After yelling at anyone who would listen last night about how mad it makes me that our daycare feeds Charlie every one and a half hours instead of three hours and only feeds him three ounces at a time instead of six and how he's cranky when he gets home because his system is all out of whack and Googling "MyTown Childcare" and sobbing to Ryan that I "haaaatttteeee taking him there I just can't do it anymore I don't know why I just don't like it I'll quit school and start selling breastmilk on Ebay or something I don't care just pleeeeeaaaaassseeee don't make me take him back" I took Charlie in there this morning ready to be firm and confident and tell them what he needs because I AM THE MOMMA I PAY YOUR SALARY LADY!! Instead I said "Ummm, we're really trying to stick to a three hour schedule, so please try to get him to take a whole bottle at 9:30. Please. If it's convenient. Ma'am." before prostrating myself on the floor and appologizing to the nineteen year old childcare provider for my insolence. Because? THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME. We'll see what my stunning display of assertiveness does for Charlie's day.
In the mean time I will play grad student while simultaneously washing baby clothes and diapers and frantically trying to locate the source of the dead-thing smell that has permeated our entire house before Charlie's first playdate arrives on Saturday. So far I have thrown out all the old produce, run the disposal, run the dishwasher, removed MY FAVORITE CHAIR from the family room because it kinda smelled funky because that's where I breastfeed and we all know how messy that can be, and cleaned the carpet with Resolve. No change. Except that I nearly killed myself tripping over the giant upside-down chair that now blocks access to the washing machine.
I'm slowly learning to work steadily and with concentration again but it is taking a long time. The bad news is that I will never get my degree and will be forced to get a nose ring and work at Starbucks as a milk frother for the rest of my life. The good news is that Charlie's dinosaur pajamas are clean so I can spend another night marvelling at his unbearable cuteness. Because class? SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH ME.