What a week. And it ain't over yet. This fat lady is just warming up.
Client work (as in, the paid part of my life's work) was nuts but is easing up a bit, finally. I might have flipped the bird and let out some primal screams/sobbing wails while on mute in a teleconference. At least I believe I was on mute. They're still speaking to me, so let's assume. Then KB was out of town the past several days on a golf trip with his friends and Jackson decided to throw the Greatest Bedtime Tantrum In History last night. Two hours of screamy fun. I finally got to bed myself but had a pit in my stomach from all the back-arching wails I fought through (his, in case you're unsure) to calm him down. I'm pretty sure his teeth were bugging him (he now has all but his back molars in -- whoa -- but some are still working their way through the gum). So that was real neat.
Today went much smoother, except for some bathtime shenanigans that concluded with a triumphant piss on the floor. Oh, but he grabbed a roll of toilet paper and unraveled it to "help" me clean it up. But he went to bed with no complaint and fell right asleep, so good night, Gracie. Natch, the dog then decided it was HER turn and peed on the rug by the front door. It's a favorite spot to lay her claim to her kingdom. Whatever. So instead of going to bed extra early, which I would like to do at the ripe ol' hour of, say, 8PM, I have to stay up and wash a rug and may as well do Jackson's laundry while I'm at it. (One side effect of his being in the toddler room now is that he gets his clothes changed once, sometimes twice, and today, four times a day. They encourage him to feed himself independently every day at lunch, which is good, but usually results in yogurt-smeared/smashed-cheddar bunny-slurried/spilled water shirts and/or pants, and then when they play outside he, of course, gets filthy. Also, paint and markers.) This is what they dug up when they rummaged in their spare clothes bin for him after the fourth clothing change today:
Speaking of kooky family, we are telling them about Kind Nummer Zwei this weekend. For my birthday. Happy birthday to me? I'd be willing to keep it under wraps until the kid is born, but I suppose my growing tits and belly might draw suspicion. So let the daily phone calls and the Symptom Watch and also the Inquisition (are you going to find out the sex? why not? what names did you pick out? what? why? when? who? where? blah! blah! blah!) begin.
So that's the end to my long week. But WAIT! There's MORE!? Tomorrow night we're going out late (like, we might be out past midnight -- is that a thing people still do?) to my brother-in-law's band reunion/charity show thing with some other bands from the 90's who are getting back together, to raise money for a friend who is recovering from cancer but has piss-poor healthcare coverage to pay for it. (Please let the Supremes uphold the ACA, or honest guys like this will not only continue to be under-insured but he'll likely lose coverage and then be denied future coverage due to his pre-existing condition. And if you need something personal to connect with the ACA, consider this: insurers can refuse to pay for any fertility treatments, as we know, but can also refuse to insure you if you've been diagnosed with infertility, even though they don't cover it. Double whammy. So. But I digress.) But BEFORE our late-night rock and roll party jam (is that what the kids call it these days?) we're having dinner with friends of KB's (at which there will be Telling) and then before THAT we have to go to the annoying neighbor's house for an annoying party they're hosting. Didn't I vow to not do this anymore? Waste precious oxygen in their presence? Indeed, but they informed us that they moved the time up JUST FOR US because we've told them (apparently too many times, however many) about Jackson's early bedtime. Blargh. Pretty much everyone invited to this retarded party (retardy?) is an alcoholic, so it will stick out like a sort thumb that I'm not drinking. And KB won't because we have to drive all over town for dinner and our musical hootenanny later on. So we've been sucked in to their vortex of Gah.
But...Sunday is my birthday, and there will be cake. Let them eat cake.
Saturday Update: we're bailing on dinner and the late night gig. The place will be standing room only and this heifer needs to sit. Or, by that time, be in bed. So we'll pig out at the neighbor's boozefest (sans booze) and then watch some tv and park our lame asses in bed. As it should be.