Postpartum Living

1. Are my Target generics showing? Whoomp, yes they are.  < -- click it and try not to dance, seriously.
2. Frustrated and defeated because he wouldn't answer her new favorite question, "what's your name, Fee-oh?" despite her 98 repeated attempts in a machine gunned row.
3. Paper cut by way of a cardboard book. We had piercing screams, blood, and a concerned (from a safe distance as she hates to get dirty) Julia to prove it.
4. Make way for the Pattons ... along with Julia's buttoned alllllllll the way up cardigan c/o her OCD.

Exactly how long can I claim to be postpartum before it starts to get a little eyerolly? Not much longer? Well then I'd better get my litany of complaints out while I can. No, things are mostly okay ... until they aren't ... but then they are again. Repeat. And repeat again. Probably my biggest issue is figuring out a way to attach everything in the house to the ceiling because Sebastian is into approximately everything ...

Oh, Sebastian dragged the downstairs bathroom trashcan upstairs and has turned it upside down and is using it as a vehicle to climb up onto the counter to play with the block of knives? Too bad, I'm feeding Theo.

Oh, Sebastian is biting Julia and breaking skin and pulling out tufts of her already super fine hair? Figure it out dearhearts, I'm still feeding Theo.

Oh, Sebastian ninjad his way into the locked guestroom and unfolded allllllllll the laundry that I spent my precious two-armed free time folding before the chickens cackled this morn? I'd help him hide the evidence because I'm actually ... feeding Theo.

Oh, Sebastian is gnawing on a nursing (breast?) pad again? He's gross and I think it can wait until I'm not completely naked and about to pop in the shower for a 34 second rinse off but thanks Officer Julia Grace. 

We have managed to get ourselves dressed and looking almost presentable enough to go out into civilized society two days in a row because while I am a hermittess and an introvert and a homebody there are only so many millions of consecutive days of cabin fever even I can handle. We made it as far as the hospital cafeteria (where else?) both days. But to the couple in the car that was on the prowl for a coveted parking spot in the parking garage and sat and waited and waited and waited and waited while we toddled all the way to the last row where the van was parked, buckled alllllllllllll the car seat buckles and finaggled my way out of the apparent goldmine with the little bit of breathing room you left me ... don't do that again or I'll have a legit attack of the anxiety variety .... thank you not so kindly in advance.

Anyway, one of these days I'll have to bite the bullet, stuff Theo to his little esophagus, fill my purse with sugary bribes, and make the trek out to the land of the almighty Costco to hunt and gather some diapers and almond milk.

Our adventurous spirits know no bounds.


*and postpartum living last time around ... (I need to hire a post title writer)