Miscellaneous

Yesterday was amazing, crazy, and wonderfully productive.  Peach and I worked our tails off, and she was a trooper, up to and including going to the courthouse.  (She had her usual reaction to the courthouse.  She pooped.)  I did a bit of everything and felt wonderful about the day - I crossed more off my to-do list than I have in a long while. 

Today was amazing, crazy, and not wonderfully productive.  Today's work-at-home-mother-attorney's action items:

• Wake up at 5:30 because baby is making sounds on baby monitor.  Realize husband slept through alarm; wake him.  Go downstairs for clean bottle.  Baby is asleep again.  Go back to sleep, wake when husband asks where the razors are; go back to sleep.
• Wake up at 6:30 because baby is very much awake. Eat Luna bar.
• Feed baby.  Baby falls asleep; watch Trading Spaces (fast forwarding the boring bits) until arms hurt.   Put baby down.
• Get dressed.
• Make bottle.
• Dress baby. Baby barfs on outfit number one, and we move onto outfit number two. 
• Go to Saturn dealership for very late 41,000 service. Discover must now have more expensive service.  Discover front brakes must be replaced.  Authorize replacement of brakes.  Entertain child while brakes are being replaced, change three diapers in three hours, down a triple venti non-fat peppermint mocha with no whipped cream and a Diet Dr. Pepper.  Eat two Luna bars.  Endure changing blown-out poopy diaper in dealership bathroom, where they are kind enough to have a Diaper Genie -- without liners.  Discover this the hard way.
• Home.  Baby screaming.  Put dog out, change baby into outfit number three.  Let dog in.  Feed baby.  Put baby in swing (she's almost too big for it, but it still works).   
• Downstairs: call opposing counsel, who provided draft judgment after business hours on Monday.  Naturally, it's due Friday, and I can't get ahold of my client.  Opposing has no objections to extension for entry of judgment.  Whew.
• Organize desk. 
• Start to draft motion.  Realize I'm getting a migraine and decide it's a toss-up between seven and eight on the pain scale.  Hunt down Frova, pop one and close eyes.
• Baby wakes up. 
• Change, feed, play, change, play with baby. Call Matthew and weakly demand that he not work late tonight, and that he returns forthwith with dinner.
• Consider doing laundry, but head is throbbing.  Close eyes and lean against sofa; pull baby out of basket full of (clean) diapers. 
• Put baby in swing again - she falls asleep.
• Put dog outside.  He immediately starts to bark at obnoxious neighbor dogs.  I consider going out in the rain to stop him, then close the door instead and put my hands to my temples.
• Matthew walks in the door with food. Fast food.  And I'm not feeling guilty about it, no.
• Three bites into dinner, baby wakes up.

Now it's almost midnight - about the closest I ever get to me time.  I had a bowl of Cheerios (I like them, OK?  And they're good for my high cholesterol), watched an episode of Mission:Organization (insipid and full of people with high-class problems, but it has useful tips), and typed this post because I've forgotten the thoughtful post I came up with at the car dealership this morning.