So it's doubtful that I'll be making it to the gym today, due to the fact that Tonya Harding just ice skated by our front window. This really puts a crimp in my day because I was planning on hitting Wal-Mart this morning. I heard they now carry organic meat, which probably means the squirrels were all hit on local roads. Also we only have one diaper left in Ellie's size and are completely out of Diet Dr. Pepper which is bad news for everyone.
Anyhoo, I had to take this week's pic of the scale of truth on my home scale, which I didn't want to do because I don't know if it measures heavier or lighter than the scale at the gym. But at least this way I get to do it naked. I actually was able to zoom in the camera with my nipple, which will come in handy if I'm ever taking a picture while eating a sub sandwich. If you've ever been curious about what John Goodman looks like naked, just feel free to swing by my bathroom while I take my weekly shower.
In other news, Ellie, Lila and I woke up this morning with the not-so-distant memory that last night our trio almost became a duo via shot putting the baby out the front door.
We are firm believers in getting babies to sleep through the night by crying it out. It worked with Ellie and it worked a few months ago with Lila.
However... on Friday she got some shots
and she woke up Friday night around midnight with a fever and all sorts of what I can only imagine pain in her little leg.
So after an hour of wailing I broke down and gave her a bottle, thus initiating a cycle of suck.
Rule #1 in letting babies cry it out is don't kill the baby. Rule #2 is don't, under any circumstances, feed the baby. Babies are sort of like little mogwai but turn into something much more terrifying than a gremlin if you break the rules.
But she looked so pathetic and I broke down, knowing that highness would expect to be served a warm tasty bottle in bed hereafter.
Saturday night she wailed for two hours before I finally broke down again. It was either the bottle or me.
Last night she wailed for THREE hours. Three hours may not seem like a really long time in fun terms. True Grit was a very enjoyable (nearly) three hour experience. If you were to go to an amusement park for three hours you'd feel jipped because the time was so short.
But a baby crying for three straight hours is enough time to get you out of many criminal charges.
The last time I looked at the clock was 3:11, which I remember because it also happened to be one of my favorite college bands. Then I started thinking about college and how I never once wanted to stuff a sock in anyone's mouth.
Now if you'll excuse me I have to go try to fashion a diaper out of some duck tape and a Target bag because I think Ellie just laid waste to the last of our Pampers.