for jam, which is their intended destination, but still. Pain in the butt to pick. Other than the lateness of the season, we picked a great day for, uh, picking. It was overcast and windy - didn't overheat in the sun, no bugs. Bean's hands and mouth and hat and shirt were covered in mud and red juice. I shudder to consider which he consumed more of - berry or dirt. Either way... Actually, I was kind of blown away at how well-behaved he was. I expected one of us would do the picking and the other would chase the Bean around the rows, but he followed us, more or less, picking his own berries, and then picking the stem/leaves off by himself before munching them. It was so cute! Sometimes (mosttimes) I feel like he is learning how to do this thing called Life on his own, because I'm too clueless to see what he's ready to learn next, so he just sort of picks it up, and I shake my head at how big he's getting.

It's been awhile since Sprout had a cry-fest bedtime, so I suppose we were due. To be honest, it's nothing like those Delirious Early Day Pseudo-Colic Hormone-Blitztasticular cry-fests where we both end up with wet cheeks and snotty... everythings. She just had some 'bubbles' and she wanted to tell me about it. Once successfully swaddled and soothered into oblivion, we watched How to Train Your Dragon, which was lovely. Huh. Two nights in a row, who'da thunkit?

Tomorrow's plan is jam.

No comments:

Post a Comment