This morning Noah woke up all sunshine and giggles and light once again. I fully expect him to poop miniature unicorns and rainbows later -- he's in that good of a mood.
It's um, quite a change from the past few days, and completely because a certain tooth -- known in our household as Project Fang -- finally cut through his gums (I'm guessing at the stroke of midnight on 06/07/06 when it failed to successfully bring about Armageddon), and took its rightful place on the top gum, where it shall rule over the smaller, less evil bottom teeth. Amen.
Yesterday was an exceedingly weird day -- Noah pretty much screamed non-stop, save for the two hours when the babysitter was here (that's when he was, again, a little darling ball of happy unicorn shit) -- and an entry about fantasizing about bitchslapping an infant got hundreds of completely awesome, wonderful comments and emails (I mean seriously, there is nothing to say but squee! i heart u all! omg!), while ABSOLUTE BATSHIT INSANITY went down over at the ClubMom blog for no particular reason.
At one point in the late afternoon, while I was walking that fine line between trying to get work done and making sure my child was not gnawing on wires inside of plastic grocery bags, Noah found Ceiba's tennis ball under the couch and handed it to me. I absentmindedly waved it in front of him a couple times and then threw it across the room. I don't know what's sadder -- that it still took me a few seconds to realize what I'd done, or that I was dismayed to realize that my baby totally doesn't know how to fetch.
I called Jason around 5 pm to find out when he was coming home -- a question I phrased by simply aiming the phone in the general direction of the squalling, hysterical child -- and he reminded me that he had a business dinner to attend that night. Empowered by all the comments and emails (ASK FOR HELP WHEN YOU NEED IT), I asked him to please please come home first so I could get at least a 45-minute break to finish up some work I needed to do. I phrased this question by bursting into tears and hanging up on him.
It worked! Sucker.
Anyway. Today is good. Noah is once again someone I think I could be friends with in real life, some assorted boring financialish copyediting jobs are done, as is the Wednesday Advice Smackdown. And a nice ClubMom post about the Antichrist is not sparking any outrage at all.
I think I am going to go shopping. High school reunion this Saturday, motherfuckers. I have some overcompensating to do.
In Memory of Misery Past