Friday, May 13, 2011

Master P & the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

*With heartfelt thanks to Blogger and my child for the simultaneous Friday the 13th meltdowns. At least one of you has infancy as an excuse. 

In my previous singleton life, I would have called today a total waste of makeup. Given that my makeup "routine" now is a mere ghost of its Bobbi Brown past, I'd more accurately describe the events of today as a waste of my nice Mom-ouflage.

Call it teething, Friday the 13th, the ongoing sniffles we can't quite figure out, or merely the art of being a baby, but for whatever reason poor Master P awoke on the wrong side of the crib this morning. His nose was runny and his eyes were leaky and he wanted to YELL and he wouldn't nap and he wanted Mama until he didn't want Mama and why don't I magically know that and he didn't want to eat until he did want to eat RIGHT NOW and I think I'll move to Australia.

I'm learning that there are halcyon Smug Mummy days when your sweet babe is nothing but happy gurgles and smiles, naps more or less when he's meant to, and is just generally delightful. I'm happy to report that most days here are largely comprised of such unicorns and rainbow-like moments.

And then there are the days when, despite your adoring every atom of your child, top to toes . . . those days when you fly the white burp cloth of defeat. When you furtively watch the clock for baby's bedtime hour, feeling helpless as to how to help your fussy babe and preserve your sanity, or whichever comes first.

You can gather which sort of day we had here at Pretty HQ today. Having pulled out my usual fussy baby tricks - car riding! illicit remote control nibbling! Infant Advil! - all with negligible result, I gave up around 3 pm and stomped off with Master P to our backyard, where at least one of us could attempt to enjoy the fine spring sunshine.  Hmmph.

Begrudgingly, Master P began to explore, showing me the business end consistent with our general theme today...

Mini-preps, eat your heart out at this madras, be-polo'd (if slightly crabby) goodness  
As we meandered around the patio, watching the Pretty Pug bark and sticking our toes in the grass, he forgot to be mad for a minute, now exploring in earnest and giving me a reluctant half-smile...
Note the troublesome new tooth up top, which didn't prevent him from attempted camera theft
. . . as a few more lazy minutes rolled by, the Pug sniffing curiously us as we climbed over the patio furniture, the smile grew a tad despite himself:

Lest you think this story has too tidy a happy ending, my little dictator then abruptly decided we should return indoors, where he resumed not eating and getting into the crystal cabinet and randomly crying and going about the business of reminding me Who is in Charge.

And lo, bedtime finally came, I've taken to my couch (sadly, not a fainting one a la Betty Draper Francis, but...), and the Anonymous Husband and I are sitting. Very. Very. Still.  Because we all have rough days every now and again, presumably even in Australia.


LPC said...

Yes. It is hard. Those days are hard. And those are the ones they give out the Mom medals for. At least so I was told. You know, the secret ones they give out at graduations and the like:). Have a good weekend. Makeup 100% optional.

Rhiannon said...

Note to self: procure fainting couch before my child arrives.

Perfectly Imperfect said...

Let's blame Friday the 13th shall we? because my adorable child woke up screaming that morning and did. not. stop. all. day. She skipped naps, I drugged her with Ibuprofen, she cried, she cuddled, I cried.. longest day ever. Thank the good Lord above that she gave me a reprieve today or I might have drank myself into a coma. Hope you've had a better day!

thepreppyprincess said...

Ummm, might I just say that it is clearly not possible for a child clad that stylishly to have a hissy. (Is it?!)

Just joking, it really is a stellar reminder of why the powers-that-be determined some of us could and some of us could not have little ones to clothe in madras and seersucker... and cope with. God love you Miss Pretty, it is clear some days are notnearlyasPrettifiedasothers.

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