Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Only You

I have so much I want to tell you about.

We had TWO THANKSGIVINGS - one with John's family and one with mine.
I made a Hannah Montana cake for my niece's eighth birthday.

Oh yeah, and I've been Nana-sitting. (i.e. taking care of my grandmother while my mom is away . . . counting out her pills, making her special meals low in sodium, potassium, and phosphorous, making sure she gets to dialysis, etc.)

If I had the time, I'd post a bunch of pictures of all this stuff and come up with witty little captions, cracking myself up as I type.

Instead, I just put Brendan down for a nap that is guaranteed to be only 7 minutes long. No time for wit. Sorry.

Until I have more time to blog, please be patient with me. Listen to my baby's theme song and you'll understand. It explains perfectly how he feels about me . . . he cries when I put him down, cries when he is in the car seat and can't see me, cries when he is in the stroller and isn't being held by me, cries when he can't see me for two seconds, cries when someone else tries to hold him, cries when I'm doing anything but holding him and walking around or attaching him to my boo boos like my permanent, conjoined twin . . .

ONLY YOU!!!!!!!

He is a high needs baby . . . my second high needs baby. You know how some people get one tough baby and then get one "easy" baby. Yeah, well not me.

It is flattering yet so very exhausting.

Tune back later when I'll perhaps have time to upload some pics . . . after I take Megan to preschool and pick her up, empty the dishwasher, fold the clothes in the dryer, make dinner, make another dinner for Nana, take Megan to her doctor's appointment, buy formula, return the red box movie, borrow a sweater from my sister, entertain Megan, read and understand all 192873294 pages of the city's budget and be able to speak intelligently on the subject when the newspaper reporter calls (all while holding my 18 pound infant under my left arm) and attend my city council meeting tonight . . . without forgetting to put on my breast pads (to conceal embarrassing leaks) like last meeting when I had to put on my coat and run out the door. Good times!

1 comment:

Ruth Dunkman said...

You're my hero!